"She did suffer then?" whispered Olga, commanding herself with an effort.
"When she wasn't under the influence of morphia—yes. That was the only peace she knew. But of course it affected her brain. It always does, if you keep on with it."
Olga's hands fell. She straightened herself. "Then—you think she is better dead?" she said.
He squared his great shoulders, and she felt infinitely small. "If I could have followed my own inclination with that old woman," he said, "I should have given her a free pass long ago. But—I am not authorized to distribute free passes. On the contrary, it's my business to hang on to people to the bitter end, and not to let them through till they've paid for their liberty to the uttermost farthing."
She glanced at him quickly. Cynical as were his words, she was aware of a touch of genuine feeling somewhere. She made swift response to it, almost before she realized what she was doing.
"Oh, but surely the help you give far outweighs that!" she said. "I often think I will be a nurse when I am old enough, if Dad can spare me."
"Good heavens, child!" he said. "Do you want to be a gaoler too?"
"No," she answered quickly. "I'll be a deliverer."
He smiled his one-sided smile. "And I wonder how long you will call yourself that," he said.
She had no answer ready, for he seemed to utter his speculation out of knowledge and not ignorance. It made her feel a little cold, and after a moment she turned from the subject.
"I am going back to the Priory," she said. "Shall I take that book, or will you?"
It was capitulation, but he gave no sign that he so much as remembered that there had been a battle. Obviously then her defeat had been a foregone conclusion from the outset.
"You needn't bicycle back," he said. "I've got the car here. And I'm going to the Priory myself."
Olga's eyes opened wide at the announcement. "In—deed!" she said, with somewhat daring significance.
"In—deed!" he responded imperturbably. "Is it a joke?"
She felt herself colouring, and considered it safer to leave the question unanswered. "I can't go back in our car," she said. "Violet Campion will be with me, so I have come to fetch Nick's."
"Oh—ho!" said Max keenly. "Coming to stay?"
Very curiously she resented his keenness. "I suppose you have no objection," she said coldly.
"I am enchanted," he declared. "But why not come with me in the car? If you take the one from here, you will only have to bring it back, for you can't house it at Weir."
"But I should have to come back in any case to fetch my bicycle," Olga pointed out.
"No, you needn't! Mitchel can ride that home, and you can drive the motor. You can drive, I'm told?"
"Of course, I can. I often drive Dad." Olga spoke with pride.
"Do you really? Why did you never tell me that before? Afraid I should want you instead of Mitchel?" He looked at her quizzically.
"It wouldn't make much difference if you did," said Olga. It was really quite useless to attempt to be polite to him if he would come so persistently within snubbing distance. Besides, she really did not owe him any courtesy, after the way he had dared to treat her.
But he only laughed at her, and turned to the door. "I shouldn't be so cocksure of that if I were you," he said, opening it with a flourish. "I have a wonderful knack of getting what I want."
She flung him the gauntlet of her contemptuous defiance as she passed him. "Really?" she said.
He took it up instantly, with disconcerting assurance. "Yes, really," he said.
And to Olga all unbidden there came a sudden little tremor of shuddering remembrance as there flashed across her inner vision the spectacle of a green dragon-fly swooping upon a poor little fluttering scarlet moth.
CHAPTER IV
THE SETTING OF THE WATCH
To return to the Priory with her bête-noir seated in triumph beside her was a trick of fortune that Olga had been very far from anticipating. There was no help for it, however, for he was determined to go thither, notwithstanding her assurance that the master of the house was from home. He leaned back at his ease and watched her drive with frank criticism.
"I had no idea you were so accomplished," he remarked, as they skimmed up the long Priory drive. "I should have thought you were much too nervous to drive a car."
Olga was never nervous except in his presence, but she would have rather died than have had him know it.
"Nick taught me," she said, "years ago, when he first lost his arm. It's about the only thing he can't do himself."
"I've noticed that he's fairly agile," commented Max. "What did he have his arm cut off for? Couldn't he make himself conspicuous enough in any other way?"
Olga's cheeks flamed. "He was wounded in action," she said shortly.
Max cocked one corner of his mouth. "And so entered Parliament in a blaze of glory," he said. "Vote for the Brave! Vote for the Veteran! Vote for the One-Armed Hero! Never mind his politics! That empty sleeve must have been absolutely invaluable to him in his electioneering days."
But joking on this subject was more than Olga could bear. The sight of the empty sleeve was enough to bring tears to her eyes at times even now. To hear it thus lightly spoken of was intolerable.
"How dare you say such a thing!" she exclaimed. "As if
Nick—Nick!—would ever stoop to take advantage of a thing like that.
Nick, who might have won the V.C., only—" She broke off with vehement
self-repression. "I'm an idiot to argue with you!" she said.
"Don't be too hard on yourself!" said Max kindly. "Your imbecility takes quite an attractive form, I assure you. So our gallant hero occupies the shrine of your young affections, does he? It must be rather cramping for him. Is he never allowed to come out and stretch himself?"
Olga said no word in answer. Her lips were firmly closed.
"Poor chap!" said Max. "He must find it a tight squeeze, notwithstanding his size. If you don't slow up pretty soon, fair lady, you will knock the Priory into a heap of ruins."
"I know what I'm about," breathed Olga.
He caught the remark and threw it back with his customary readiness. "Do you really? I humbly beg to question that statement. If you did know, you would proceed with caution."
Olga applied her brake and brought the car adroitly to a standstill in front of the house before replying. Then she flung him a challenging glance.
"Yes," he said with deliberation. "I don't question your cleverness, fair lady;—only your wisdom. You are too prone to let your feelings run away with you, and that is the most infectious disorder that I know."
She laughed, avoiding his eyes, and hotly aware of a certain embarrassment that made reply impossible. "Perhaps, when you have quite finished your lecture, you will get out," she said, "and let me do the same. It's hot sitting here."
