At last the curtain was ready to go up. All the details of the make-uphad been completed, and the company settled down as the leader of thesmall, hired orchestra tapped significantly upon his music rack with hisbaton and began the soft curtain-raising strain. Hurstwood ceasedtalking, and went with Drouet and his friend Sagar Morrison around tothe box.

"Now, we'll see how the little girl does," he said to Drouet, in a tonewhich no one else could hear.

On the stage, six of the characters had already appeared in the openingparlour scene. Drouet and Hurstwood saw at a glance that Carrie was notamong them, and went on talking in a whisper. Mrs. Morgan, Mrs.Hoagland, and the actor who had taken Bamberger's part were representingthe principal rôles in this scene. The professional, whose name wasPatton, had little to recommend him outside of his assurance, but thisat the present moment was most palpably needed. Mrs. Morgan, as Pearl,was stiff with fright. Mrs. Hoagland was husky in the throat. The wholecompany was so weak-kneed that the lines were merely spoken, and nothingmore. It took all the hope and uncritical good-nature of the audience tokeep from manifesting pity by that unrest which is the agony of failure.

Hurstwood was perfectly indifferent. He took it for granted that itwould be worthless. All he cared for was to have it endurable enough toallow for pretension and congratulation afterward.

After the first rush of fright, however, the players got over the dangerof collapse. They rambled weakly forward, losing nearly all theexpression which was intended, and making the thing dull in the extreme,when Carrie came in.

One glance at her, and both Hurstwood and Drouet saw plainly that shealso was weak-kneed. She came faintly across the stage, saying:

"And you, sir; we have been looking for you since eight o'clock," butwith so little colour and in such a feeble voice that it was positivelypainful.

"She's frightened," whispered Drouet to Hurstwood.

The manager made no answer.

She had a line presently which was supposed to be funny.

"Well, that's as much as to say that I'm a sort of life pill."

It came out so flat, however, that it was a deathly thing. Drouetfidgeted. Hurstwood moved his toe the least bit.

There was another place in which Laura was to rise and, with a sense ofimpending disaster, say, sadly:

"I wish you hadn't said that, Pearl. You know the old proverb, 'Call amaid by a married name.'"

The lack of feeling in the thing was ridiculous. Carrie did not get itat all. She seemed to be talking in her sleep. It looked as if she werecertain to be a wretched failure. She was more hopeless than Mrs.Morgan, who had recovered somewhat, and was now saying her lines clearlyat least. Drouet looked away from the stage at the audience. The latterheld out silently, hoping for a general change, of course. Hurstwoodfixed his eye on Carrie, as if to hypnotise her into doing better. Hewas pouring determination of his own in her direction. He felt sorryfor her.

In a few more minutes it fell to her to read the letter sent in by thestrange villain. The audience had been slightly diverted by aconversation between the professional actor and a character calledSnorky, impersonated by a short little American, who really developedsome humour as a half-crazed, one-armed soldier, turned messenger for aliving. He bawled his lines out with such defiance that, while theyreally did not partake of the humour intended, they were funny. Now hewas off, however, and it was back to pathos, with Carrie as the chieffigure. She did not recover. She wandered through the whole scenebetween herself and the intruding villain, straining the patience of theaudience, and finally exiting, much to their relief.

"She's too nervous," said Drouet, feeling in the mildness of the remarkthat he was lying for once.

"Better go back and say a word to her."

Drouet was glad to do anything for relief. He fairly hustled around tothe side entrance, and was let in by the friendly doorkeeper. Carrie wasstanding in the wings, weakly waiting her next cue, all the snap andnerve gone out of her.

"Say, Cad," he said, looking at her, "you mustn't be nervous. Wake up.Those guys out there don't amount to anything. What are you afraid of?"

"I don't know," said Carrie. "I just don't seem to be able to do it."

She was grateful for the drummer's presence, though. She had found thecompany so nervous that her own strength had gone.

"Come on," said Drouet. "Brace up. What are you afraid of? Go on outthere now, and do the trick. What do you care?"

Carrie revived a little under the drummer's electrical, nervouscondition.

"Did I do so very bad?"

"Not a bit. All you need is a little more ginger. Do it as you showedme. Get that toss of your head you had the other night."

Carrie remembered her triumph in the room. She tried to think she coulddo it.

