Edward Fraser was not the man to let grass grow under his feet. He set about the production with the utmost vigilance and despatch. The first thing he did was to call on O'Donnell. He was introduced to Mrs. O'Donnell. He found her simply divine, he said, the greatest beauty in London, by gad. And, as to the boy (he himself was childless) he afterwards declared to his wife, that it was the handsomest, the most engaging, the most endearing little fellow in Europe. As soon as he was free to talk about business he said: "O'Donnell, I have firmly made up my mind to produce 'The Maid of Athens' with the least possible delay. Before I had seen you I had, of course, arranged with Lavirotte. Will you understudy Lavirotte's part at six guineas a week? Of course, if there is a chance of your singing it, you shall go on, and I could not think of putting you second. But you know what our climate is like, and that a fellow may get a cold any minute." "You know," said Eugene, colouring with pleasure, "I want an engagement, and I am not in a position to refuse one if I could possibly take it. But Dominique and I have been such great friends all our lives, I could not think of taking any position which might seem to undermine his." "But, you see, that is the very thing I offer you-a position which will not seem to undermine his. So long as he is singing, of course you will not sing. But if he gets a cold, or anything of that kind, you take his place and keep it warm for him until he is quite well again. What can be more friendly than that?" "Men are always jealous of those who understudy them, for they think that the understudies are always wishing for some accident to the men who are singing the parts. Have you spoken of the matter to Dominique?" "Oh, yes! I have arranged it all with him. He agrees to what I suggest. I am sorry I cannot offer you as good terms as he is getting; but we could not afford more than six to one in such a position as yours. Lavirotte's agreement is all drawn up and signed on the understanding that if I can secure you I will do so." After some more talk, Eugene agreed to accept Fraser's offer, and the composer went home greatly delighted with the day's work and the new acquaintance he had made. "Harriet," he said when he got home, "I have fallen in love with Mrs. O'Donnell, and you must fall in love with her too. She is simply perfect. You must worship the boy. I know, if you saw him, you would never let him out of your arms." Mrs. Fraser simply shook her head, and sighed to think she had no boy of her own. The preparations for the production of the new opera were hastened, the Oberon Theatre secured, the rest of the company engaged, and the opera put in rehearsal. Everyone who was privileged to hear the music agreed that the opera ought to be a great success, and most of the people thought that Lavirotte would make a hit in his part. Fraser was to conduct the opera himself, and he took the minutest care that nothing should be left undone to court success. About a month before the day fixed for the first appearance, O'Donnell came to Fraser's private room at the theatre, and said: "I want to ask you a question about my own business." "Fire away, my dear fellow!" cried the hearty composer. "Anything you like." "I am, as you know, Fraser, at present in lodgings with my wife and child. We were thinking of taking a small house, and what I want you to tell me is, do you think I would be justified in doing so? Do you think my engagement with you will be worth anything like six pounds a week for a considerable portion of the year?" "My dear O'Donnell, I'm very glad you spoke to me upon the subject. Take a small house, by all means; get what furniture is just necessary. I'll be guarantee for it. And, I'll tell you what I'm game to do this minute: I'll undertake, if you like, in writing, that you shall not average less than six pounds a week for the next twelve months, Under existing circumstances, I cannot, at present, offer you more money than is in your agreement, but you can have the engagement, if you like, about the twelve months." O'Donnell was delighted. "You really don't say so, my dear Fraser!" "I do," he said. "You need not speak of this matter to anyone. I