"Evidently," said Max.
He turned and descended, held up a hand to her, then, as she ignored it, stooped to guard her dress from the wheel. She whisked it swiftly from his touch, and ran in through the open door, encountering the master of the house just coming out with a suddenness that involved a collision.
He held her up with a sharp, "Hullo, hullo! Why don't you look where you are going?"
And Olga, crimson and breathless, extricated herself with more of speed than dignity. "I'm so sorry, Colonel Campion. The sun is so blazing, I didn't see you. I've come to fetch Violet. She has promised to spend a few days with me while Dad is away."
Colonel Campion's thin, bronzed face was grim, but he raised no objection to the projected visit. He turned at once to Max.
"Hullo, Wyndham! You, is it? Come in and have a drink."
And Olga, feeling herself dismissed, hastened away to find her friend. She stood somewhat in awe of Colonel Campion, despite the fact that his young half-sister defied him continually with impunity. There was something fateful and forbidding about him. He made her think of a man labouring perpetually under a burden which he resented, but was compelled to bear. She wondered what he and Max Wyndham could have in common as she paused at the sea-window on the stairs to cool her cheeks. He had certainly been pleased in his gloomy fashion to see Max, though he had not troubled to give her a welcome.
She found that Violet had not proceeded much further with her packing than when she had left her more than an hour before. She was in fact lying at careless ease half-dressed upon the bed, deeply immersed in a book with a lurid paper cover. She scarcely raised her eyes at Olga's entrance.
"Back already. My dear, you are like quicksilver. Well have I named you Allegro! It suits you to perfection. Sit down—anywhere! I really can't attend to you for a few minutes. This is the beastliest thing I've ever read. You shall have it when I've finished. It's all about the Turkish massacres in Armenia—revolting—absolutely revolting—" Her voice trailed off into a semi-conscious murmur and ceased. The beautiful eyes, dilated with horror, devoured the open page.
Olga contemplated her for a moment, then went to the bedside. "Violet, do put down that hateful book! How can you read such disgusting things? Violet!" as her remonstrance elicited no response, "do get up and let us pack your things! Dr. Wyndham is downstairs."
"What?" Violet looked at her this time, but with a mazed expression as of one half-asleep. "Who? The great Objectionable himself? How did you inveigle him here? By nothing short of witchcraft, I will swear. Those pale eyes of yours are rather witch-like, do you know? Did you fly over on a broomstick to fetch him? And why?"
Olga possessed herself of the book, and shut it with decision. "I came upon him at Redlands, and as he has got the car with him, we may as well go back in it. He said he was coming here in any case."
"Really, dear? I wonder why." Violet made a futile effort to recapture her book. "You might let me have it. I must know what became of those unlucky girls when the convent was taken. They mutilated most of the nuns with their scimitars. But the pupils—Allegro, let me have it, dear! I shan't sleep a wink to-night till I know the worst."
"You won't sleep if you do," said Olga magisterially.
"You shan't read any more. It's a disgusting, filthy book and you shan't have it. Get up and dress, and don't be horrid!"
"Horrid!" Violet broke into a gay laugh and the strained look passed in a moment from her eyes. "I was all that was beautiful a little while ago. You're quite right though. It is a foul book, and the man who wrote it is a downright beast. Take it away, and never let me see it again!"
She sprang from the bed, and began to do up her hair rapidly before the glass. Olga laid down the book, and busied herself with folding the various articles of raiment that littered the room.
"I think we ought to be quick," she said.
"To be sure! We mustn't keep his Objectionable Majesty waiting. Why didn't you bring him up with you? It would have kept him amused."
"Violet! As if I could!"
"Oh, couldn't you? I thought doctors were allowed anywhere. And I am sure this young man of yours is not lightly shocked. What was he doing at Redlands?"
Olga hesitated momentarily. "He had been sent for to 'The Ship,' to attend old Mrs. Stubbs," she said then. "But he didn't get there in time."
"Oh! Is she dead? I should think he is pretty savage with her, isn't he?"
"Why should you think so?" Olga glanced round in surprise.
"He's the sort of person to resent anyone dying without his express permission, I should imagine. I know I should never dare to die with him looking on;" Lightly the gay voice made answer. The speaker turned from the glass, her vivid face aglow with merriment. "Really, Olga, if you're quite determined to do my packing, I think I will run down and entertain him."
"You needn't trouble to do that. He is with your brother." Olga proceeded deftly with her task as she spoke. "We found him in the hall as we came in."
"Bruce back already! How tiresome of him! I meant to have just left a message, and now we shall have a wordy argument instead."
"Is Colonel Campion ever wordy?" asked Olga, trying to imagine this phenomenon.
"No, I supply the words and he the argument generally. You might just hook me down the back, dear; do you mind? What do you think his latest craze is? Mrs. Bruce is run down, so nothing will serve but we must all go for a yachting cruise in the Atlantic. I have told him flatly that I will not be one of the party. I detest being on the sea, and as to being boxed up in a yacht with those two—my dear, it would be unspeakable! I should simply leap overboard, I know I should, and I told him so. He has sulked ever since."
"Ah well, you are coming to us," said Olga consolingly. "So he can go without you now with a clear conscience."
"So he can. Mrs. Bruce will be enchanted. She hates me, though she pretends not to and thinks I don't know. Isn't it funny of her? Allegro, you're a darling!" Impulsively she whizzed round and kissed her friend. "You are the one person in the world who loves me, and the only one I love!"
"Violet dearest, how can you say so?"
"The truth, dear, I assure you. I fell in love last winter when we were at Nice with a boy with the most romantic, heavenly eyes you ever saw—an Italian. And then he went and spoilt everything by falling in love with me. I hated him then. He became cheap and very nasty. He only liked my outer covering too, and was not in the least interested in the creature that lived inside."
