CHAPTER XXIV
THE OPENING OF THE DOOR
"Allegro!"
The utterance was very faint, yet it reached Olga, sitting, as she had sat for hours, by her friend's side, watching the long, still slumber that had followed Max's draught.
She bent instantly over the girl upon the bed, and warmly clasped her hand. "I am here, darling."
The shadows were lengthening. Evening was drawing on. Very soon it would be dark.
"Allegro!" The low voice said again. It held a note of unutterable weariness, yet there was pleading in it too. The hand Olga had taken closed with a faint, answering pressure.
"Are you wanting anything?" whispered Olga, her face close to the face upon the pillow, the beautiful face she had watched, with what a passion of devotion, during the long, long afternoon.
"Have you been here all the time?" murmured Violet.
"Yes, dear."
"How sweet of you, Allegro!" The dark eyes opened wider; they seemed to be watching something very intently, something that Olga could not see. "I suppose you thought I was asleep," she said.
"Yes, dear."
"I wasn't," said Violet. "I was just—away."
Olga was silent. The clasp of her hand was very close.
"My dear," Violet said, "I've been there again."
"Where, dearest?"
"I've been right up to the Gate of Heaven," she said. "It's very lovely up there, Allegro. I wanted to stay."
"Did you, dear?"
"Yes. I didn't mean to come back again. I didn't want to come back." A sudden spasm contracted her brows. "What happened before I went, Allegro? I'm sure something happened."
Very tenderly Olga sought to reassure her. "You were ill, dear. You were upset. But you are better now. Don't let us think about it."
"Ah! I remember!" Violet raised herself abruptly. Her eyes shone wide with terror in the failing light. "Allegro!" she said. "I—killed him!"
"No, no, dear!" Olga's hand tenderly pressed her down again. "He is only—a little—hurt. You didn't know what you were doing."
But recollection was dawning in the seething brain. One memory after another pierced through the turmoil. "I had to do it!" she whispered. "He is so cruel. He keeps me back. He holds the door when I want to get away. Allegro, why won't he let me go? I'm nothing to him. He doesn't love me. He doesn't—even—hate me." A great shudder ran through her. She fell back upon the pillow as though her strength were gone. "Oh, why won't he open the door and let me go?" She moaned piteously. "Why does he keep bringing me back? I know I shall kill him. I shall be driven to it. And it's such a horrible thing to do—that dreadful soft feeling under the knife, and the blood—the blood—oh, Allegro!"
She tried to raise herself again, and was caught into Olga's arms. She turned her face into her neck and shuddered.
"I'm not mad now," she whispered. "Really I'm not mad now! But I soon shall be. I can feel it coming back. My brain is like—a fiery wheel. Oh, don't let it come again, Allegro! Help me—help me to get away—before it comes again!"
Olga strained her to her heart, saying no word.
"They'll shut me up," the broken whisper continued. "I shall never find my soul again. I shan't even have you, and there's no one else I love. All the rest are strangers. Only he will come and look at me with his cruel, cold green eyes, and I shall kill him—I know I shall kill him—unless they bind me hand and foot. Allegro! Allegro!" She was shivering violently now. "Perhaps they will do that. It's happened before, hasn't it? 'Bound hand and foot and cast into outer darkness.' That's hell, isn't it? Oh, Olga, shall I be sent to hell if I kill him?"
"My darling, hush, hush!" Olga's arms held her faster still. "There is no such place," she said—"at least not in the sense you mean. You are torturing yourself, dear one, and you mustn't. Don't dwell on these dreadful things! You are quite, quite safe, here in my arms, with the love of God round us. Think of that, and don't be afraid!"
"But I am afraid," moaned Violet. "It's the outer darkness, Allegro. And you won't be there. And the door will be shut—always shut. Oh, can't you do anything to save me? You're not like Max. You're not paid to keep people back. Can't you—can't you find a way out for me? Couldn't you open the prison-door before he comes again, and let me slip through? I've never been a prisoner before. I've always come and gone as I liked. And now—twice over—he has dragged me back from the Gate of Paradise. Oh, Allegro, I shall never get there unless you help me. Quick, dear, quick! Help me now!"
She had turned in Olga's arms. She raised an imploring face. She clung about her neck.
"Isn't there a way of escape?" she urged feverishly. "Can't you think of one?"
But Olga looked back in silence, white and still.
"Allegro, don't you love me? Don't you want me to be happy?" Incredulity, despair were in the pleading voice. "Don't you believe in paradise either, Allegro? Do you want me to be shut away in the dark—buried alive—buried alive?"
There was suddenly a note of anguish in the appeal. Violet drew herself slowly away, as though her friend's arms had ceased to be a haven to her.
But instantly, with a swiftness that was passionate, Olga caught her back.
"I would die for you, my darling! I would sell my soul for you!" she said, and fierce mother-love throbbed in her voice. "But what can I do? O God! what can I do?"
Her voice broke, and she stilled it sharply, as if taken off her guard.
"Can't you open the door for me?" Violet begged again. "Don't you know how?"
But still Olga had no answer for the cry. Only she held her fast.
There followed a long, long pause; then again Violet spoke, more collectedly than she had spoken at all.
"Do you know what that man said to me this morning? He told me I should be a homicidal maniac—like my mother. I didn't realize at the time what that meant. I was too horrified. I know now. And it was the truth. That's what I want you to save me from. Allegro, won't you save me?"
"My darling, how can I?" The words were spoken below Olga's breath. The gathering darkness was closing upon them both.
Violet freed a hand and softly stroked her cheek. "Don't be afraid, dear! No one—but I—will ever know. And I— Allegro, I shall bless you for ever and ever. Wait!" She suddenly started, with caught breath. "Are we alone?"
"Mrs. Briggs is outside, dear," Olga told her gently.
"Oh! Dear old Nanny! She would never hold me back. She would understand.