"What's next?" he said, looking at her part, which she had beenstudying.

"Why, the scene between Ray and me when I refuse him."

"Well, now you do that lively," said the drummer. "Put in snap, that'sthe thing. Act as if you didn't care."

"Your turn next, Miss Madenda," said the prompter.

"Oh, dear," said Carrie.

"Well, you're a chump for being afraid," said Drouet. "Come on now,brace up. I'll watch you from right here."

"Will you?" said Carrie.

"Yes, now go on. Don't be afraid."

The prompter signalled her.

She started out, weak as ever, but suddenly her nerve partiallyreturned. She thought of Drouet looking.

"Ray," she said, gently, using a tone of voice much more calm than whenshe had last appeared. It was the scene which had pleased the directorat the rehearsal.

"She's easier," thought Hurstwood to himself.

She did not do the part as she had at rehearsal, but she was better. Theaudience was at least not irritated. The improvement of the work of theentire company took away direct observation from her. They were makingvery fair progress, and now it looked as if the play would be passable,in the less trying parts at least.

Carrie came off warm and nervous.

"Well," she said, looking at him, "was it any better?"

"Well, I should say so. That's the way. Put life into it. You did thatabout a thousand per cent. better than you did the other scene. Now goon and fire up. You can do it. Knock 'em."

"Was it really better?"

"Better, I should say so. What comes next?"

"That ball-room scene."

"Well, you can do that all right," he said.

"I don't know," answered Carrie.

"Why, woman," he exclaimed, "you did it for me! Now you go out there anddo it. It'll be fun for you. Just do as you did in the room. If you'llreel it off that way, I'll bet you make a hit. Now, what'll you bet? Youdo it."

The drummer usually allowed his ardent good-nature to get the better ofhis speech. He really did think that Carrie had acted this particularscene very well, and he wanted her to repeat it in public. Hisenthusiasm was due to the mere spirit of the occasion.

When the time came, he buoyed Carrie up most effectually. He began tomake her feel as if she had done very well. The old melancholy of desirebegan to come back as he talked at her, and by the time the situationrolled around she was running high in feeling.

"I think I can do this."

"Sure you can. Now you go ahead and see."

On the stage, Mrs. Van Dam was making her cruel insinuation againstLaura.

Carrie listened, and caught the infection of something--she did not knowwhat. Her nostrils sniffed thinly.

"It means," the professional actor began, speaking as Ray, "that societyis a terrible avenger of insult. Have you ever heard of the Siberianwolves? When one of the pack falls through weakness, the others devourhim. It is not an elegant comparison, but there is something wolfish insociety. Laura has mocked it with a pretence, and society, which is madeup of pretence, will bitterly resent the mockery."

At the sound of her stage name Carrie started. She began to feel thebitterness of the situation. The feelings of the outcast descended uponher. She hung at the wing's edge, wrapt in her own mounting thoughts.She hardly heard anything more, save her own rumbling blood.

"Come, girls," said Mrs. Van Dam, solemnly, "let us look after ourthings. They are no longer safe when such an accomplished thief enters."

"Cue," said the prompter, close to her side, but she did not hear.Already she was moving forward with a steady grace, born of inspiration.She dawned upon the audience, handsome and proud, shifting, with thenecessity of the situation, to a cold, white, helpless object, as thesocial pack moved away from her scornfully.

Hurstwood blinked his eyes and caught the infection. The radiating wavesof feeling and sincerity were already breaking against the farthestwalls of the chamber. The magic of passion, which will yet dissolve theworld, was here at work.

There was a drawing, too, of attention, a riveting of feeling,heretofore wandering.

"Ray! Ray! Why do you not come back to her?" was the cry of Pearl.

Every eye was fixed on Carrie, still proud and scornful. They moved asshe moved. Their eyes were with her eyes.

Mrs. Morgan, as Pearl, approached her.

"Let us go home," she said.

"No," answered Carrie, her voice assuming for the first time apenetrating quality which it had never known. "Stay with him!"

She pointed an almost accusing hand toward her lover. Then, with apathos which struck home because of its utter simplicity, "He shall notsuffer long."

Hurstwood realised that he was seeing something extraordinarily good. Itwas heightened for him by the applause of the audience as the curtaindescended and the fact that it was Carrie. He thought now that she wasbeautiful. She had done something which was above his sphere. He felt akeen delight in realising that she was his.