"You apparently only cared for his eyes," observed Olga.
"Yes, exactly, dear. How clever you are! I should like to have brought them away with me as trophies. But he didn't love me enough for that, and nothing else would have satisfied me. Have you put that hateful, revolting book quite out of reach? I think you had better. If I get it again, you won't take it away so easily a second time."
"I can't think what makes you like such beastly things," said Olga, sitting down upon it firmly.
"Nor I, dear. It's just the way I'm made. I don't like them either. I hate them. That's where the fascination comes in. There! Let me put on my hat, and I am ready. I suppose I must veil myself? We mustn't dazzle the impressionable Max, must we? He must accustom his sight to me gradually. Never mind the rest of those things, Allegro! Françoise can finish, and send them on by the luggage-cart in the evening. Come along, let us face the dragon and get it over."
She linked her arm in Olga's once more, and drew her to the door. Olga carried the book with her for safety, determined that her friend should feast no more on horrors.
"What a little tyrant you are!" laughed Violet. "I am coming to protect you from the dragon, but I shall probably end by protecting the dragon from you. Do you keep a censorious eye upon the literature he reads also?"
"I leave him quite alone," said Olga, "unless he interferes with me."
"Ah! And then, I suppose, you scratch him heartily Poor young man! But I should imagine he is quite capable of clipping your claws if they get in his way. My dear, your fate will be no easy one. I should begin to treat him kindly if I were you."
"I shall never do that," said Olga with conviction.
She was somewhat dismayed as they passed through the archway into the hall to find Max and his host still there; but as they were at the further end and apparently deeply engrossed in conversation, she decided that Violet's gay remarks were scarcely likely to have made any impression, even if they had penetrated so far.
Both men looked up at their entrance, and Max at once moved to meet them.
"I've turned up again at risk of boring you, Miss Campion," he observed. "I chanced to find myself in this direction, so had to yield to the temptation of coming here."
"Oh, don't apologize!" laughed Violet, giving him two fingers. "Of course, I know that it's Bruce you come to see. I wish you would prescribe him a temper tonic. He needs one badly, don't you, Bruce? So Granny Stubbs has given you the slip, has she? How impertinent of her! Aren't you very angry?"
Max shrugged his shoulders with a glance at Olga's tight lips. "I never expend my emotions in vain," he said. "It's a waste of time as well as energy, and I have other purposes for both."
"Then you are never angry?" enquired Violet.
"Never, unless I can punish the offender," smiled Max.
"How frightfully practical! Dear me! I shall have to be exceedingly careful not to offend you. I wonder what form your punishments usually take. Are they made to fit the crime?"
"Usually," said Max, and again he glanced at Olga.
Her eyelids flickered as though she were aware of his look, but she did not raise them.
"You make me quite nervous," declared Violet. "Do you know I have actually promised to come and help keep house for you and the redoubtable Captain Ratcliffe? I'm beginning to think I've been rather rash."
"On the contrary," said Max. "It was quite a wise move on your part, and it shall be mine to see that you do not regret it."
Her gay laugh rang through the old hall. "Bruce is looking quite scandalized, and I don't wonder. Will you and Adelaide be able to support life without me, Bruce? It's a purely formal question, so you needn't answer it if you don't wish. Oh, do let us have some tea! I'm so thirsty. Please ring the bell, Dr. Wyndham! It's close to you. Look at Olga cuddling that naughty book of mine! Don't you think you ought to take it away from her? It's not fit for an innocent maiden to handle even with gloves on."
"What book is it?" It was Colonel Campion who spoke in the harsh tone of one issuing a command.
Olga coloured fierily. "I was taking it away with me to burn on the garden bonfire," she said.
"Give it to me!" he said.
"No, don't, Allegro! It isn't yours to give. You may give it to Dr.
Wyndham if you like, but not to Bruce."
"I am not going to give it to anyone," Olga said rather shortly.
"Pardon!" said Max, holding out his hand. "I should like to sample Miss
Campion's taste in literature."
She drew back, but his hand remained outstretched. After a moment, reluctantly, she surrendered the book. He took it, and began to turn the pages.
"Nothing ever shocks a medical man," observed Violet. "He is inured to the worst. Come along, dear! This place is like a vault. Let us get into the sunshine and leave him to wallow till tea appears."
They went out together to Olga's immense relief, and spent the next ten minutes in playing with the motor, in the driving of which Violet had lately developed a keen interest.
When they returned, the book had disappeared and the incident was apparently forgotten. They had tea to the accompaniment of much light-hearted chatter on the parts of Violet and Max Wyndham. Colonel Campion sat in heavy silence, and Olga instinctively held aloof. There was something in Max's attitude that puzzled her, but it was something so intangible that she could not even vaguely define it to herself. All his careless banter notwithstanding, she was fully convinced in her own mind that he was not in the smallest degree dazzled or so much as attracted by the brilliant beauty that so dominated her own imagination. Though he laughed and joked in his customary cynical strain, she had a feeling that his mental energies were actually employed elsewhere. He was like a man watching behind a mask. Watching—for what?
Suddenly she remembered again the tragedy she had witnessed in the glen that afternoon, and her heart recoiled.
Was it the atmosphere of the place that made her morbid? Or was there indeed some evil influence at work in her friend's life which she by her headlong action had somehow rendered active?
Before they left the Priory, she had begun to repent almost passionately the impulse that had taken her thither. But wherefore she thus repented she could not have explained.
CHAPTER V
THE CHAPERON
"It's very kind of Olga to provide us with distractions," said Nick, as he dropped into an arm-chair, with a cigar, "but I almost think we are better off without them. If I see much of that girl, it will upset my internal economy. Is she real by any chance?"