mean to stick to you. You are sure to make a mark. You are sure to make money. And, look here, I say, you know it isn't my money that's going into this speculation, and I have a little money of my own. Never be hard up for a fiver. We like your wife, your boy, and yourself; and by gad, sir, we mean that you shall be a success." O'Donnell went home in the highest spirits. That very day he and his wife set out house-hunting, and within a week they were settled in a little semi-detached house in Cecil Street, Hoxton. Among the furniture there was, of course, a piano, and O'Donnell felt unexpectedly relieved to be able, as he expressed it, to shout and hammer the keys against the detached wall of his own house, where there was no fear of disturbing lodgers or neighbours. Here, with his wife and child, and the old and faithful nurse who had looked after him when he was a child, he felt as though life was opening afresh to him, and as if there was more sunshine in the air than ever he had noticed before. "The first thing we have to do, Nellie, is to get the Frasers and Dominique here to dinner, on the earliest day possible. Of course I should never have known Fraser but for Dominique; and, indeed, half my good luck at the Oberon, or more than half, is due to Lavirotte." So it was arranged that on the first Saturday after the O'Donnells were settled in their home, the Frasers and Lavirotte should dine with them. The dinner passed off in the pleasantest manner. Mark dined at the table, and Lavirotte insisted on attending to the boy and giving him all the delicacies he could filch, to the great jealousy of Mrs. Fraser, who had taken an extraordinary liking to the mother and child. Lavirotte seemed in better spirits and health than of late. He was quite cheerful, quite amusing. He made pretty compliments to the women, said good-humoured, whimsical, blunt things to the men, and when dinner was over and the men were alone, he threw himself into a chair and declared he had not enjoyed any little dinner so much, for a century. "You know, Eugene, I was best man at your marriage, and godfather to your boy, and I really think I have forgotten my duty towards him. I never gave him a knife and fork, or even a mug. It was beastly neglectful of me. I feel in the best of spirits to-day. Wasn't I in good voice at the rehearsal?" "Capital!" said both men. "Nothing could have been better." "You'll bring down the house, Lavirotte," cried Eugene. "I shall do my very best," said Lavirotte. "I think my health has greatly improved within the past fortnight or so. I have not felt that old sensation of faintness, and going up and down the stairs to my eyrie does not distress me as it used. By Jove, Eugene, I feel as well as before that terrible time in the tower. No, I won't have any more. I'll go and look after my boy." Lavirotte left the room. Fraser shifted uneasily in his chair. "Are you perfect in the part?" he said to Eugene. "I think so," said the latter. "Because," said Fraser, "although Lavirotte seems in better health than he was some time ago, no one knows what may happen." Lavirotte did not go straight to the small drawing-room where the two women were seated. He went out to the little kitchen, and said to old Bridget, the servant: "Is the boy in bed?" "Yes, he is, sir, and asleep," said the old woman. "Let me go up and look at him before I join the ladies." "Certainly, sir. I'll show you the room." She led the way upstairs. The boy was sleeping in a cot, his rosy cheek resting on his pink arm, his yellow hair hanging all about his head. There was another bed in the room. "That is yours, no doubt," said Lavirotte, pointing to the second bed. "Yes," she said, "I sleep here to mind him in the night; but he's no trouble." "And this window looks into what?" "The side passage." The old woman had turned up the paraffin lamp, and was holding it over the sleeping child. "You have no gas in the house?" "No; the master does not like gas." "You ought to be very careful with that lamp. Many a sad thing happens owing to the use of paraffin lamps, where children are." He stooped over the sleeping child, kissed the boy's cheek, and then descended to the little drawing-room where the two wives sat.

