ng with infinite grace and tenderness that
part in the quartet which is intended to express the operatic broken
heart, while the Duke, the professional murderer, and Maddalena are
laughing and talking inside the inn. That sort of thing does not appeal
much to our modern taste, but Margaret did what she could to make it
touching, and was rewarded with round upon round of applause.

Lushington rose quietly at this point, slipped on his thin overcoat,
took his hat and the big cloak he had bought, nodded to his mother and
left the box. A few moments later she rose and followed him.

In due time Margaret reappeared in her man's dress, but almost
completely wrapped in the traditional riding mantle. Rigoletto is off
when Gilda comes on alone at this point, outside the inn, and the stage
gradually darkens while the storm rises. When the trio is over and
Gilda enters the ruined inn, the darkness is such, even behind the
scenes, that one may easily lose one s way and it is hard to recognise
any one.

Margaret disappeared, and hurried off, expecting to meet her maid with
the sack ready for the final scene. To her surprise a man was standing
waiting for her. She could not see his face at all, but she knew it was
Lushington who whispered in her ear as he wrapped her in the big cloak
he carried. He spoke fast and decidedly.

'That is why the door at the end of the corridor is open to-night,' he
concluded. 'I give you my word that it s true. Now come with me.'

Margaret had told Lushington not very long ago that he always acted
like a gentleman and sometimes like a hero, and she had meant it. After
all, the opera was over now, and it was only a rehearsal. If there was
no sack scene, no one would be surprised, and there was no time to
hesitate not an instant.

She slipped her arm through Lushington's, and drawing the hood almost
over her eyes with her free hand and the cloak completely round her,
she went where he led her. Certainly in all the history of the opera no
prima donna ever left the stage and the theatre in such a hurry after
her first appearance.

One minute had hardly elapsed in all after she had disappeared into the
ruined inn, before she found herself driving at a smart pace in a
closed carriage, with Lushington sitting bolt upright beside her like a
policeman in charge of his prisoner. It was not yet quite dark when the
brougham stopped at the door of Margaret's hotel, and the porter who
opened the carriage looke