The national leader., 1889-04-06

proceeded with his part in the per-
| formance, but he saw none of the peo-
pie before him, save the baby-and
even the baby only served to remind
him of another face, long since lost to
him-while his thoughts and memory
were afar off in city of the sunny
| South
He remembered how in the City of
Mexico, exactly six years before, he
had loved with mad and irresistible
passion just such fair sweet face as
was the baby's in the balcony; he recol-
lected the faultless form, the natural
grace of movement and action and the
bewitching smile; he called to mind the
sunny hair and the quaint dresses of
velvet and old lace-yes, it all came
back to HIM with the baby leaning
there over the balcony rail. How he
tried to forget it all, on the stage and
off! How he had sought to bury it far
out of his sight and memory! He had
travelled East, West and North (never
Southl only at last to find the past as
fresh as ever, in the little theatre of
quiet Seedville.
Naught saw he of the footlights or
the orchestra, of the stage or the house
he was away on vine-covered ver-
anda in the outskirts of the City of
Mexico. He was telling fair young
girl of his love and alteration, and ring
ing in his ears was her cold, hard reply:
''It is impossible, tomorrow 1 am to be
married"
The second act of the play came to
an end. When the curtain rose for
the third and last act, the baby had
disappeared.
The performance was almost con-
cluded when through that terror
stricken assemblage rang the alarm of
''FireIn
Aroused from his reverles and dream
of the past Cheriton became aware that
smoke was issuing from the left wings.
He was quickly alive to the situation.
and stepping to the edge of the stage,
in loud and commanding voice he di-
rected the movements of the affrighted
men, women and children.
The fire quickly gained on the build
ing, and before the one fire engine of
Seedville could get to work the theatre
was doomed.
CheritOn was one of the last to leave
the stage, and when he did SO the dan
ger to the audience was over, for all
had reached the street. When the
alarm of fire was given Cheriton was
attired for the play as a laboring man,
without coat and vest; so dressed he ap-
peared on the street.
Standing with the crowd watching
the flames was beautiful woman, per-
haps twenty-five or twenty-six years old
AS Cheriton emerged from the building
he was cheered by the crowd, and cast
ing his eyes (from force of habit ac-
quired on the stage) along the throng
of faces, it rested on this woman.
He was seized with an inspiration,
and rushing hastily to her, he grasped
her arm tightly and almost rudely.
'Were you in the theatre tO-night?'
Yes.
'AlOne?'
NO; with my mother
NO one else-positively, no one
else?'
no one.'
'Ah,' thought Cheriton. as he hast
ened away, the child was left at home
and, doubtless, knowing where her
mother had gone, followed her to the
theatre.
By this time the fire was all over the
house and the auditorium was filled
with dense mass of smoke. But
needless of the scorching heat, the
binding and suffocating smoke. and
deaf to the warning cries of the fire.
men, Charlie Cheriton rushed into the
ill-fated building. He made his way
to the left aisle of the balcony which |
was standing yet. and there, near the |
railing fast asleep or dead, he found
the tair-halred baby girl. He grabbed |
shawl which some one had left in the |
hurry to escape, and, dashing again |
through the smoke and flames, emerged |
once more on to the street.
A loud hurrah and deafening hand |
clapping greeted him, but he walked
straight to the lady whom he had be-
fore addressed.
Here is your little girl, madam.
noticed her in the balcony this evening. |
Do not be afraid; just felt her move
and heard her try to speak. If you |
you will show me your house [ will |
carry her home for you