"Fine," he said, and then, seized by a sudden impulse, arose and wentabout to the stage door.

When he came in upon Carrie she was still with Drouet. His feelings forher were most exuberant. He was almost swept away by the strength andfeeling she exhibited. His desire was to pour forth his praise with theunbounded feelings of a lover, but here was Drouet, whose affection wasalso rapidly reviving. The latter was more fascinated, if anything, thanHurstwood. At least, in the nature of things, it took a more ruddy form.

"Well, well," said Drouet, "you did out of sight. That was simply great.I knew you could do it. Oh, but you're a little daisy!"

Carrie's eyes flamed with the light of achievement.

"Did I do all right?"

"Did you? Well, I guess. Didn't you hear the applause?"

There was some faint sound of clapping yet.

"I thought I got it something like--I felt it."

Just then Hurstwood came in. Instinctively he felt the change in Drouet.He saw that the drummer was near to Carrie, and jealousy leaped alightin his bosom. In a flash of thought, he reproached himself for havingsent him back. Also, he hated him as an intruder. He could scarcely pullhimself down to the level where he would have to congratulate Carrie asa friend. Nevertheless, the man mastered himself, and it was a triumph.He almost jerked the old subtle light to his eyes.

"I thought," he said, looking at Carrie, "I would come around and tellyou how well you did, Mrs. Drouet. It was delightful."

Carrie took the cue, and replied:

"Oh, thank you."

"I was just telling her," put in Drouet, now delighted with hispossession, "that I thought she did fine."

"Indeed you did," said Hurstwood, turning upon Carrie eyes in which sheread more than the words.

Carrie laughed luxuriantly.

"If you do as well in the rest of the play, you will make us all thinkyou are a born actress."

Carrie smiled again. She felt the acuteness of Hurstwood's position, andwished deeply that she could be alone with him, but she did notunderstand the change in Drouet. Hurstwood found that he could not talk,repressed as he was, and grudging Drouet every moment of his presence,he bowed himself out with the elegance of a Faust. Outside he set histeeth with envy.

"Damn it!" he said, "is he always going to be in the way?" He was moodywhen he got back to the box, and could not talk for thinking of hiswretched situation.

As the curtain for the next act arose, Drouet came back. He was verymuch enlivened in temper and inclined to whisper, but Hurstwoodpretended interest. He fixed his eyes on the stage, although Carrie wasnot there, a short bit of melodramatic comedy preceding her entrance. Hedid not see what was going on, however. He was thinking his ownthoughts, and they were wretched.

The progress of the play did not improve matters for him. Carrie, fromnow on, was easily the centre of interest. The audience, which had beeninclined to feel that nothing could be good after the first gloomyimpression, now went to the other extreme and saw power where it wasnot. The general feeling reacted on Carrie. She presented her part withsome felicity, though nothing like the intensity which had aroused thefeeling at the end of the long first act.

Both Hurstwood and Drouet viewed her pretty figure with rising feelings.The fact that such ability should reveal itself in her, that they shouldsee it set forth under such effective circumstances, framed almost inmassy gold and shone upon by the appropriate lights of sentiment andpersonality, heightened her charm for them. She was more than the oldCarrie to Drouet. He longed to be at home with her until he could tellher. He awaited impatiently the end, when they should go home alone.

Hurstwood, on the contrary, saw in the strength of her newattractiveness his miserable predicament. He could have cursed the manbeside him. By the Lord, he could not even applaud feelingly as hewould. For once he must simulate when it left a taste in his mouth.

It was in the last act that Carrie's fascination for her lovers assumedits most effective character.

Hurstwood listened to its progress, wondering when Carrie would come on.He had not long to wait. The author had used the artifice of sending allthe merry company for a drive, and now Carrie came in alone. It was thefirst time that Hurstwood had had a chance to see her facing theaudience quite alone, for nowhere else had she been without a foil ofsome sort. He suddenly felt, as she entered, that her old strength--thepower that had grasped him at the end of the first act--had come back.She seemed to be gaining feeling, now that the play was drawing to aclose and the opportunity for great action was passing.

