CHAPTER XXI.

TROUBLE FOLLOWS.

Cassie Lee found Frank looking through the peep-hole at the gathering audience.

"There," she said, "now I guess you'll believe Ross is your friend."

"Yes," Merry nodded; "he certainly did me a good turn in handling Sargent. I never expected that fellow would be the first to raise a kick."

"Knew it would be just like him," said the soubrette, leaning wearily against one of the wings and heaving a sigh.

Frank heard that sigh and faced about quickly.

"Cassie," he said, with anxiety, "you are not feeling well to-night. Your medicine has not cured you?"

She did not look him straight in the face, as she slowly answered:

"No, Frank, my medicine did not cure me, but it helped me go on and play. I was afraid I'd not be able to do that much."

"What is the matter, Cassie?"

"Oh, the same old trouble, Frank--just a lack of nerve and life. I'm discouraged, too."

"About what?"

She hesitated, and then of a sudden she answered:

"I may as well tell you. It's about pop."

"Your father?"

"That's right."

"What's the matter about him?"

"Haven't you noticed?"

"Well, I--that is--I have seen that--that, he----"

"That's he taken to drinking again--that's it."

Now, although old Dan Lee had been drinking for several days, Merry had fancied Cassie was not aware of the fact, and had done everything possible to keep the knowledge from her. Frank had hoped the old actor would stop without getting on one of the "howling sprees" for which he had made a record.

When he was not drinking, old Dan was one of the kindest and most loving of parents. He literally adored his daughter, guarding her with a jealousy that, at times, was rather troublesome to Cassie herself.

For her sake old Dan had done his best to leave off drinking. He had fought the demon with all his power, but it had fastened its iron grip upon him in such a manner that he was not able to fling it off entirely.

And now he was drinking again. He was trying to do it on the sly, promising himself that he would soon straighten up and would not get on one of the old-time sprees.

"Yes, Cassie," admitted Frank, "I know he has been drinking, but I don't think it will amount to anything this time."

She shook her head mournfully.

"You don't know him, Frank."

"How did you discover he was drinking?"

"How? Why, I can tell as soon as he takes the first glass. I can always tell. There is that in his manner, his voice, his eyes, that tells me."

"But he thinks you do not know."

"Yes, yes, he thinks so."

"You have kept it from him."

"Poor pop! I let him think he is fooling me."

"It is better. Perhaps he will straighten up without--without----"

"I know what you mean, but I'm afraid not. I can see that he is getting worse and worse, although he is doing his best to remain the master. When the stuff becomes his master, then--oh, Frank!"

She put her thin hands over her face and shuddered. He felt like taking the poor little soubrette, whose life had been so devoid of sunshine, in his arms and trying to soothe her.

Cassie was restless beneath Frank's gaze.

"Why do you look at me like that?" she asked, almost petulantly. "You look so queer, Frank! You almost seem to be accusing me with your eyes."

"Don't misunderstand me, Cassie," he quickly implored. "I would not accuse you. Don't think that--don't!"

"But----"

"What should I accuse you of, Cassie?"

"Oh, you might think--that I--you might think something," she answered, evasively.

Those words aroused a suspicion within him. He started, and the thought that flashed through his brain gave him a shock.

She noticed that start, and she turned away. He reached out quickly, gently grasping her arm.

"Wait a moment more, Cassie," he urged. "I want to talk with you a little longer."

She looked back at him with those sad eyes.

"Don't, Frank!" she entreated. "I'm afraid I know what you are going to say. I--I couldn't help it, Frank--indeed, I couldn't! It was for you that I did it!"

"For me!"

He actually staggered. Now his suspicion was swiftly becoming an assurance.

"Yes," she whispered, "for you. It was my duty to go on--my duty to play, no matter how I felt. I had to do it somehow. If I didn't feel like it, then I had to make myself feel like it, and so----"

"And so you--you----"

"I had to do it, I tell you!" she exclaimed, with something like real spirit. "I didn't think you--would--reproach me!"

"Oh, Cassie, Cassie! I am not reproaching you, my dear girl! But I thought you had gained strength through prayer--such strength that you no longer needed the dreadful drug, for I am led to believe you are using it again."

"Yes, I'm using it," she confessed, almost sullenly.

"Since when?"

"Since you gave me the money in Hartland."

Frank fell back.

"Was that it?" he gasped. "Was that why you wanted the money? You wanted it not to enable you to buy medicine, but----"

"Morphine's medicine for me now. I tell you I had to have it. I couldn't go on that night without it. I knew I'd ruin the play if I