THE CRY OF ALRESCA

As I left the box in the wake of Sir Cyril and Mr. Nolan, Sullivan jumped up to follow us, and the last words I heard were from Emmeline.

“Sullivan, stay here. You shall not go near that woman,” she exclaimed in feverish and appealing tones: excitement had once more overtaken her. And Sullivan stayed.

“Berger here?” Sir Cyril asked hurriedly of Nolan.

“Yes, sir.”

“Send some one for him. I’ll get him to take Alresca’s part. He’ll have to sing it in French, but that won’t matter. We’ll make a new start at the duet.”

“But Rosa?” said Nolan.