"Poor Pearl," she said, speaking with natural pathos. "It is a sad thingto want for happiness, but it is a terrible thing to see another gropingabout blindly for it, when it is almost within the grasp."

She was gazing now sadly out upon the open sea, her arm restinglistlessly upon the polished door-post.

Hurstwood began to feel a deep sympathy for her and for himself. Hecould almost feel that she was talking to him. He was, by a combinationof feelings and entanglements, almost deluded by that quality of voiceand manner which, like a pathetic strain of music, seems ever a personaland intimate thing. Pathos has this quality, that it seems everaddressed to one alone.

"And yet, she can be very happy with him," went on the little actress."Her sunny temper, her joyous face will brighten any home."

She turned slowly toward the audience without seeing. There was so muchsimplicity in her movements that she seemed wholly alone. Then she founda seat by a table, and turned over some books, devoting a thought tothem.

"With no longings for what I may not have," she breathed inconclusion--and it was almost a sigh--"my existence hidden from all savetwo in the wide world, and making my joy out of the joy of that innocentgirl who will soon be his wife."

Hurstwood was sorry when a character, known as Peach Blossom,interrupted her. He stirred irritably, for he wished her to go on. Hewas charmed by the pale face, the lissome figure, draped in pearl grey,with a coiled string of pears at the throat. Carrie had the air of onewho was weary and in need of protection, and, under the fascinatingmake-believe of the moment, he rose in feeling until he was ready inspirit to go to her and ease her out of her misery by adding to his owndelight.

In a moment Carrie was alone again, and was saying, with animation:

"I must return to the city, no matter what dangers may lurk here. I mustgo, secretly if I can; openly, if I must."

There was a sound of horses' hoofs outside, and then Ray's voice saying:

"No, I shall not ride again. Put him up."

He entered, and then began a scene which had as much to do with thecreation of the tragedy of affection in Hurstwood as anything in hispeculiar and involved career. For Carrie had resolved to make somethingof this scene, and, now that the cue had come, it began to take afeeling hold upon her. Both Hurstwood and Drouet noted the risingsentiment as she proceeded.

"I thought you had gone with Pearl," she said to her lover.

"I did go part of the way, but I left the party a mile down the road."

"You and Pearl had no disagreement?"

"No--yes; that is, we always have. Our social barometers always stand at'cloudy' and 'overcast.'"

"And whose fault is that?" she said, easily.

"Not mine," he answered, pettishly. "I know I do all I can--I say all Ican--but she----"

This was rather awkwardly put by Patton, but Carrie redeemed it with agrace which was inspiring.

"But she is your wife," she said, fixing her whole attention upon thestilled actor, and softening the quality of her voice until it was againlow and musical. "Ray, my friend, courtship is the text from which thewhole sermon of married life takes its theme. Do not let yours bediscontented and unhappy."

She put her two little hands together and pressed them appealingly.

Hurstwood gazed with slightly parted lips. Drouet was fidgeting withsatisfaction.

"To be my wife, yes," went on the actor in a manner which was weak bycomparison, but which could not now spoil the tender atmosphere whichCarrie had created and maintained. She did not seem to feel that he waswretched. She would have done nearly as well with a block of wood. Theaccessories she needed were within her own imagination. The acting ofothers could not affect them.

"And you repent already?" she said, slowly.

"I lost you," he said, seizing her little hand, "and I was at the mercyof any flirt who chose to give me an inviting look. It was yourfault--you know it was--why did you leave me?"

Carrie turned slowly away, and seemed to be mastering some impulse insilence. Then she turned back.

"Ray," she said, "the greatest happiness I have ever felt has been thethought that all your affection was forever bestowed upon a virtuouswoman, your equal in family, fortune, and accomplishments. What arevelation do you make to me now! What is it makes you continually warwith your happiness?"

The last question was asked so simply that it came to the audience andthe lover as a personal thing.

At last it came to the part where the lover exclaimed, "Be to me as youused to be."

Carrie answered, with affecting sweetness, "I cannot be that to you, butI can speak in the spirit of the Laura who is dead to you forever."

"Be it as you will," said Patton.

Hurstwood leaned forward. The whole audience was silent and intent.

"Let the woman you look upon be wise or vain," said Carrie, her eyesbent sadly upon the lover, who had sunk into a seat, "beautiful orhomely, rich or poor, she has but one thing she can really give orrefuse--her heart."