Do you remember how she told us—that afternoon—about her mother?"
Yes, well Olga remembered. She had never forgotten. Back upon her mind flashed that vivid memory, and with it the memory of Max's eyes, green and intent, searching her face on the night that he had asked, "What do you know about the pain-killer?"
Violet's voice brought her back. "Where is he, Allegro? Is he still here?"
"No." Almost unconsciously Olga also spoke in a whisper. "He has gone back to Weir," she said. "He had to go; but—"
"But he will come back?" gasped Violet.
"Yes."
"Ah! And he may be here—at any time?" The words came quick and feverish; again that painful trembling seized her.
"He won't come in here," Olga said steadfastly.
"He will! He will!" breathed Violet. "I know him. There is nothing—he will not do—for the sake of his—profession." She broke off, gripping Olga with tense strength. "And I've nothing to defend myself with!" she panted. "They have taken—the knife—away!"
Tenderly Olga soothed her panic. "It will be all right, dear. I can take care of you. I can keep him away."
Violet relaxed against her again, exhausted rather than reassured. "And where is Nick?" she murmured presently.
"Downstairs, darling; in the hall."
"On guard," said Violet quickly. "What shall I do? Oh, what shall I do?"
"My dearest, no! Only he wouldn't leave me. You know what pals we are," urged Olga. "Besides, you like Nick."
"Oh, yes; he amuses me. He is clever, isn't he? What was that he said about—about the opening—and the shutting—of a Door?"
Spasmodically the words fell. The failing brain was making desperate efforts against the gathering dark.
"He was speaking of Death," said Olga, her voice very low.
"Yes, yes! He said he wouldn't be afraid. And I'm sure he knew. He must have seen Death very often."
"I don't know, darling."
"Of course, the opening of the Door is to let us escape," ran on the feverish whisper. "And then it shuts, and we can't get back. But no one ever wants to get back, Allegro. Who ever wanted to go back into the prison-house—and the dreadful, dreadful dark?"
But Olga made no answer. With set face and quiet eyes she was waiting. And already at the heart of her she knew that when the moment came she would not flinch.
"And how lovely to be free—to be free!" Soft and eager came the whisper from her breast. "Never to be dragged back any more. To leave the dark behind for ever and ever. For it isn't dark up there, you know. It's never dark up there. You can see the light shining even through the Gates. And God couldn't be angry, Allegro. Do you think He could?"
"Not with you, my darling! Not with you!"
"So you'll let me go," said Violet, with growing earnestness. "You'll help me to go, Allegro? You will? You will?"
"My darling, I will!" Quick and passionate came the answer. The time had come.
For a few moments the arms that held her tightened to an almost fierce embrace; then slowly relaxed.
"Dear heart, I knew you would," said Violet.
She leaned back upon her pillow as Olga gently let her go, and through the deepening dusk she watched her with eyes of perfect trust.
There followed a pause, the tinkle of glass, the sound of liquid being poured out. Then Olga was with her again, very still and quiet.
Softly the door opened. "Anything I can do, Miss Olga?" murmured Mrs.
Briggs.
"Nothing, thank you," said Olga.
"That young Dr. Wyndham—'e's just come back," said Mrs. Briggs.
Olga turned for a moment from the bed. The glass was in her hand.
"Go down to him, Mrs. Briggs," she said. "Ask him to wait five minutes."
"Allegro!" There was agonized appeal in the cry.
She turned back instantly. "It's all right, dearest. It's all right.
Mind how you take it! There! Let me! Your hand is trembling."
She leaned over her friend, supporting her, holding the glass to her lips.
"Drink it slowly!" she whispered to the quivering girl. "You are quite safe—quite safe."
And Violet drank,—at first feverishly, then more steadily, and at last she took the glass into her own hand and slowly drained it. Olga waited beside her, took it quietly from her; set it down.
"Quite comfy, sweetheart?"
"Quite," said Violet. And then, "Come quite close, Allegro dear!"
Olga sat down upon the bed, and took her into her arms, "You don't mind the dark?" she whispered.
And Violet answered. "No. I've passed it. I'm not afraid of anything now."
There fell a silence between them. A great, all-enveloping peace had succeeded the turmoil. Violet's breathing was short but not difficult. She lay nestled in the sheltering arms like a weary child. And slowly the seconds slipped away.
There came a faint sound outside the door as of muffled movements, and Cork, from his post at the foot of the bed, raised his head and deeply growled.
Sleepily the head on Olga's shoulder stirred. "It doesn't matter now," said Violet's voice, speaking softly. "He can never bring me back again." And then, still more softly, in a kind of breathless ecstasy, "The Door is opening, Allegro—darling! Let me—go!"
The words went into a deep sigh that somehow did not seem to end. Olga waited a moment or two, listening tensely, then rose and laid her very tenderly back upon the pillow. She knew that even as she did so, her friend passed through …
Slowly she turned from the bed, as one in a dream, unconscious of tragedy, untouched by fear or agitation or any emotion whatsoever. All feeling seemed to be unaccountably suspended.
The figure of a big man met her on the threshold. She looked at him with wide, incurious eyes, recognizing him without surprise.
"You are too late," she said.
He started, and bent to look at her closely.
From the deep shadow behind her arose Cork's ominous growl. She turned back into the room.
"May I come in?" Sir Kersley asked in his gentle voice.
With her hand upon Cork's collar, she answered him. "Yes, come in. I am afraid it is rather dark. Will you wait while Mrs. Briggs brings a candle?"
Someone else had entered behind Sir Kersley. She heard a quick, decided tread; and again more ferociously Cork growled.
"Take that dog away!" ordered Max.
Mechanically she moved to obey, Cork accompanying her reluctantly. In the passage she found a strange woman in a nurse's uniform, and Nick. He came to her instantly, and she felt his arm about her with a vague sensation of relief.
"Still sleeping?" he asked.
