od a moment looking through the half-closed door at Nell.
There was a strange mingling of contending forces at work in his nature.
To be sure, he had trifled with the affections of the Spanish
dancing-girl, a new arrival from Madrid and one of the latest
attractions of the King's House; but it was his pride, when he
discovered that Nell's sharp eyes had found him out, that suffered, not
his conscience. Was he not the fascinating actor-manager of the House?
Could he prevent the ladies loving him? Must he be accused of not loving
Nell, simply because his charms had edified the shapely new-comer?
Nell's rebuke had depressed him, but there was a smouldering fire
within. "'Slife!" he muttered. "If I do not steal my way into Nell's
heart, I'll abandon the rouge-box and till the soil."

As he approached his tiring-room, he bethought him that it would be well
first to have an oversight of the theatre. He turned accordingly and
pulled open the door that led to the stage.

As he did so, a figure fell into the greenroom, grasping devotedly a
violin, lest his fall might injure it. Strings had been biding his time,
waiting an opportunity to see Nell, and had fallen asleep behind the
door.

"How now, dog!" exclaimed the manager when he saw who the intruder was.

Strings hastened to his feet and hobbled across the room.

"I told you not to set foot here again," shouted Hart, following him
virulently.

Strings bowed meekly. "I thought the King's House in need of a player;
so I came back, sir," said he.

Hart was instantly beside himself. "Zounds!" he stormed. "I have had
enough impudence to contend with to-night. Begone; or up you go for a
vagrant."

"I called on Mistress Gwyn, sir," explained Strings.

"Mistress Gwyn does not receive drunkards," fiercely retorted Hart; and
he started hastily to the stage-door and called loudly for his force of
men to put the fiddler out.

Nell's door was still ajar. She had removed the roses from her hair and
dress. She caught at once her name. Indeed, there was little that went
on which Nell did not see or hear, even though walls intervened. "Who
takes my name in vain?" she called. Her head popped through the opening
left by the door, and she scanned the room.

As her eye fell upon the old fiddler, who had often played songs and
dances for her in days gone by, a cry of joy came from her lips. She
rushed into the greenroom and threw both arms about Strings's neck. "My
old comrade, as I l