"Haven't you ever seen her before?" asked Max.
"Several times, but never for long together. Jove! What a face she has!" He turned his head sharply, and looked up at Max who stood on the hearth-rug. "You're not wildly enthusiastic over her anyhow," he observed. "Are you really indifferent or only pretending?"
"I?" The corners of Max's mouth went down. He stuffed his pipe into one of them and said no more.
Nick continued to regard him with interest for some seconds. Suddenly he laughed. "Do you know, Wyndham," he said, "I should awfully like to give you a word of advice?"
"What on?" Max did not sound particularly encouraging. He proceeded to light his pipe with exceeding deliberation. He despised cigars.
Nick closed his eyes. "In my capacity of chaperon," he said. "It's a beastly difficult position by the way. I'm weighed down by responsibility."
"So I've noticed," remarked Max drily.
"Well, you haven't done much to lighten the burden," said Nick. "I suppose you haven't realized yet that I am one of the gods that control your destiny."
"Well, no; I hadn't." Max leaned against the mantelpiece and smoked, with his face to the ceiling. "I knew you were a species of deity of course. I've been told that several times. And I humbly beg to offer you my sympathy."
"Thanks!" Nick's eyes flashed open as if at the pulling of a string. "If it isn't an empty phrase, I value it."
"I don't deal in empty phrases as a rule," said Max.
"Quite so. Only with a definite end in view? I hold that no one should ever do or say anything without a purpose."
"So do I," said Max.
Nick's eyes flickered over him and closed again. "Then, my dear chap," he said, "why in Heaven's name make yourself so damned unpleasant?"
"So what?" said Max.
"What I said." Coolly Nick made answer. "It's not an empty phrase," he added. "You will find a meaning attached if you deign to give it the benefit of your august consideration."
Max uttered a grim, unwilling laugh. "I suppose you are privileged to say what you like," he said.
"I observe certain limits," said Nick.
"And you never make mistakes?"
"Oh, yes, occasionally. Not often. You see, I'm too well-meaning to go far astray," said Nick, with becoming modesty. "You must remember that I'm well-meaning, Wyndham. It accounts for a good many little eccentricities. I think you were quite right to make her extract that needle. I should have done it myself. But you are not so wise in resenting her refusal to kiss the place and make it well. I speak from the point of view of the chaperon, remember."
"Who told you anything about a needle?" demanded Max, suddenly turning brick-red..
"That's my affair," said Nick.
"And mine!"
"No, pardon me, not yours!" Again his eyes took a leaping glance at his companion.
Doggedly Max faced it. "Did she tell you?"
"Who?" said Nick.
"Olga." He flung the name with half-suppressed resentment. His attitude in that moment was aggressively British. He looked as he had looked to Olga that afternoon, undeniably formidable.
But Nick remained unimpressed. "I shan't answer that question," he said.
"You needn't," said Max grimly.
"That's why," said Nick.
"Oh! I see." Max's eyes searched him narrowly for a moment, then returned to the ceiling. "Does she think I'm in love with her?" he asked rather curtly.
"Well, scarcely. I shouldn't let her think that at present if I were you. In my opinion any extremes are inadvisable at this stage."
"I suppose you know I am going to marry her?" said Max.
"Yes, I've divined that."
"And you approve?"
"I submit to the inevitable," said Nick with a sigh.
Max smiled, the smile of a man who faces considerable odds with complete confidence. "She doesn't—at present."
Nick's grin of appreciation flashed across his yellow face and was gone. "No, my friend. And you'll find her very elusive to deal with. You will never make her like you. I suppose you know that."
"I don't want her to," said Max.
"You make that very obvious," laughed Nick. "It's a mistake. If you keep bringing her to bay, you'll never catch her. She's always on her guard with you now. She never breathes freely with you in the room, poor kid."
"What is she afraid of?" growled Max.
"You know best." Nick glanced up again with sudden keenness. "Don't harry the child, Wyndham!" he said, a half-whimsical note of pleading in his voice. "If you know you're going to win through, you can afford to let her have the honours of war. There's nothing softens a woman more."
"I don't mean to harry her." Max turned squarely round upon him. "But neither have I the smallest intention of fetching and carrying for her till she either kicks me or pats me on the head. I shouldn't appreciate either, and it's a method I don't believe in."
"There I am with you," said Nick. "But for Heaven's sake, man, be patient! It's no joke, I assure you, if the one woman takes it into her head that you are nothing short of a devouring monster. She will fly to the ends of the earth to escape you sooner than stay to hear reason."
Max smiled in his one-sided fashion. "Has that been your experience?"
Nick nodded. There was a reminiscent glitter in his eyes. "My courtship represented two years' hard labour. It nearly killed me. However, we've made up for it since."
"I don't propose to spend two years over mine," said Max.
Nick's eyes flashed upwards, meeting those of the younger man with something of the effect of a collision. His body however remained quite passive, and his voice even sounded as if it had a laugh in it as he made response.
"I think you're a decent chap," he said, "and I think you might make her happy; but I'm damned if she shall marry any man—good, bad, or indifferent—before she's ready."
"You also think you could prevent such a catastrophe?" suggested Max cynically.
Nick grinned with baffling amiability. "No, I don't think. I know. Quite a small spoke is enough to stop a wheel—even a mighty big wheel—if it's going too fast."
And again, more than half against his will, Max laughed. "You make a very efficient chaperon," he said.
"It's my speciality just now," said Nick.
He closed his eyes again peaceably, and gave himself up to his cigar.
Max, his rough red brows drawn together, leaned back against the mantelpiece and smoked his pipe, staring at the opposite wall. There was no strain in the silence between them. Both were preoccupied.