She answered him quite calmly; at that moment it was no effort to be calm.
"No, Nick; she has gone away."
"What?" he said sharply.
"Won't you take her downstairs?" interposed the nurse, and Olga wondered a little at the compassion in her voice. "She would be the better for a cup of tea."
"So she would," said Nick. "Come along, Olga mia!"
His arm was about her still. They went down the wide dim stairs, he and she and the great wolf-hound who submitted to Olga's hand upon him though plainly against his own judgment.
There were candles in the hall, making the vast place seem more vast and ghostly. The east window was discernible only as a vague oblong patch of grey against the surrounding darkness.
"The electric light has gone wrong," said Nick, as she looked at him in momentary surprise.
"I see," she said. "It must have been the storm." She looked down at Cork pacing beside her. "Poor fellow!" she murmured. "He doesn't understand."
"Come and sit down!" said Nick.
Tea had been spread in the place of luncheon. He led her to the table and pulled forward a chair. She sank into it with a sudden shiver.
"Cold?" he said.
"Yes, horribly cold, Nick," she answered.
She tried to smile, but her lips were too stiff. A very curious feeling was creeping over her, a species of cramp that was mental as well as physical. She leaned back in her chair, staring straight before her, seeing nothing.
Nick went round to the tea-pot. She heard him pouring out, but she could not turn her head.
"I ought to do that," she said.
"All right, dear. I'm capable," he answered.
And then in his deft fashion he came to her with the cup, and sat on the arm of her chair, holding it for her.
"Don't try to talk," he said. "Just drink this and sit still."
She leaned her head against him, feeling his vitality as one feels the throb of an electric battery.
"Do you think God is angry with me, Nick?" she said. "She wanted to go—so dreadfully."
"God is never angry with any of us," he answered softly. "We are not big enough for that. There, drink it, sweetheart! It will do you good."
She raised her two hands slowly, feeling as if they were weighted with iron fetters. With flickering eyes he watched her, in a fashion compelling though physically he could not help. She lifted the cup and drank.
The candlelight reeled and danced in her eyes. Her dazed senses began to awake. "Nick!" she exclaimed suddenly and sharply.
"Here, darling!" came his prompt reply.
She set down the empty cup, and clasped her hands tightly together.
"Nick!" she said again, in a voice of rising distress.
His hand slid down and held hers. "What is it, kiddie?"
She turned to him impulsively. "Oh, Nick, I've made a great mistake—a great mistake! I ought not to have let her go alone. She will be frightened. I should have gone with her."
"My child," Nick said, "for God's sake—don't say any more! This isn't the time."
And even as she wondered at the unwonted vehemence of his speech, she knew that they were no longer alone.
Max came swiftly through the shadowy archway and moved straight towards her. A white sling dangled from his neck, but it was empty. She thought his hands were clenched.
Scarcely knowing what she did, she rose to meet him, forcing her rigid limbs into action. He came to her; he took her by the shoulders.
"Olga," he said, "how did this happen?"
She faced him, but even as she did so she was conscious of an awful coldness overwhelming her, as though at his touch her whole body had turned to ice. His eyes looked straight into hers, searching her with intolerable minuteness, probing her through and through. And from those eyes she shrank in nameless terror; for they were the eyes of her dream, green, ruthless, terrible. He looked to her like a man whose will might compel the dead.
For a long, long space he held her so, silent but merciless. She did not attempt to resist him. She felt that he had already forced his way past her defences, that he was as it were dissecting and analyzing her very soul. She had not answered his question, but she knew that he would not repeat it. She knew that he did not need an answer.
And then the coldness that bound her became by slow degrees a numbness, paralyzing her faculties, extinguishing all her powers. There arose a great uproar in her brain, the swirl as of great waters engulfing her. She raised her head with a desperate gesture. She met the searching of his eyes, and goaded as it were to self-defence, with the last of her strength, she told him the simple truth.
"I have opened the Door!" she said. "I have set her free!"
She thought his face changed at her words, but she could not see very clearly. She had begun to slip down and down, faster and ever faster into a fathomless abyss of darkness from which there was no deliverance. And as she went she heard his voice above her, brief, distinct, merciless: "And you will pay the price." … The darkness closed over her head….
CHAPTER XXV
THE PRICE
That darkness was to Olga but the beginning of a long, long night of suffering—such suffering as her short life had never before compassed—such suffering as she had never imagined the world could hold.
It went in a slow and dreadful circle, this suffering, like the turning of a monstrous wheel. Sometimes it was so acute that she screamed with the red-hot agony of it. At other times it would draw away from her for a space, so that she was vaguely conscious that the world held other things, possibly even other forms of torture. Such intervals were generally succeeded by intense cold, racking, penetrating cold that nothing could ever alleviate, cold that was as Death itself, freezing her limbs to stiffness, congealing the blood in her veins, till even her heart grew slower and slower, and at last stood still.
Then, when it seemed the end of all things had come, some unknown power would jerk it on again like a run-down watch in which the key had suddenly been inserted, and she would feel the key grinding round and round and round in a winding-up process that was even more dreadful than the running-down. Then would come agonies of heat and thirst, a sense of being strung to breaking-point, and her heart would race and race till, appalled, she clasped it with her fevered hands and held it back, feeling herself on the verge of destruction.
And through all this dreadful nightmare she never slept. She was hedged about by a fiery ring of sleeplessness that scorched her eyeballs whichever way she turned, giving her no rest. Sometimes indeed dreams came to her, but they were waking dreams of such vivid horror as almost to dwarf her reality of pain. She moved continually through a furnace that only abated when the exhausted faculties began to run down and the deathly chill took her into fresh torments.
Once, lying very near to death, she opened her sleepless eyes upon Max's face. He was stooping over her, holding her nerveless hand very tightly in his own while he pressed a needle-point into her arm. That, she knew, was the preliminary to the winding-up process. It had happened to her before—many times she fancied.