Drouet felt a scratch in his throat.

"Her beauty, her wit, her accomplishments, she may sell to you; but herlove is the treasure without money and without price."

The manager suffered this as a personal appeal. It came to him as ifthey were alone, and he could hardly restrain the tears for sorrow overthe hopeless, pathetic, and yet dainty and appealing woman whom heloved. Drouet also was beside himself. He was resolving that he would beto Carrie what he had never been before. He would marry her, by George!She was worth it.

"She asks only in return," said Carrie, scarcely hearing the small,scheduled reply of her lover, and putting herself even more in harmonywith the plaintive melody now issuing from the orchestra, "that when youlook upon her your eyes shall speak devotion; that when you address heryour voice shall be gentle, loving, and kind; that you shall not despiseher because she cannot understand all at once your vigorous thoughts andambitious designs; for, when misfortune and evil have defeated yourgreatest purposes, her love remains to console you. You look to thetrees," she continued, while Hurstwood restrained his feelings only bythe grimmest repression, "for strength and grandeur; do not despise theflowers because their fragrance is all they have to give. Remember," sheconcluded, tenderly, "love is all a woman has to give," and she laid astrange, sweet accent on the all, "but it is the only thing which Godpermits us to carry beyond the grave."

The two men were in the most harrowed state of affection. They scarcelyheard the few remaining words with which the scene concluded. They onlysaw their idol, moving about with appealing grace, continuing a powerwhich to them was a revelation.

Hurstwood resolved a thousand things, Drouet as well. They joinedequally in the burst of applause which called Carrie out. Drouet poundedhis hands until they ached. Then he jumped up again and started out. Ashe went, Carrie came out, and, seeing an immense basket of flowers beinghurried down the aisle toward her, she waited. They were Hurstwood's.She looked toward the manager's box for a moment, caught his eye, andsmiled. He could have leaped out of the box to enfold her. He forgot theneed of circumspectness which his married state enforced. He almostforgot that he had with him in the box those who knew him. By the Lord,he would have that lovely girl if it took his all. He would act at once.This should be the end of Drouet, and don't you forget it. He would notwait another day. The drummer should not have her.

He was so excited that he could not stay in the box. He went into thelobby, and then into the street, thinking. Drouet did not return. In afew minutes the last act was over, and he was crazy to have Carriealone. He cursed the luck that could keep him smiling, bowing, shamming,when he wanted to tell her that he loved her, when he wanted to whisperto her alone. He groaned as he saw that his hopes were futile. He musteven take her to supper, shamming. He finally went about and asked howshe was getting along. The actors were all dressing, talking, hurryingabout. Drouet was palavering himself with the looseness of excitementand passion. The manager mastered himself only by a great effort.

"We are going to supper, of course," he said, with a voice that was amockery of his heart.

"Oh, yes," said Carrie, smiling.

The little actress was in fine feather. She was realising now what itwas to be petted. For once she was the admired, the sought-for. Theindependence of success now made its first faint showing. With thetables turned, she was looking down, rather than up, to her lover. Shedid not fully realise that this was so, but there was something incondescension coming from her which was infinitely sweet. When she wasready they climbed into the waiting coach and drove down town; once,only, did she find an opportunity to express her feeling, and that waswhen the manager preceded Drouet in the coach and sat beside her. BeforeDrouet was fully in she had squeezed Hurstwood's hand in a gentle,impulsive manner. The manager was beside himself with affection. Hecould have sold his soul to be with her alone. "Ah," he thought, "theagony of it."

Drouet hung on, thinking he was all in all. The dinner was spoiled byhis enthusiasm. Hurstwood went home feeling as if he should die if hedid not find affectionate relief. He whispered "to-morrow" passionatelyto Carrie, and she understood. He walked away from the drummer and hisprize at parting feeling as if he could slay him and not regret. Carriealso felt the misery of it.

"Good-night," he said, simulating an easy friendliness.

"Good-night," said the little actress, tenderly.

"The fool!" he said, now hating Drouet. "The idiot! I'll do him yet, andthat quick! We'll see to-morrow."

"Well, if you aren't a wonder," Drouet was saying, complacently,squeezing Carrie's arm. "You are the dandiest little girl on earth."