Suddenly through the open window there rippled in the fairy notes of a mandolin, and almost at once a voice of most alluring sweetness began to sing:
"O, wert thou in the cauld blast,
On yonder lea, on yonder lea,
My plaidie to the angry airt,
I'd shelter thee, I'd shelter thee.
Or did misfortune's bitter storms
Around thee blaw, around thee blaw,
Thy bield should be my bosom,
To share it a', to share it a'."
"Or were I in the wildest waste,
Sae black and bare, sae black and bare,
The desert were a paradise,
If thou wert there, if thou wert there.
Or were I monarch o' the globe,
Wi' thee to reign, wi' thee to reign,
The brightest jewel in my crown
Wad be my queen, wad be my queen."
As the song died out into the August night, Nick rose. "That girl's a siren," he said. "Come along! We're wasting our time in here."
Max stooped laconically to knock the ashes from his pipe. His face as he stood up again was quite expressionless. "You lead the way," he said. "Are you going to leave your cigar behind? I suppose cigarettes are allowed?"
"I should think so, as the lady smokes them herself." Nick opened the door with the words, but paused a moment looking back at his companion quizzically. "Good luck to you, old chap!" he said.
Max's hand came out of his pocket with a jerk. He still had it bandaged, but he managed to grip hard with it nevertheless. But he did not utter a word.
They passed into the drawing-room with the lazy, tolerant air of men expecting to be amused; and Olga, with all her keenness, was very far from suspecting aught of what had just passed between them.
She and Violet were both near the open window, the latter with her instrument lying on her knee, its crimson ribbons streaming to the floor. She herself was very simply attired in white. The vivid beauty of her outlined against the darkness of the open French window was such as to be almost startling. She smiled a sparkling welcome.
"Dr. Wyndham, I've decided to call you Max; not because I like it,—I think it's hideous,—but because it's less trouble. I thought it as well to explain at the outset, so that there should be no misunderstanding."
"That is very gracious of you," said Max.
"You may regard it exactly as you please," she said majestically, "so long as you come when you're called. Allegretto, why do you move? I like you sitting there."
"I promised to go and say good-night to the boys," said Olga, who had sprung up somewhat precipitately at Max's approach. "Sit on the sofa, Nick, and keep a corner for me! I'm coming back."
She was gone with the words, a vanishing grey vision, the quick closing of the door shutting her from sight.
Violet leaned back in her chair, and dared the full scrutiny of Max's eyes.
"What a disturber of the peace you are!" she said. "What did you want to come here for before you had finished your smoke?"
"That was your doing," said Nick. "You literally dragged us hither. I'm inclined to think it was you who disturbed the peace."
"I?" She turned upon him. "Captain Ratcliffe—"
"Pray call me Nick!" he interposed. "It will save such a vast amount of trouble as well as keep you in the fashion."
She laughed. "You're much funnier than Max because you don't try to be. What do you mean by saying that I dragged you here? Was it that silly old song?"
"In part," said Nick cautiously.
"And the other part?"
"I won't put that into words. It would sound fulsome."
"Oh, please don't!" she said lightly. "And you, Max, what did you come for?"
He seated himself in the chair which Olga had vacated. "I thought it was time someone came to look after you," he said.
"How inane! You don't pretend to be musical, I hope?"
He leaned back, directly facing her. "No," he said. "I don't pretend."
"Never?" she said.
He smiled in his own enigmatical fashion. "That is the sort of question
I never answer."
She nodded gaily. "I knew you wouldn't. Why do you look at me like that? I feel as if I were being dissected. I don't wonder that Olga runs away when she sees you coming. I shall myself in a minute."
He laughed. "Surely you are accustomed to being looked at!"
"With reverence," she supplemented, "not criticism! You have the eye of a calculating apothecary. I believe you regard everybody you meet in the light of a possible patient."
"Naturally," said Max. "I suppose even you are mortal."
"Oh, yes, I shall die some day like the rest of you," she answered flippantly. "But I shan't have you by my death-bed. I shouldn't think you had ever seen anybody die, have you?"
"Why not?" said Max.
"Nobody could with you standing by. You're too vital, too electric. I picture you with your back against the door and your arms spread out, hounding the poor wretch back into the prison-house."
Max got up abruptly and moved to the window. "You have a vivid imagination," he said.
She laughed, drawing her fingers idly across the strings of her mandolin.
"Quite nightmarishly so sometimes. It's rather a drawback for some things. How are you enjoying that book of mine? Do you appreciate the Arabian Nights' flavour in modern literature?"
"It's a bit rank, isn't it?" said Max.
She laughed up at him. "I should have thought you would have been virile enough to like rank things. To judge by the tobacco you smoke, you do."
"Poisonous, isn't it?" said Nick. "I suppose it soothes his nerves, but it sets everyone else's on edge."
Violet stretched out her hand to a box of cigarettes that stood on a table within reach. "You would probably feel insulted if I offered you one of these," she said, "but I practically live on them."
"Very bad for you," said Max.
She snapped her fingers at him. "Then I shall certainly continue the pernicious habit. Do you know Major Hunt-Goring? It was he who gave them to me. He thinks he is going to marry me,—but he isn't!"
"Great Lucifer!" said Nick.
She turned towards him. "What an appropriate name! I wish I'd thought of it. Do you know him?"
"Know him!" Nick's grimace was expressive. "Yes, I know him."
"Well?"
"Rather better than he thinks."
She laughed again, lightly, inconsequently, irresistibly. "He's a fascinating creature. It is his proud boast that he has kissed every girl in the neighbourhood except me."
"What an infernal liar!" said Nick.
"How do you know?" Gaily she challenged him. "It's quite probably true. He is exceedingly popular with the feminine portion of the community. I notice that friend Max maintains a shocked silence."
"Not at all," said Max. "I was only wondering why he had made an exception of you."
