"It--it was Sargent," faltered the old actor.
"I thought so!" came from Merriwell. "It was what I might expect of him! The wretch! See what he has done! See what you have done! Look at that poor girl!"
"Silence! You struck her, knocked her down, kicked her! You should spend the rest of your days in prison for that! Oh, what devilish stuff whisky is!"
"That's right--that's right!" fluttered the father, eagerly catching at Frank's words. "It was the whisky did it! Why, I wouldn't strike my girl--my poor little girl! It was the cursed whisky did it!"
Cassie had not stirred; she still lay face downward, curled in a position of pain. She did not seem to breathe.
"She's badly hurt!" said the leading lady, bending over the little soubrette. "Somebody bring water. She's fainted!"
Outside the door of the dressing room there was a shout.
"What's this? Cassie hurt? Back--let me in! Get away!"
Roscoe Havener tore a way through to the door and came panting into the room. In a moment he was kneeling on the floor, and had gathered the little soubrette in his arms. Her head hung back, the blonde wig falling off and showing her black hair beneath. Her eyes, lined along the lashes with a black pencil, were closed. The paint on her cheeks hid the pallor of her face, but she looked ghastly even then.
A great groan broke from Havener's heart.
"She is dead," he cried. "Oh, my darling--my own little sweetheart!"
"Eh?" grunted the old man. "What's that. What'd he call her? He ain't no right to----"
The old actor struggled as if he'd jump on the stage manager, but Frank held him in check.
"See--can't you see!" panted old Dan. "Havener--he's got her in his arms! He's callin' her his darling! Can't you see?"
"He's married! He ain't no right to touch her! I'm the one to hold her!"
"You should be placed where you could never see her again, you old brute!" declared Frank, his feelings getting the best of him. "There is no manhood left in your old body when you have been drinking."
Before them all, Havener kissed Cassie's painted lips again and again, sobbing like a child.
"Oh, my dear little girl--my own little girl! Dead! dead! dead!"
"She ain't dead!" cried old Dan, hoarsely. "She can't be dead! I know better! I won't have it!"