Mr. Bowers, the manager, sat at his desk in the little office adjoining the stage, running his eye over a manuscript play presented for examination by an ambitious young man in spectacles.

“Bah!” said the manager, tossing aside the play after a very brief examination, “what can the man be thinking of? Two murders in the first act, and a suicide in the first scene of the second! Such an accumulation of horrors will never do. Here, Jeffries.”

The messenger made his appearance, and stood awaiting orders.

“Here,” said Mr. Bowers, tossing the play towards him, “just do this thing up, and when the author calls this afternoon, tell him from me that it is a very brilliant production, and so on, but, like Addison’s Cato, for example, not adapted for dramatic representation. That will sugar the pill.”

“Is it the tall young man, with a thin face?”

“Yes; his name is Ichabod Smith; but he writes under the nom de plume of Lionel Percy.”

“Yes, sir; I have seen his name in the story papers. He has just written one called ‘The Goblin Lover; or, The Haunted Tower.’”

“Any further orders, sir?” inquired Jeffries, deferentially.

“Has Miss Ford come?”

“No, sir; I think not.”

“Notice when she does, and request her to call at the office a moment.”

“Yes, sir.”

“It is no more than fair that I should increase her salary,” soliloquized Mr. Bowers. “She has really proved quite a card, and richly deserves double what I have hitherto paid. Besides,” he mused, for the manager was by no means neglectful of his own interests, “I should not be surprised if another establishment should try to entice her away by a larger offer. I must bind her till the end of the season.”

At this moment Helen was announced by Jeffries.

She entered, not without a little feeling of embarrassment. She had not often been brought into communication with Mr. Bowers, since her engagement, and now the only reason that occurred to her to account for this unexpected summons was, that she might in some way have given dissatisfaction, although the applause which greeted her nightly seemed hardly consistent with this idea.

Her apprehensions were at once dispelled by the unusually gracious manner in which she was received.

“I am glad to see you, Miss Ford,” said Mr. Bowers, affably; motioning her to a seat. “I have sent for you to say that your services are in the highest degree acceptable to me and to the public. The marks of approval which you receive nightly must be very gratifying to you as they are to me.”

Quite overpowered by this extraordinary condescension on the part of the manager, whom she had been accustomed to regard with a feeling of distant awe and respect, Helen answered that she was very glad that he was satisfied with her.

“To prove how highly I value your services,” continued Mr. Bowers, “I have decided to double your weekly salary, provided you will sign an engagement to remain with us till the end of the season.”

Helen, who had feared on being summoned to the manager’s presence, that it was to be told that her services were dispensed with, hardly knew how to express her gratitude for what was so far beyond her expectations.

“It is very generous in you, sir,” she said, “to increase my salary without my asking for it.”

“I always make it a point,” was the reply, “to recompense merit to the extent of my means.”

“And now,” he added, pushing towards her a contract already drawn up, “if you will sign this obligation to sing for me the remainder of the season on these terms, I shall have no further cause to trespass on your time.”

Helen wrote her name hastily, and withdrew from the manager’s presence, it being already time for rehearsal.

“A very pretty little girl, and not at all aware of her own value,” mused Mr. Bowers. “I am lucky to have secured her.”

Eager to communicate her increase of salary to her father and good Martha Grey, who had always shown so warm an interest in her welfare, Helen hastened home immediately after rehearsal.

Flushed with exercise, and with a bright smile playing over her face, she danced into Martha Grey’s little room.

“O Martha!” she ejaculated, sinking into a chair, “I am all out of breath running, I was so anxious to tell you of my good fortune. You are the very first that I wanted to tell it to.”

“What is it, Helen?” inquired Martha, looking up from her never-ceasing work with an expression of interest.

“What do you think it is? Guess now,” said Helen, smiling.

“I never was good at guessing, Helen. I think the shortest way will be to tell me at once.”