CHAPTER XXV

From the day of that dinner forward, Lavirotte seemed anxious to make up for what he then spoke of as the neglect of his little godson. One day he came and brought the mug with the boy's name and the date of his birth on it. Another day he brought a spoon, a knife and fork. "You know, Dominique," said Eugene, "this is too much. We are not rich enough to take such presents." "Ah!" said Lavirotte. "You mean also that I am not rich enough to make them. But you see I was not quite at the end of my resources when this engagement turned up, and I shall be in receipt of what I must consider a handsome salary in a couple of weeks." "By Jove, yes," said Eugene. "I do not object to your being guilty of this extravagance if it does not inconvenience you at the moment. I know you will be comparatively well off. I am delighted you are in such good health." At this Lavirotte looked strangely at his friend. "Yes," he said, "I am all right now. But will it last? Has Fraser said anything to you about it?" "He has said to me, simply, what we all know-that a tenor, and particularly a tenor in this climate, is liable to be knocked up at any minute. Beyond that he said nothing, I think, and all you have to do is to be careful of yourself, and see that you don't take cold. If you keep in only your present form, you are bound to make a great hit." "Well, Eugene, at least you are encouraging. My notion is, Fraser thinks I shall never sing the part. But I will, if I died for it. My heart is set on it, and I would rather die than not go on." "Nonsense!" said Eugene. "You're talking in an exaggerated way. You will sing, and sing admirably. The audience will rise to you as one man, and next morning the newspapers won't know where to get words of praise for your performance." Again a queer look came into Lavirotte's eye. "I think, Eugene, you are a very simple man." "I see no need for anything but simplicity in this matter. You know, Dominique, I shall be greatly delighted to be understudy when the opera is started. Of course, I'd rather have anything to do than look on, but there's no help for that." "No," said Lavirotte, with an uncomfortable laugh, "there's no help for it unless fate steps in." "Oh, confound it, Dominique! Give up your 'ifs.' I'm tired of them. Here are Nellie and the boy. Let us drop shop." Lavirotte rose quickly, went to Mrs. O'Donnell, took her hand and shook it tenderly. Then, having lifted the boy in his arms, he kissed him and pressed him to his breast, and carried him about the room' saying: "You will grow to be a fine generous fellow, Mark, like your father; and you will always be as good and gentle as your mother, although you never can be as beautiful. Mark, dear, kiss your godfather, who has no wife, no son of his own. You'll always be fond of Dominique, won't you, boy?" "Of course he will," said Eugene, taking the boy out of Lavirotte's arms and fondling him tenderly. Ever since the boy had come to Eugene until now, there had always hung over the father's mind a certain cloud of gloom. For while he said to himself that Nellie had come to him in the full light of her reason, and with the knowledge that his house had suffered great commercial disaster, between her coming and the birth of the boy greater disaster still had fallen upon them-ruin in fact-and when the boy was born he seemed to be the despairing leader of a forlorn hope. He had often looked at that boy, and wondered whether or not he should be able to find bread for him. The love he had for Nellie was of a different character. It was more robust and less intimate. Supposing his supplies failed absolutely, he could tell her there was no bread, and she would understand. But the little fellow could not understand. He would think that bread came, like the daylight, to all living things alike. He would simply know that he was hungry, and that heretofore when he was hungry he got food. And being hungry again, he would ask for food, and expect it. And if he (the father) had to tell him there was no food, had to try to quiet him with mere words and caresses, how should he, Eugene, feel? And then, although the little fellow might be quieted for a while, he could not be for long, and he would cry piteously for food. And there would be none to give him. The boy would gradually weaken from hour to hour, until he ceased to cry, until he had no strength to cry. Gradually the weakness would increase. His face would become pallid. His rounded pink limbs wasted. His breath short and faint. He would lie exactly as placed, without power to move his body, without power to move his limbs. The little eyes would remain half open. The little fingers could no longer close around the finger of father or mother. The pale lips, parted, would no longer have strength to close at the familiar kiss. Then would come a moment when the eyes would open, the little nose become pinched, the little face haggard, and- It was too horrible to think of. God in his mercy had spared him that sight, and given him instead a comfortable, if small, home, sufficient simple food, and the assurance of the continuance of all these. Now, more