She made a feeble—a piteously feeble—effort to resist him. On the instant his eyes were upon her face. She saw the green glint of them and quivered at the sight. His face was as carved granite in the weird light that danced so fantastically to her reeling brain.
"Yes," he said grimly. "You are coming back."
Then she knew that his will, indomitable, inflexible, was holding her fast, heedless of all the longing of her heart to escape. Then she knew that he, and only he, was the unknown power that kept her back from peace, forcing her onward in that dread circle, compelling her to live in torment. And in that moment she feared him as the victim fears the torturer, not asking for mercy, partly because she lacked the strength and partly because she knew—how hopelessly!—that she would ask in vain.
He did not speak to her again. He was fully occupied, it seemed, with what he had to do. Only, when he had finished, he put his hand over her eyes, compelling them to close, and so remained for what seemed to her a long, long time. For a while she vibrated like a sensitive instrument under his touch, and then very strangely there stole upon her for the first time a sense of comfort. When he took his hand away, she was asleep….
Max turned at last from the bed, nodded briefly to the nurse, and went as silently as a shadow from the room.
Another shadow waited for him on the threshold, and in the light of the passage outside the room they stood face to face.
"She will live," said Max curtly.
"And—" said Nick. He was blinking very rapidly as one dazzled.
"Yes; her reason is coming back. She knew me just now."
"Knew you!"
Max nodded without speaking.
Nick turned his yellow face for a moment towards the open window on the stairs. His lips twitched a little. He said no word.
Max leaned against the wall, and passed his handkerchief over his forehead. Sharp as a ferret, Nick turned.
"Come downstairs, old chap! You've been working like a nigger for the past fortnight. You'll knock up if you are not careful."
Max went with him in silence.
At the foot of the stairs he spoke again. "I shall hand her over to Dr. Jim now. She will do better with him than with me as she gets more sensible."
And so a new presence came into Olga's room, and the figure of her dread appeared no more before her waking eyes. Not at first did she realize the change, for it was only fitfully that her brain could register any definite impression. But one day when strong hands lifted her, something of familiarity in the touch caught her wavering intelligence. She looked up and saw a rugged face she knew.
"Dad!" she said incredulously.
"Of course!" said Dr. Jim bluntly. "Only just found that out?"
She made a feeble attempt to cling to him, smiling a welcome through tears. "Oh, Dad, where have you been?"
"I?" said Dr. Jim. "Why, here to be sure, for the past week. Now we won't have any talking. You shut your eyes like a sensible young woman and go to sleep!"
He had always exacted obedience from her. She obeyed him now. "But you won't go away again?" she pleaded.
"Certainly not," he said, and took her hand into his own.
The last thing she knew was the steady pressure of his fingers on her pulse.
From that time her strength began very slowly to return. The suffering grew less and less intense, till at last it visited her only when she tried to think. And this she was sternly forbidden to do by Dr. Jim, whose word was law.
She was like a little child in those days, conscious only of the passing moment, although even then at the back of her mind she was aware of a monstrous shadow that was never wholly absent day or night. Her father and the nurse were the only people she saw during those early days, and she came to watch for the former's coming with a child's eager impatience.
"I dreamed about Nick last night," she told him one morning. "I wish he would come home, don't you?"
"What do you want Nick for?" he said, possessing himself of her wrist as usual.
"I don't know," she said, knitting her brows. "But it's such a long while since he went away."
He laid his hand on her forehead, and smoothed the lines away. "If you're a good girl," he said, "you shall go and stay with Nick at Redlands when you are well enough."
She looked up at him with puzzled eyes. "I thought Nick was in India,
Daddy."
"He was," said Dr. Jim. "But he has come back."
"Then he is at Redlands?" she asked eagerly.
He met her look with his black brows drawn in a formidable frown. "Go slow!" he said. "Yes, he is staying at Redlands."
"Oh, may he come and see me?" she begged.
Dr. Jim considered the point. "If you will promise to keep very quiet," he said finally, "I will let you see him for five minutes only."
"Now?" she asked eagerly.
"Yes, now," said Dr. Jim.
He rose with the words and went out of the room, leaving her struggling to fulfil his condition.
She thought he would return to satisfy himself on this point, but he did not. When the door opened again it was to admit Nick alone.
She held out her arms to him, and in a second he was beside her, holding her fast.
"My poor little chicken!" he said, and though there seemed to be a laugh in his voice she fancied he was in some fashion more moved than she.
"They've cut off all my hair, Nick," she said. "That's the worst of scarlet fever, isn't it?"
"Hair will grow again, sweetheart," he said. "At least, yours will. Mine won't. I'm going as bald as a coot."
They laughed together over this calamity which was becoming undeniably obvious.
"You never did have much thatch, did you, Nick?" she said. "And I suppose India has spoilt what little you had."
"It's nice of you not to set it down to advancing years," said Nick.
"Muriel does."
"Muriel? Have you seen her lately?"
"This morning," said Nick.
"Oh?" There was surprised interrogation in Olga's voice. "Where is she, then?"
"At Redlands," said Nick; then, seeing her puzzled look: "We're married, you know, sweetheart."
"Oh?" she said again. "I didn't know."
"It's some time ago now," said Nick. "We've got a little kiddie called
Reggie. He's at Redlands too."
"I remember now," Olga smiled understanding. "How is Reggie?" she asked.
"Oh, going strong," said Nick. "He'll soon be as big as I am."
She stretched up a shaky hand to stroke his parchment face. "You're the biggest man I know, Nick," she said softly. "Dad says I may come and stay with you at Redlands. Will you have me?"
"Rather!" said Nick. "There's your own room waiting for you."
"Dear Nick!" she murmured. "You are good to me."
She lay still for a few seconds, holding his hand. Her eyes were wandering round the room. They reached him at last, alert and watchful by her side.