“I have had my salary raised to twelve dollars a week; just think of that, Martha: and all without my asking. I shall be able to buy ever so many nice things for papa, now, that I couldn’t afford before; and I mean to make you a present, besides, Martha; you’ve been so very kind to me.”

“Thank you for the kind thought, my dear child. I will take the will for the deed. But you mustn’t think yourself too rich. If you have any money to spare you had better be laying it up against a time of need. Remember the theatre will be closed for a time in the summer, and your salary will stop. You will want to lay up money to carry you through that time.”

“At any rate, Martha, if you won’t let me spend any money for you, I shall insist on coming in now and then and helping you with your work, so that you can gain time to walk out with me. I am afraid you work too hard. You are looking pale.”

“It is long since I had much color,” said Martha. “You have enough for us both.”

“Then you must go out and get some. But I mustn’t stop a minute longer; I must go up and tell papa;” and she bounded up stairs with a light heart, little suspecting what had taken place during her absence.

What was her surprise to find her father listlessly looking out of the window into the little court below, and otherwise quite unoccupied.

“What is the matter, papa?” inquired Helen, in apprehension; “and where,” for the first time noticing the absence of the work which usually engaged her father,—“where is your machine?”

“It is gone, my child,” said Mr. Ford, despondently.

“Gone! what do you mean, papa? You have not got discouraged, and sent it away?”

“Discouraged! No, Helen; on the contrary, I never felt nearer success than I did a few hours since. But all is changed now.”

“What has become of it, papa?” questioned Helen, in increasing alarm.

“It has been seized for debt, Helen.”

“For debt?”

“Yes; for the note which I gave Mr. Sharp. I had not the money to pay it, so they carried off my machine for security.”

“Is it possible he has been so cruel and unfeeling?” exclaimed Helen, indignantly.

“Do not blame him, my child. I am convinced that it is far from his intention to trouble or distress us. But he parted with the note a day or two since, as he himself told me, on the express condition that it should not be presented for payment, and this stipulation has been disregarded.”

“And how large was this note, papa?”

“For three hundred dollars.”

“Three hundred! I thought it was only two hundred that were lent you.”

“That was my own impression,” said Mr. Ford, with an air of perplexity. “But you know,” he continued, with a melancholy smile, “that I have no head for business. I have been so occupied in other ways. It is quite possible that I have made a mistake.”

“I am afraid,” said Helen, gravely, “that Mr. Sharp is not so much your friend as you imagine.”

“Not my friend, Helen? He offered to lend me this money voluntarily, without any expectation of immediate return. I am certain that when he hears of this affair, he will hasten to make it right.”

“Perhaps I do him wrong,” said Helen, thoughtfully, “and indeed I do not know what good it would do him to annoy us. But, papa, there is one thing I haven’t told you,—a piece of great good news. I have had my salary doubled at the theatre. I shall earn twelve dollars a week. Think of that, papa.”

“But are you not working too hard, Helen?”

“I, working hard! It is only a pleasure for me to sing. I am very lucky in being paid for what I would rather do than not. It is different with poor Martha. She doesn’t earn more than four dollars a week, and has to sit at her sewing from morning till night. I wish I could do something to help her. She looks so tired and pale all the time.”

“God has favored you, my child, in bestowing upon you so choice a gift. I hope you do not fail to thank him for this goodness.”

“Never, papa. I thank him every night.”

“How much money have you left, papa?” she inquired, after a pause.

“I don’t know exactly how much. I had better give it to you to help pay our daily expenses.”

“There are one hundred and twenty dollars,” said Helen, counting it. “Then we shall need one hundred and eighty to make up the balance of the sum mentioned in the note.”

“Surely, I cannot have expended that sum,” said Mr. Ford, with a perplexed look. “If I could see Mr. Sharp?”

“I will go and see him, papa.”

“Perhaps it will be best.”

In five minutes Helen was on her way to the lawyer’s office.