than ever, Eugene's heart went forth to his wife and child. They were no longer threatened by want. They should now lack nothing needful for comfort. The little fellow was sturdy and able to walk, and it was the father's delight to go out with Nellie and him, and walk along the streets of shops and see his wife buy the things needful for their small household, and some cheap luxury or toy for their child. It was to him a sensation of great delight that he might spend a few pence, ay, even a few shillings, without mortgaging the future heavily. He seemed suddenly to have shaken off a whole inheritance of care. He laughed frequently, and made light-hearted jokes. He sang to Nellie and his boy for mere amusement, and he made humorously extravagant promises of what he should do for both when the full tide of his good fortune set in. "Dominique and I," said he, "shall draw a line on the map, from London to Constantinople, and we will toss as to who shall go east and who west, and thus we shall take the capitals of Europe by storm. Whichever goes east the first year, goes west the second. This will be fair, and thus we shall never clash. And you shall see all the capitals of Europe, Nellie, and the boy shall be poisoned with every possible sweetmeat that Europe can devise. And I shall get awfully vain of my success, and wear the most extraordinary clothes tailors can invent. And like Napoleon crossing the Alps, in the peepshows, I shall always ride a white horse. And when I go into a new town all the people shall come out and do me homage, and we'll put up at the best hotels. And they will never ask me to pay a bill. I shall simply sing a song in the morning, and kiss my hand and go. A fine life ours will be. And there you are now, Mark. There's a first-class chance for your getting a Bath bun with the legal allowance of clinker in it." Almost every evening now, Lavirotte came. He said one evening: "I am thinking of taking a house in this neighbourhood, and I like yours very well." "You will be a richer man than I am," said Eugene. "If you follow my advice you won't take a house in this street. They are all wretchedly built. Look here," he said. "None of the doors fit. Few of the latches shoot into the jambs or hasps." "That must be a great nuisance," said Lavirotte. "And how about the locks and bolts?" "Most of the locks and bolts are all right. But I am often uneasy when there is no one in the kitchen, and the bolts are not shot; for the spring-lock there enters the hasp so slightly that a good push would send the door in." "That is a pity," said Lavirotte. "But, I suppose, you are not afraid of burglars here." "Burglars! Not I! It would not be worth the while of any burglar to make a set on a house such as this. But a petty thief, a hearth-stone boy, or a degraded old clothes-man might make a raid, and carry off a few shillings' worth." "Quite true," said Lavirotte. "But I think the danger is slight. By-the-way, Eugene, I shall know the day after to-morrow something of the greatest importance, but which I may not now reveal. Something in connection with the first night at the Oberon. You will be there, of course, Mrs. O'Donnell?" "Certainly. I am most anxious to witness your

début

." "I suppose you won't take Mark?' "Oh, dear, no!" she said. "Mark is always in bed at six o'clock." "That's right," he said. "All children should be in bed early."

CHAPTER XXVI

The morning of the second day after that visit of Lavirotte to O'Donnell, he was in a state of great excitement. That was the day his fate was to be sealed, as far as the medical certificate went. Fraser and he had arranged that he should consult one of the most eminent West End physicians. He had been taking the greatest possible care of himself for some time. This morning he felt better than ever. He was determined that nothing should impair his chance of success. He rose early and had a light breakfast, which was the only meal he ever took in the tower. Then he descended the tower slowly, and walked gently along Porter Street. It was still early; much too early to call on a great West End doctor. When he got to the end of Porter Street he hailed a hansom, and told the man to drive to Hyde Park. When he got there it was about ten o'clock. The day was fine for that time of year, and he thought a walk up and down in the fresh, clear air of the Park would brace him, and make him more fit for the examination he had to undergo. "I must get my mind quiet," he thought. "I must pretend to myself this is a matter of no moment. I must not even let my mind dwell upon what my business is to-day. If I pass the examination I shall have three days for the excitement to wear off. And, no matter what the result of the examination is, I mean to sing the part. It is all very well for Fraser to say I might suffer from stage fright, but no stage fright could be equal to the anxiety I should now be suffering if I gave way to it. If I can control myself now, I could control myself then. And see, I am as calm now as the idlest man that passes me by. "It would not be fair, it would be villainously unfair, for Fraser not to let me sing the