"Nick!" she said.
"What is it, kiddie?"
"There's something I can't remember," she said. "And it hurts me when I try. Nick, what is it?"
He answered her at once with great gentleness. "It's nothing you need worry your head about, dear. I know and so does Jim. You leave it to us till you are a bit stronger."
But she continued to look at him with trouble in her eyes. "I feel as if someone is calling me," she said.
"But that is not so," said Nick quickly and firmly. "Believe me, there is nothing for it but patience. Wait till you are stronger."
She submitted to the mandate, conscious of her own inability to do otherwise; but there was a touch of reproach in her voice as she said, "I thought you would help me, Nick."
"I will," he promised, "when the time comes."
That comforted her somewhat, for she trusted him implicitly; and when
Dr. Jim came in he found her quite tranquil.
Thereafter Nick was permitted to see her for a little every day, and she welcomed his visits with enthusiasm.
She would have welcomed Muriel also, but Dr. Jim had decreed that one visitor in the day was enough. She would see Muriel as soon as she was well enough to go to Redlands.
"I really think I am well enough to go now," she confided to Nick one morning. "Do try and persuade Dad."
Nick undertook to do so, with the result that late that night Dr. Jim came in, wrapped her in blankets, head and all as though she had been an infant, and carried her away.
It was a masterly move and achieved with such precision on his part that she had scarcely time to be surprised or excited before she was lying, still in his arms, in a motor and travelling rapidly through the darkness. He uncovered her face then and gave her his blunt permission to come up and breathe.
She clung to him delightedly. "Oh, Dad, isn't it fun? But you're going to stay at Redlands too?"
"For the present," said Dr. Jim.
"Who is taking your patients?" she asked him unexpectedly.
"A fellow from London, a youngster," said Dr. Jim. "Now no more talking, my girl! I'll have you in bed in five minutes and you must be fast asleep in ten."
She laid her cropped head down upon his shoulder, and asked no more.
But she could not wholly repress her astonishment when she abruptly found herself at Redlands. The adventure had all the suddenness of a fairy-tale. "We must have been scorching!" she exclaimed. "Why, we seem to have flown here!"
"It's necessary sometimes," said Dr. Jim.
His words did not wholly explain matters, but they effectually closed her lips; and she asked no more as he bore her up to the room she always occupied when staying in Nick's house. And thereafter she slept more peacefully and naturally than she had slept for a very long time.
In the morning she found another wonder awaiting her; for it was not the nurse who came to her bedside, but Muriel, grave and gentle and motherly, and somehow the sight of her seemed to unveil much that till then had been a mystery to Olga.
She greeted her very lovingly. "You can't imagine what it feels like to see you again," she whispered, with her arms round Muriel's neck. "But I do hope you and Dad haven't hurried back from Switzerland because of me."
Muriel smiled at her with great tenderness. "My darling, don't you know how precious you are?"
"Then you did!" said Olga. "I feel a horrid pig. How is Reggie?"
"He is splendid," said Reggie's mother, in the deep voice that always indicated depth of feeling also. "Much too gay and giddy to come and see you yet. Even Jim is satisfied with him. I couldn't ask for more than that, could I?"
She brought her a cup of milk and sat by the bed while she drank it. There was never any perturbing element in Muriel's presence. She carried ever with her the gracious quietness of a mind at rest.
Olga drank her milk with a most unwonted feeling of serenity. "Reggie certainly mustn't come near me yet," she said. "It would be awful if he caught it."
"There is nothing to catch, dear," said Muriel, as she took back the cup.
"Not scarlet fever?" said Olga in surprise.
"You haven't had scarlet fever," Muriel told her gently. "It was brain fever, following upon sunstroke. That is why we have to keep you so quiet."
"Oh!" said Olga. "Nick never told me that!"
"I don't suppose Dr. Jim would let him. But I told him I should." Muriel's hand, cool and reassuring, held hers. "There is no object in keeping it from you," she said. "You are getting well again, and you always had plenty of sense, dear. I know you will be sensible now."
"I'll certainly try," said Olga.
She lay quiet then for some time, apparently engrossed in thought though not distressed thereby. She turned her head at last and asked a sudden question.
"Will Nick go to India without me, Muriel?"
"No, dear. He is going to wait till you can go too," Muriel answered.
"Oh, Muriel!" She carried the quiet hand impulsively to her lips.
Muriel smiled. "Are you so anxious to go?"
"I should just think I am! But I know I'm horridly selfish. How can you bear to let him go?"
"My dear," Muriel said, "I don't think I could bear to keep him when I know he wants to go. You will have to take care of him for me."
"Oh, I will!" said Olga earnestly.
Very little more passed between them on the subject then, but it filled Olga's mind throughout the day, even to the exclusion of that sinister shadow that still lurked at the back of her consciousness.
Nick did not visit her until the evening, and then she at once began to talk of the topic that so occupied her thoughts.
"Do you know, I had actually forgotten about going to Sharapura, Nick?" she said. "I'm so glad I've remembered. It's something to be quick and get well for."
"Hear, hear!" said Nick, with a whoop of delight.
She laughed at his enthusiasm, and he suddenly recollected himself and entreated her to keep calm.
"If Jim knew I had made you laugh, he'd kick me to a jelly, and give you a blue pill."
Whereat she laughed a little more. "That would be more like Max than
Daddy Jim." And there suddenly she stopped short, the colour flooding
her pale face. "Why," she said, frowning confusedly, "I had forgotten
Max too. How is Max?"
"He's all right," said Nick lightly. "Shall I give him your love?"
"Oh, no!" she said quickly. "Don't give him anything of mine!
He—wouldn't understand."
"All right, my chicken," said Nick, with cheery unconcern. "He's got a little brother in the East by the way. I wonder if we shall run across him."
She did not echo the wonder. Her forehead was drawn in the old, painful lines, and she scarcely responded to the rest of his airy conversation.