She tossed her head. "Can't you guess?"
"No, I can't," he returned daringly. "I should have thought you would have been the first on the list."
"How charming of you to say so!" said Violet. "Perhaps you are not aware of the fact that the sweetest fruit is generally out of reach."
"You might have let me say that," said Nick. "But the man is a liar in any case, and I hope he will give me the opportunity to tell him so."
Violet regarded him with interest. "I had no idea you were so pugnacious. Do you always tell people exactly what you think of them? Is it safe?"
"Quite safe for him," said Max.
"Why?" Violet turned back to him, her fingers carelessly plucking at the instrument on her knee.
Max made prompt and unflattering reply. "Because he's so obviously gimcrack that no one dares do anything to him for fear he should tumble to pieces."
"Many thanks!" said Nick.
Violet's peal of laughter mingled with the weird notes of her mandolin, and Olga, returning, desired to be told the joke.
Nick pulled her down beside him on the sofa. "Come and take care of me,
Olga mia! I'm being disgracefully maligned. Can't you persuade Miss
Campion to sing to us, by way of changing the subject?"
"Who has been maligning you?" demanded Olga, looking at Max with very bright eyes.
He looked straight back at her with that gleam in his eyes which with any other man would have denoted admiration but which with him she well knew to be only mockery.
"I admit it, fair lady," he said. "I threw a clod of mud at your hero. I thought it would be good for him. However, you will be relieved to hear that it went wide of the mark. He still sits secure in his tight little shrine and smiles magnanimously at my futility."
Olga's hand slipped into Nick's. "He's the biggest man you've ever seen!" she declared, with warmth.
"Please don't fight over my body!" remonstrated Nick. "I never professed to be more than a minnow among Tritons, and quite a lean minnow at that."
"You're not, Nick!" declared his champion impetuously. "You're a giant!"
"In miniature," suggested Max. "He is actually proposing to go and kick
Major Hunt-Goring because—" He broke off short.
Into Olga's face of flushed remonstrance there had flashed a very strange look, almost a petrified look, as if she had suddenly come upon a snake in her path.
"Why?" she said quickly.
"Oh, never mind why," said Max, passing rapidly on. "That wasn't the point. We were trying to picture Hunt-Goring's amusement. He stands about seven feet high, doesn't he? And your redoubtable uncle—What exactly is your height, Ratcliffe?"
"Nick, why do you want to kick Major Hunt-Goring?" Very distinctly Olga put the question. She was evidently too proud to accept help from this quarter.
"It's a chronic craving with me," said Nick. "But Miss Campion has kindly undertaken the job for me. I am sure she is infinitely better equipped for the task than I am, and she will probably do it much more effectually."
"But not yet!" laughed Violet. "I like his cigarettes too well. Why do you look like that, Allegro? Doesn't he send you any?"
"If he did," said Olga, with concentrated passion, "I'd pick them up with the tongs and put them in the fire!"
Max laughed in a fashion that made her wince, but Nick's fingers squeezed hers protectingly.
"You don't like him any better than I do apparently," he said lightly. "But I suppose we must tolerate the man for Jim's sake. He wouldn't thank us for eliminating all his unpleasant patients during his absence. Now, Miss Campion, a song, please! The most sentimental in your repertoire!"
She flashed him her gay smile and flung the streaming ribbons over her arm. There was a gleam of mischief in her eyes as, without preliminary, she began to sing. Her voice was rich and low and wonderfully pure.
In vain all the knights of the Underworld woo'd her,
Though brightest of maidens, the proudest was she;
Brave chieftains they sought, and young minstrels they sued her,
But worthy were none of the high-born Ladye.
"Whomsoever I wed," said this maid, "so excelling,
That Knight must the conqu'ror of conquerors be;
He must place me in halls fit for monarchs to dwell in;—
None else shall be Lord of the high-born Ladye!"
Thus spoke the proud damsel, with scorn looking round her
On Knights and on Nobles of highest degree;
Who humbly and hopelessly left as they found her,
And worshipp'd at distance the high-born Ladye.
At length came a Knight from a far land to woo her,
With plumes on his helm like the foam of the sea;
His vizor was down—but, with voice that thrill'd through her,
He whisper'd his vows to the high-born Ladye.
"Proud maiden, I come with high spousals to grace thee,
In me the great conqu'ror of conquerors see;
Enthron'd in a hall fit for monarchs I'll place thee,
And mine thou'rt for ever, thou high-born Ladye!"
The maiden she smil'd and in jewels array'd her,
Of thrones and tiaras already dreamt she;
And proud was the step, as her bridegroom convey'd
her In pomp to his home, of that high-born Ladye.
"But whither," she, starting, exclaims, "have you led me?
Here's nought but a tomb and a dark cypress tree;
Is this the bright palace in which thou wouldst wed me?"
With scorn in her glance, said the high-born Ladye.
"Tis the home," he replied, "of earth's loftiest creatures."
Then he lifted his helm for the fair one to see;
But she sunk on the ground—'twas a skeleton's features,
And Death was the Lord of the high-born Ladye!
The beautiful voice throbbed away into silence, and the mandolin jarred and thrummed upon the floor. Violet Campion sat staring straight before her with eyes that were wide and fixed.
Olga jumped up impulsively. "Violet, why did you sing that gruesome thing? Do you want to give us all the horrors?"
She picked up the mandolin with a swish of its red ribbons, and laid it upon the piano, where it quivered and thrummed again like a living thing, awaking weird echoes from the instrument on which it rested.
Then she turned back to her friend. "Violet, wake up! What are you looking at?"
But Violet remained immovable as one in a trance.
Olga bent over her, touched her. "Violet!"
With a quick start, as though suspended animation had suddenly been restored, Violet relaxed in her chair, leaning back with careless grace, her white arms outstretched.
