ll right," said David. "I'll obey you Mistress Grace, although I wish
you would confide in me."

But Grace was obdurate. She would tell no one.

The last act disclosed an attic at the top of an old tenement, with
dormer windows looking out on a wintry scene. Anne appeared, more ragged
than ever, carrying a little basket of matches. It was evident that she
was a match girl by trade, and that this was her wretched domicile. As
she crept down the center of the stage, ill and wretched, for she was
supposed to be about to die--David saw his opportunity. From behind the
curtain of the box he tossed the chrysanthemum, which fell right at her
feet.

"If she only sees it," he thought.

But apparently she didn't. Going wearily to an old cupboard, she took
out a crust of bread. Then she drew the ragged curtains at the windows
and lit a candle. Simultaneously the entire attic was illuminated, for
stage candles have remarkable powers of diffusing light.

"Why doesn't she pick up the flower?" exclaimed Grace. "If she doesn't
the scheme won't work at all."

"I believe she's going to die," whispered Nora in a broken voice.

Just then the Irish comedian appeared, puffing and blowing from the long
climb he had had to the top of the house. He had come to bring help to
the dying girl, but he was funny in spite of the dreary tragedy, and
Nora changed her tears to laughter and began to giggle violently,
burying her face in her handkerchief in her effort to control her mirth.
Her laughter was always contagious, and presently her two friends were
giggling in chorus.

"Do hush, Nora O'Malley!" whispered Jessica nervously. "You know that if
you once get us started we'll never stop."

A countryman, sitting back of Nora, touched her on the shoulder.

"Be you laughing or crying, miss?" he asked. "It ain't a time for
laughing nor yet for crying, since the young lady ain't dead yet and I
don't believe she's goin' to die, either."

"She just is," exclaimed Nora, wiping the tears from her eyes. "She'll
die before she gets off that bed to-night, I'll wager anything."

All this while, the chrysanthemum with the note twisted and pinned to
its stem lay in the middle of the stage. In the meantime, Anne had
fallen into a stupor from cold and hunger. The kind little comedian
rushed about the stage, making a fire, putting on the tea kettle and
stumbling over his own feet in an effort to be useful.

"Now, all the others will enter in a minute," w