When Dr. Jim visited her later in the evening he grunted disapproval.
"What's the matter now?" he asked her, with keen eyes on her troubled face.
"I don't know," she murmured wistfully.
"Yes, you do. Come, tell me!" He sat down on the edge of the bed with the evident determination to get at the root of the matter.
She held back for a little, but finally, finding him obdurate, sat up and drew herself within the circle of his arm.
"There, my dear! What is it?" said Dr. Jim.
She hid her face on his shoulder. "Dad, it—it's something to do with
Max," she whispered.
"Max? Who is Max?" demanded Dr. Jim inquisitorially, the while he cuddled her close.
"Oh, you know, dear,—Dr. Wyndham," she murmured.
"Oh! So you call him Max, do you?" said Jim drily. "That's an innovation, so far as I am concerned."
"I couldn't help it," she faltered, hiding her face a little lower. "He made me."
"Did he indeed?" said Dr. Jim. "Well? What's the trouble?"
"I—I can't remember," she whispered forlornly.
"Are you in love with him?" asked Dr. Jim abruptly.
She lifted her face with a great start. "No!" she gasped breathlessly.
He looked at her with a semi-humorous frown. "Well, that's something definite to go upon anyhow. Can't stand him at any price, eh?"
She smiled a little doubtfully. "I couldn't at one time. But now—now—"
"Yes? Now?" said Dr. Jim.
"I'm just—afraid of him," she said, a piteous quiver in her voice.
"What for?" Dr. Jim sounded stern, but his hold was very comforting.
"That's just it," said Olga. "I don't remember. I can't remember. But I know he is angry—for some reason. I think—I think I must have done—something he didn't like. Anyhow—I know he is angry."
Dr. Jim grunted again. "Does that matter?" he asked after a moment.
She clung to him very fast. "It will matter—when I see him again."
"And if you don't see him again?" said Dr. Jim.
"Oh, Dad!" she said, with a deep breath.
"Well?" he persisted. "Would that simplify matters? Would that set your mind at rest?"
"Oh, yes, it would!" she said, with immense relief.
He gave her an abrupt kiss, and laid her down. "Very well then. That's settled," he said. "You shan't see him again. Now go to sleep!"
But though she knew he would keep his promise, she was not wholly satisfied, nor did sleep come to her very readily. Her mind was vaguely disturbed. The thought of Max had set her brain in a turmoil which she literally dared not attempt to pursue to its source. She was beginning to be desperately afraid of the mystery she could not penetrate.
She was not so well in the morning, and Dr. Jim rigidly refused to allow either Nick or Muriel at her bedside.
He himself was there during the greater part of the day, watching her, waiting upon her, with a vigilance that never slackened. She suffered a good deal of pain, but his unremitting care did much to alleviate it, and in the evening she was better again, albeit considerably weakened.
After that, her progress was slow, and finding the effort of thought beyond her, she was forced wearily to give up the attempt to think. Even when at length her strength returned sufficiently for her to be carried downstairs and laid on a couch in the garden, the mystery still remained a mystery, and for some reason unintelligible even to herself she had grown content to leave it so. She avoided all thought of it with a morbid dread that was in part physical; for any attempt at concentration in those days always entailed a headache that rendered her practically blind and speechless for hours.
Meantime, they sought to keep her occupied with thoughts of her coming adventure in the East with Nick. There were many preparations to be made, and Muriel tackled them with a steady energy that could not fail to excite Olga's interest. She even roused herself to assist, though Dr. Jim would not permit her to do much, and would often rise and take the work out of her hands when her eyes began to droop.
She had her hours of great depression also, when life was nothing but a burden and she would weep without knowing why. On these occasions Nick was invaluable. He had a wonderful knack of banishing those tears, and in his cheery presence the burden was never insupportable.
It was on Nick's wiry strength that she leaned when she tottered forth for her first walk in the garden. She would probably have wept over her weakness if he had not made her laugh at it instead. It was a morning of soft misty sunshine in the early autumn, and a robin trilled his gay greeting to them as they slowly crept along.
"Jolly little beggar!" said Nick. "Robins always appeal tome. They know how to be cheerful in adversity. Care to go down to the glen, sweetheart? I'll haul you back again."
Yes, Olga would go to the glen. It was a favourite haunt with both of them. The sun glinted on the narrow pathway as they went. The twinkle of the stream was like fairy laughter, with every now and then a secret gurgle as of a laugh suppressed.
They halted on the mossy bank, Nick's arm affording active support. Olga looked down thoughtfully into the running water.
"The last time I was here," she said slowly, "was on the day I went to the Priory to—ask—Violet—to come and stay with me. That must be ages ago."
"Oh, ages!" said Nick.
She turned to him with a puzzled air. "I wonder Violet hasn't been to see me, Nick. Where is she?"
His flickering eyes were searching the stream. "She's gone away," he said.
"Oh! Where has she gone?"
"Haven't a notion," he said indifferently.
"I wonder I haven't heard," mused Olga. "I suppose she hasn't written?"
"Not to my knowledge," said Nick. His attention was obviously still fixed upon the babbling water.
"Oh, well, she hardly ever does write," commented Olga. "And you don't know where she is gone?"
"I do not," said Nick.
At this point his preoccupation seemed to strike her. "What are you looking at?" she asked.
He nodded towards a clump of ferns that fringed the bank. "I thought I saw my friend the scarlet butterfly. There is a beauty lives hereabouts. Yes; by Jove, there he is! See him, Olga?"
Even as he spoke the scarlet butterfly emerged from its hiding place and fluttered down the stream.
Olga uttered a sharp cry that brought Nick's eyes to her face. "What's the matter, kiddie? What is it?"
For a moment she was too overcome to tell him. Then: "Oh, Nick," she said, "I saw that butterfly the last time I was here. It was fluttering along just like that. And then—all of a sudden—a dreadful green dragon-fly flashed out on it, and—and—I didn't see it any more."