part after promising it to me. O'Donnell was promised the second part before the trial of his voice. I know the first part perfectly, every note of it, and now it would be snatching the chance of fame from me to make me stand aside because of a wretched medical certificate." At last it was time to go; and, almost as though he had passed from the Park to the great doctor's waiting-room in a dream, he found himself there, without any clear notion of any circumstances or thoughts by the way. He was fortunate this morning, and found the great man disengaged at the very moment he had appointed. The doctor was an old, good-natured, flabby, gouty-looking man. He was cheerful in his manner, and received Lavirotte as though he knew instinctively there was nothing the matter with him beyond a little hypochondriasis. In a perfectly calm and collected manner Lavirotte explained his case, and told the old physician of the business in which he was engaged, and the fact that his fitness would be put to the test three days hence. "I know," said the doctor, "I know. Your profession is one which at the outset makes great demand on the nerves." Then he asked him some questions about these slight seizures, and proceeded to his examination. He spent at least half-an-hour over the case, during which time Lavirotte's pulse did not vary. Then the old physician sat back in his chair, and looked at his visitor, still with a pleasant expression of countenance. "Of course," he said, "men of your profession are naturally very anxious to fulfil all their engagements, and it is the source of great pecuniary loss to them when they fail to do so. But you know," he added, smiling pleasantly, "we must often think of something besides money. Come, now," he said, "I am not able to give you a complete opinion of your case to-day. What would the pecuniary loss to you be, supposing you did not sing?" "Nothing," said Lavirotte. "I am paid whether I sing or do not sing. Am I not to sing?" "I won't say that to-day. Tell the manager. Let me see, this is Thursday-I would like to have till Saturday morning before finally deciding." "Then," said Lavirotte, perfectly unmoved, "you think there is some likelihood of my not being able to sing?" "Now, now, now," said the doctor, cheerfully. "Have I not told you I would like to wait till Saturday before forming an opinion?" "But my agreement is that I shall have a certificate from you three days before Saturday. That is to-day." "Let me see what can be done," said the old man, stroking his face. "I will give you a letter to the manager saying I would not like to decide finally until Saturday. But that if this delay would break your engagement, I shall give you the certificate to-day. You can drive to the theatre, and if you do not return here within two hours, I shall assume that all is well, and that I shall see you on Saturday." To this Lavirotte consented, in the same unmoved way that had characterised him during the whole interview. He took the note and drove to the Oberon. He sought Fraser and handed him the letter. At first the composer looked disconcerted. "You see, Lavirotte," he said, "there is some doubt." "Give me the benefit of that doubt till Saturday. That can do no harm. Eugene is ready to take my part if the decision is against me." "Very good," said Fraser, reluctantly. "Let us wait till Saturday." All that day and all Friday Lavirotte preserved an imperturbable calm. All that day and all Friday Fraser was in a state of feverish anxiety. "It must be a touch-and-go affair with him," he thought, "if the doctors cannot say yes at once. The least error on the part of the doctor might lead to a terrible disaster, and I have risked my reputation on this opera. If he fainted on the stage, or behind, there might be a dreadful hitch. One thing I'm determined on, that O'Donnell shall be dressed and made up for the part, and in the theatre half-an-hour before the curtain goes up." There was a full-dress rehearsal on Friday, in which Lavirotte went through his part with a calmness and certainty he had never displayed before. Of all the performers, he betrayed the least hesitancy. He took every note with perfect ease. Even Fraser was surprised, and O'Donnell congratulated him warmly when the rehearsal was over. Lavirotte left the theatre soon, and went straight to St. Prisca's Tower. "Did not Dominique sing excellently today?" said O'Donnell to Fraser. "Yes, he did," said Fraser, constrainedly. "But you know, O'Donnell, there is no trusting the future; and remember I tell you, in the most impressive way I can, that I may have to call upon you at the last moment to go on and sing the part. I am aware you know it perfectly, but I shall want to see you at the theatre not later than eleven o'clock on Saturday. And again half-an-hour before the curtain goes up you must be ready in every respect to go on. Mind, in every respect." When O'Donnell got home that evening, he told Nellie he thought there was something strange in Lavirotte's manner, and that Fraser seemed unnaturally anxious about the other's health. He then told her that Lavirotte had gone through the part adm