"What's the matter, Allegretto? You look as if you had had a glimpse of the conqueror of conquerors yourself. I shall have to come and sleep with you to frighten away the spooks."
"I don't think I shall ever dare to go to bed at all after that," said
Nick.
She laughed at him lazily. "Get Max to sit up with you and hold your hand! The very sight of him would scare away all bogies."
"The sign of a wholesome mind," said Max.
She turned towards him. "Not at all! Scepticism only indicates gross materialism and lack of imagination. There is nothing at all to be proud of in the possession of a low grade of intelligence."
Max's mouth went down, and Violet's face flashed into her most bewitching smile.
"I don't often get the opportunity to jeer at a genius," she said. "You know that I am one of your most ardent admirers, don't you?"
"Is that the preliminary to asking a favour?" said Max.
She broke into a light laugh. "No, I never ask favours. I always take what I want. It's much the quickest way."
"Saves trouble, too," he suggested.
"It does," she agreed. "I am sure you follow the same plan yourself."
"Invariably," said Max.
"It's a plan that doesn't always answer," observed Nick, in a grandfatherly tone. "I shouldn't recommend it to everybody."
"And it's horribly selfish," put in Olga.
"My dear child, don't be so frightfully moral!" protested Violet. "I can't rise to it. Nick, why doesn't it always answer to take what one wants?"
"Because one doesn't always succeed in keeping it," said Nick.
"He means," said Max, a spark of humour in his eyes, "that a champion,—no, a chaperon—sometimes comes along to the rescue of the stolen article. But—from what I've seen of life—I scarcely think the odds would be on the side of the chaperon. What is your opinion, Miss Campion?"
"If the chaperon were Nick, I should certainly put my money on him," she answered lightly.
"And lose it!" said Max.
"And win it!" said Olga.
"Order! Order!" commanded Nick. "Once more I refuse to be the bone of contention between you. You will tear me to shreds among you, and even the great Dr. Wyndham might find some difficulty in putting me together again. Olga, give us some music!"
"I can't, dear," said Olga.
He frowned at her. "Why not?"
She hesitated. "I'm not in the mood for it. At least—"
"Am I the obstacle?" asked Max.
She could not control her colour, though she strove resolutely to appear as if she had not heard.
He turned to Violet, faintly smiling. "Shall we take a stroll in the garden?"
She rose, flinging a gay glance at Olga. "Just two turns!" she said.
He held aside the curtain for her, and followed her out, with a careless jest. The two who were left heard them laughing as they sauntered away. Olga rose with a shiver.
"What's the matter?" said Nick.
To which she answered, "Nothing," knowing that he would not believe her, knowing also that he would understand enough to ask no more.
She went to the piano, put aside the mandolin, and began to play. Not even to Nick, her hero and her close confidant, would she explain the absolute repugnance that the association of Max Wyndham with her friend had inspired in her.
But though she played with apparent absorption, her ears were strained to catch the sound of their voices in the garden behind her, the girl's light chatter, her companion's brief, cynical laugh. For she knew by the sure intuition which is a woman's inner and unerring vision, that jest or trifle as he might his keen brain was actively employed in some subtle investigation too obscure for her to fathom, and that behind his badinage and behind his cynicism there sat a man who watched.
CHAPTER VI
THE PAIN-KILLER
"I am going over to Brethaven to see Mrs. Briggs to-day," Olga announced nearly a week later, waylaying Max after breakfast on his way to the surgery with the air of one prepared to resist opposition. "Are you wanting the car this morning, Dr. Wyndham?"
She knew that he would be engaged at the cottage-hospital that morning, but it was one of Dr. Ratcliffe's strict rules that the car should never be used unprofessionally without express permission from himself or his assistant. Naturally Olga resented having to observe this rule in her father's absence and her manner betrayed as much, but she was too conscientious to neglect its observance.
"You don't propose to go alone, I suppose?" said Max, pausing.
This was another of her father's rules and one which Olga had often vainly attempted to persuade him to rescind. Under these circumstances, Max's question seemed little short of an insult.
"I don't see what that has to do with it," she said.
Max looked at his watch, then turned squarely and faced her. "With me, you mean. Very likely not. But there is a remote connection or I shouldn't ask. Are you going to take Nick with you?"
"He is going part of the way," said Olga, striving for dignity.
"Only part?"
"As far as the station," she returned, almost in spite of herself.
"Going up to town, is he?" said Max. "Well, that doesn't help much. Take one of the boys!"
"I don't want one of the boys," Olga spoke with sudden irritation.
"Violet is going with me," she said.
His face changed very slightly, almost imperceptibly. "In that case you must take Mitchel," he said.
"How absurd!" exclaimed Olga.
"No, it isn't absurd. It's quite reasonable from my point of view. If you can't take Mitchel with you, I can't spare the car."
He smiled a little as he pronounced this decision, but quite plainly his mind was made up.
Olga bit her lip in exasperation. "Do you think I am not to be trusted to take care of her?" she asked him scornfully. "I shall ask Nick if I need do anything so ridiculous!"
"Here he is," said Nick, coming lightly up behind her with the words. "What's the trouble now? If you are requiring my valuable advice, it is quite at your service."
Olga turned to him at once. "Nick, it's really too silly for words. Dr.
Wyndham makes mountains out of molehills."
"That's very ingenious of him," commented Nick. "I shouldn't harass the man if I were you, Olga. He's been out all night."
Olga pounced upon this fact. "I expect Mitchel has too, then, so he just won't be able to go."
"No," said Max. "I didn't take the car or Mitchel. It chanced to be a case in the village, and I bicycled."
"Who was it?" asked Olga eagerly; and then restrained herself with annoyance. "But of course you won't tell me. You're much too professional."