"Cheer up!" said Nick. "Evidently it escaped."
"Oh, I wonder!" she said, in a voice of puzzled distress. "I do wonder!"
His shrewd glance returned to the moth quivering like a flower petal in the breeze. "Well, there it is!" he said cheerily. "Let's give it the benefit of the doubt."
Her face did not wholly clear. "I wish I knew," she said. "Do you really think it can be the same, Nick?"
"I've never seen more than one," said Nick, "so it would appear to be a more artful dodger than you took it for. I don't see friend dragon-fly anywhere about."
She shuddered suddenly and convulsively. "No, and I hope he isn't here. Do you know what he made me think of? Max; so strong, so merciless, and so horribly clever."
"I'm clever too," said Nick modestly.
"Oh, but in a different way," protested Olga.
Again his quick eyes flashed over her. "I think you are rather hard on
Max myself," he said unexpectedly.
"I?" said Olga.
"Yes, you, my dear. You've no right to regard him in that unwholesome light. He doesn't deserve it. He is quite a decent sort; a little too managing perhaps, but that's just his way. You might go further and fare much worse."
He paused, but Olga said no word. She only palpitated against his arm.
He continued after a moment with the quick decision characteristic of him. "I'm not going to pursue the subject, but just this once—in justice to the man—I must have my say. You asked me once if I liked him, and I was not in a position to tell you. I will tell you now. I like him thoroughly. He's a man after my own heart, straight and clean and staunch. If you ever want someone to trust—trust him! He'd stand by you to perdition."
"Oh, do you think that of him, Nick?" she said, as one incredulous.
"Yes, dear, I do," said Nick. "Well, that's all I have to say. Suppose we begin to crawl back!"
But Olga waited a moment, watching with fascinated eyes the speck of scarlet that still trembled in the sunshine. It fluttered from sight at last, and with a sigh she turned.
"I wonder if it got away!" she murmured again, as if to herself. "I do wonder!"
But to Max, in spite of Nick's spirited eulogy, she made no further reference.
Nick dined at his brother's house at Weir that evening, alone with Max Wyndham. The boys had gone back to school, and the house was almost painfully quiet. Even Nick seemed to feel a certain depression in the atmosphere, for his cheerful chatter was decidedly fitful, and when he and Max were seated opposite to one another smoking it ceased altogether.
Out of a long silence came Max's voice. "When did you say you were starting for the East?"
"Three weeks next Friday," said Nick.
Max grunted, and the silence was renewed.
It was Nick's voice, cracked and careless, that next broke the spell. He seemed to speak on the edge of a laugh. "It's just six years ago since the woman I wanted went to India. Curious, isn't it?"
"What's curious?" said Max.
Nick explained, still with a suspicion of humour in his words: "Well, the funny part of it was that she hoped and believed she was going to get away from me. However, I viewed the matter otherwise, and—I followed her."
"Did you though?" said Max. "And how did the lady take it? Was she pleased?"
"My dear chap, she didn't know." The laugh was more apparent now. Nick removed his cigar to indulge it. "I was most careful not to get in her way, you understand. I was simply there—if wanted."
"And events proved you justified, I suppose?" Max sounded interested after a cynical and quite impersonal fashion.
"They did," said Nick. His own elastic grin appeared for an instant and was gone. "Events can generally be trimmed to suit your purpose," he said, "if you are sufficiently in earnest."
"That has not been my experience," observed Max briefly.
"Perhaps you haven't tried," said Nick.
Silence descended once more, and Nick was rude enough to fall asleep.
An hour later he awoke with extreme alertness in response to a remark from Max as to the lateness of the hour.
"Yes, by Jove," he said. "I must be getting back. By the way, Wyndham, did I mention to you that Sharapura is the name of the place we are going to? It's quite an interesting corner of the Empire, and declared by medical experts to be a top-hole neighbourhood for studying malaria."
"Is that a recommendation?" asked Max grimly.
Nick's smile was geniality itself. "It is," he answered; "a very strong recommendation." He thrust out a friendly hand. "Good-night, my son, and good luck to you!"
Max's grip was hard and sustained. He looked into the grinning, humorous face, and almost in spite of himself his own mouth took a humorous twist.
"So that's what you came to say, is it?" he said. "Well, good-night, you old rotter, and—thanks!"
Nick mounted his horse and rode back in the moonlight, singing a tuneless but very sentimental love lyric to the stars.
Part II
CHAPTER I
COURTSHIP
"It must be great fun gettin' married," said the chief bridesmaid pensively to the best man. "Why don't you go and get married, Noel?"
"I'm going to," said Noel.
"Oh, are you?" with suddenly-awakened interest. "Soon?"
Noel screwed up his Irish eyes and laughed. "In twelve years or thereabouts."
"Oh!" A pair of wide blue eyes regarded him attentively. "Twelve years is a very long time," observed the chief bridesmaid gravely.
"It is, isn't it?" said Noel, with a large sigh.
"P'raps you'll be dead then," suggested the chief bridesmaid.
"What a jolly idea! P'raps I shall. In that case, the marriage will not take place."
She sat down on his knee, and slipped a kindly arm round his neck. "I hope you won't be dead, Noel," she said, in the careful tone of one not wishing to be taken too seriously.
The best man smiled all over his merry face. "I shall do my best to survive for your sake," he said.
She nodded thoughtfully. "But why aren't you goin' to get married sooner?"
He surveyed her with his head on one side. "My little sweetheart is only pocket size at present," he said. "I'm waiting for her to grow up."
"Oh! Is she little like me?" asked the chief bridesmaid, looking slightly disappointed.
"She's just like you, sweetheart," said Noel, with cheery assurance. "She has eyes of wedgewood blue, and hair of golden down, a mouth like a rose, and the jolliest little turn-up nose in the world. And she's going to be six next birthday."
