He followed her.

"Sup with me, Nell," he pleaded. "No word of this, I promise you."

"Heyday, I'll see how good you are, Jack," she answered, cordially.

"My second bid to sup to-night," she thought. "Who sets the better feast?"

The tiring-room door was open; and the little candles danced gleefully about the make-up mirror, for even candles seemed happy when Nell came near. The maid stood ready to a.s.sist her to a gown and wrap, that she might leave the theatre.

Nell turned. Hart still stood waiting. The spirit of kindness o'er-mastered her.

"Your hand, friend, your hand," she said, taking the manager's hand.

"When next you try to win a woman's love, don't throw away her confidence; for you will never get it back again entire."

Hart bowed his head under the rebuke; and she entered her room.

CHAPTER IV

_Flowers and Music feed naught but Love._

The manager stood 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 live," she cried, dancing about him. "I am joyed to see you, Strings!"

Turning, she saw the manager eying them with fiery glances. She knew the situation and the feeling. "Jack, is it not good to have Strings back?"

she asked, sweetly.

Hart's face grew livid with anger. He could see the merry devil dancing in her eye and on her tongue. He knew the hoyden well. "Gad, I will resign management." He turned on his heel, entered his tiring-room and closed the door, none too gently. He feared to tarry longer, lest he might say too much.

Nell broke into a merry laugh; and the fiddler chuckled.

"You desert me these days, Strings," she said, as she leaned against the table and fondly eyed the wayfarer of the tattered garments and convivial spirits.

"I don't love your lackey-in-waiting, Mistress Nell," said he, with a wink in the direction of the departed manager.

"Poor Jack. Never mind him," she said, with a roguish laugh, though with no touch of malice in it, for there was devil without malice in Nell's soul.

As she again sought the eyes of the fiddler, her face grew thoughtful.

She spoke--hesitated--and then spoke again, as if the thought gave her pain. "Have you kept your word to me, Strings, and stopped--drinking?"

she asked. The last word fell faintly, tremblingly, from her lips--almost inaudibly.

"Mistress Nell, I--I--" Strings's eyes fell quickly.

Nell's arm was lovingly about him in an instant. "There, there; don't tell me, Strings. Try again, and come and see me often." There was a delicacy in her voice and way more beautiful than the finest acting. The words had hurt her more than him. She changed her manner in an instant.

Not so with Strings. The tears were in his eyes. "Mistress Nell, you are so good to me," he said; "and I am such a wretch."

"So you are, Strings," and she laughed merrily.

"I have taught my little ones at home who it is that keeps the wolf from our door," he continued.

"Not a word of that!" she exclaimed, reprovingly. "Poor old fellow!" Her eyes grew big and bright as she reflected on the days she had visited the fiddler's home and on the happiness her gifts had brought his children. For her, giving was better than receiving. The feeling sprang from the fulness of her own joy at seeing those about her happy, and not from the teachings of priests or prelates. Dame Nature was her sole preceptor in this.

"I'll bring the babes another sugar plum to-morrow. I haven't a farthing to-night. Moll ran away with the earnings, and there is no one left to rob," she said.

"Heyday," and she ran lightly to the vase and caught up the flowers.

"Take the flowers to the bright eyes, to make them brighter." They would at least add cheerfulness to the room where Strings lived until she could bring something better.

As she looked at the roses, she began to realize how dear they were becoming to herself, for they were the King's gift; and her heart beat quickly and she touched the great red petals lovingly with her lips.

Strings took the flowers awkwardly; and, as he did so, something fell upon the floor. He knelt and picked it up, in his eagerness letting the roses fall.

"A ring among the flowers, Mistress Nell," he cried.

"A ring!" she exclaimed, taking the jewel quickly. Her lips pressed the setting. "Bless his heart! A ring from his finger," she continued half aloud. "Is it not handsome, Strings?" Her eyes sparkled brightly and there was a triumphant smile upon her lips.

The fiddler's face, however, was grave; his eyes were on the floor.

"How many have rings like that, while others starve," he mused, seriously.