This classic description was an instant revelation to the chief bridesmaid. She blushed very sweetly, with pleasure unfeigned in which shyness had no part. "Oh, Noel!" she breathed, in rapturous anticipation. "But why must we wait till we're growed up?"
"We!" said Noel, who was twenty-two and a crack shot in the Regiment.
She kissed him propitiatingly. "I mean—dear Noel—. why can't we go and get married now? I'm sure Mummy wouldn't mind."
"H'm! I wonder!" said Noel.
"I do love you so very much," said the chief bridesmaid, with eyes of shining sincerity. "And you are just the beautifullest soldier I ever saw!"
He threw back his head in a laugh that showed his white teeth, to his small adorer's huge delight. He was certainly a very gallant figure in his red and gold uniform with his sword dangling at his side; and his winning Irish ways gained him popularity wherever he went.
It was true that the chief bridesmaid's mother shook her head at him, and called him fickle, but then his fickleness was of so open and boyish an order that it could hardly be regarded as a fault, especially since no one—with the exception of the chief bridesmaid—ever took him seriously. And to her at least young Noel Wyndham was always tenderly faithful in his allegiance.
On the present occasion, though nominally he had been acting as best man to a brother officer, he had spent most of his time in the service of the muslin-frocked, bare-legged atom who now sprawled upon his knee with all the privilege of old acquaintance, assuring him of her whole-hearted devotion and admiration.
He had just been giving her tea and wedding-cake, of which latter she had eaten the sugar and he the cake, a wise division which had pleased them both.
"Will we have a cake just like this when we're married, Noel?" she asked seductively, casting an affectionate glance towards the empty plate.
"Oh, rather!" said Noel. "Several storeys high, big enough to last a whole year."
"Oh, Noel!" she murmured ecstatically.
And, "Oh, Noel!" said her mother, suddenly coming up behind them.
The chief bridesmaid laughed roguishly over Noel's shoulder. "I like weddin's," she said.
Noel set her down and rose. "My dear Mrs. Musgrave, I've been hunting for you everywhere. Have you had any tea?"
She smiled at him with amused reproof. A very sweet smile had Mrs. Musgrave, but it was never very mirthful. She had lost all her mirth with her youth. Though she could not have been much over thirty, her hair was silver white.
"I was only in the next room," she said. "Yes, thank you; the padre gave me tea. We must be going. Peggy and I. Will left some time ago, directly after the bride and bridegroom."
"Ah, Will is a paragon of industry. I believe he thinks more of that beastly old reservoir of his than of the whole population of Sharapura put together. But surely you needn't go yet? Don't!" pleaded Noel, with his most persuasive smile.
"No, don't let's, Mummy!" begged the child, clinging to her hero's hand.
"Noel and me, we're goin' to be married, we are."
"So we are," said Noel. "And we're going to church on the Rajah's state elephant, and we're going to make him trumpet all the way there and all the way back. I hope we are not springing it on you too suddenly," he added, with a laugh. "It's the usual thing, isn't it, for the best man to marry the chief bridesmaid?"
"I should say it depended a little on their respective ages," smiled Mrs. Musgrave. "Are you going to find my 'rickshaw? It is later than I thought, and I am expecting visitors."
"Ah, I know," said Noel. "Captain and Mrs. Nick of Wara, isn't it?"
"Not Mrs. Nick," she corrected him. "I wish it had been. She is my greatest friend. But she can't leave England because of their child."
"There's a lady of some description coming in his train," asserted Noel.
"I have it on unimpeachable authority."
"Yes, she is his niece. I knew her as a child, a giddy little thing—rather like Nick himself."
"Mrs. Musgrave! Is that how you describe one of our most celebrated heroes? Nick Ratcliffe—the one and only—the most romantic specimen of our modern British chivalry—beloved of women like yourself, respected by men like me! Did I hear aright?"
She laughed. "Oh, don't be absurd! He is the least imposing person in the world, I assure you."
"And the lady, his niece?" questioned Noel. "Is she married by the way?"
"Oh, no. She is quite a girl."
"A real live girl in this wilderness!" ejaculated Noel. "I say, may I drop in a little later and see her? Dear Mrs. Musgrave, say Yes!" He stooped and gallantly kissed her hand. "As your daughter's fiancé, I think you might ask me to dine. I'll be so awfully good if you will. I say, Peggy, ask Mummy to invite me to dinner to-night, and I'll come and say good-night to you in bed."
"Oh, yes!" cried Peggy, jumping with eagerness. "He may come, mayn't he, Mummy? And I'll save up my prayers," she added to Noel, "and say them to you!"
"Hear, hear!" said Noel. "Come, Mrs. Musgrave, you haven't the heart to refuse me such an innocent pleasure as that. I'm sure you haven't, so thank you kindly, I'll come. Shall I?"
"Of course you are quite irresistible," said Mrs. Musgrave. "But I don't—really—think it would be very kind of me to have guests on their first night. The poor child is sure to be too tired for chatter."
"But I shan't chatter," protested Noel. "I'll be as quiet as a mouse. Come, Mrs. Musgrave, don't be cruel! Remember you're dealing with your future son-in-law, who is absolutely devoted to you; and don't refuse me the only favour I've ever asked!"
He gained his end. Noel Wyndham was an adept at that, having made a study of it all his life.
Mrs. Musgrave, reflecting that the most fascinating young officer in the cantonment could scarcely be unwelcome in the eyes of a young English girl, however tired she might be, finally allowed herself to be persuaded by cajolery on his part and earnest pleading on Peggy's to include him at her dinner-table.
"If you don't mind taking the risk of being de trop," she said, "you may come."
"I'll take any risk," he declared ardently; and, having gained his point, kissed her hand again and departed to summon her 'rickshaw, with Peggy mounted on his shoulder.