"Keep to the point!" ordered Nick.
Olga slipped a coaxing arm round his neck. "Nick, don't you think it absurd that Violet and I shouldn't motor over to Brethaven without a man to take care of us? I am quite certain Dad wouldn't object."
"There you are wrong," said Max. "If your father were here, he would forbid it—as I do."
He spoke with emphasis, and glanced again at his watch as he did so.
"He doesn't object to my going alone with one of the boys," said Olga. "It's only Violet who is too precious to go motoring without a full-grown escort. As if I weren't quite capable of taking care of her!"
"It's not that at all," said Max curtly. "I can't stop to argue, so please make up your mind what you are going to do. I'm sorry you've been dragged into the discussion, Ratcliffe. I daresay it seems a senseless one to you, but I have my reasons."
Nick looked at him for a moment, a quick gleam of comprehension behind his flickering eyelids. "It won't hurt you to take Mitchel, Olga mia," he said.
"Oh, Nick!" There was deep reproach in Olga's voice, and at sound of it
Max smiled with dry humour.
Nick laughed outright, openly heartless. "My beloved chicken, who is making mountains out of molehills now? I would escort you myself if I hadn't got to attend this committee meeting in town,—a million plagues upon it! Come along and open my letters for me! We are wasting time."
"I do think you needn't take his part," said Olga, as Max disappeared into the surgery. "He's quite bullying and tyrannical enough without that."
"I'm inclined to sympathize with the young man myself," said Nick. "He wouldn't bully you if you weren't so nasty."
"Nick, I'm not nasty!"
"I should detest you if I were Max," said Nick, squeezing her affectionately with his one wiry arm.
"It isn't my fault we are antipathetic," protested Olga. "For goodness' sake, Nick, don't start liking him! But I'm sure you don't in your heart of hearts. You simply couldn't."
"Why not?" said Nick.
"Oh, Nick, you don't! You know you don't! He's so cold-blooded and cynical."
"Do you want to know what he was up to last night?" said Nick.
"Yes, tell me!" said Olga.
"He was sent for last thing by some people who live in that filthy alley—near the green pond. A child was choking. They thought it had swallowed a pin. When he got there, he found it was diphtheria at its most advanced stage. The child was at death's door. He had to perform an operation at a moment's notice, hadn't got the proper paraphernalia with him, and sucked the poison out himself."
"Good heavens, Nick!" said Olga, turning very white. "And the child?"
"The child is better. It is to be taken to the hospital to-day."
"Will it—won't it—have an effect on him?" gasped Olga.
"Heavens knows," said Nick.
"And that's why he didn't come down to breakfast," she said. "How did you find out about it? He didn't tell you?"
"He couldn't help it," said Nick. "He stole my bath this morning, and when I arrived he was lying in it face downwards boiling himself in some filthy disinfectant that made the bathroom temporarily uninhabitable. Naturally I lodged a complaint, and finally got at the whole story. By the way, he said I wasn' to tell you; but I told him I probably should. That's only a detail, but I mention it in case you should be tempted to broach the subject to him. I shouldn't advise you to do so, as I think you will probably find him rather touchy about it."
"But, Nick!" Olga's eyes had begun to shine. "It was very—fine of him," she said. "I wish I'd known before I was so cross to him. I—I should have made allowances if I had known."
"Quite so," said Nick. "Well, you can begin now if you feel so inclined, though I suppose the young man did no more than his duty after all."
"Oh, Nick, a man isn't obliged to go so far as that!" she exclaimed reproachfully. "There are plenty who wouldn't."
"Doubtless," agreed Nick, looking faintly quizzical. "It was the action of a fool—but a brave fool. We'll grant him that much, shall we?"
She laughed a little, her cheek against his shoulder. "Don't poke fun at me! It isn't fair. You know he isn't a fool perfectly well."
"By Jove! You are getting magnanimous!" laughed Nick.
"No, I'm not. I'm only trying to be fair. One must be that," said Olga, whose honest soul abhorred injustice of any description.
"Oh, of course," said Nick. "You'll have to spoil him now to make up for having been so—'horrid,' I think, is the proper term, isn't it? It's the most comprehensive word in the woman's vocabulary, comprising everything from slightly disagreeable to damned offensive."
"Really, Nick!"
Nick grinned. "Pardon my unparliamentary language!"
"But Nick, I've never been—that!" protested Olga.
"A matter of opinion!" laughed Nick.
But Olga did not laugh, she only flushed a little and changed the subject.
About an hour later, Max, taking his hat from a peg in the hall, preparatory to departing for the cottage-hospital, discovered the lining thereof to be pulled away in order to accommodate a twisted scrap of paper which had been pinned to it in evident haste.
He carried the hat to the consulting-room and there detached and examined its contents. He smoothed out the crumpled morsel with his customary deliberation, drawing his shaggy red brows together over a few lines of minute writing which became visible as he did so.
"Dear Max," he read, "I'm sorry I've been a beast to you lately. Please don't take any notice of this but let us just be friends for the future. Yours,
"Olga."
There was no mockery in the green eyes as they deciphered the impulsive note, nor did the somewhat hard lips smile. Max stood for some seconds after reading it, staring fixedly at the paper, and when at length he looked up his face wore a guarded expression with which many of his patients were familiar. He took a pocket-book from an inner pocket and laid the crumpled scrap within it. Then, without more ado, he put on his hat and departed.
Olga was by that time spinning merrily along the road to Brethaven, having parted with Nick at the railway-station. Violet was seated beside her, and the old servant Mitchel sat sourly behind them. He had a rooted objection to the back-seat, and held the opinion that a woman at the wheel was out of place.
Olga, however, was not prepared to yield on this point at least. She had brought him against her will, and she meant to forget him if possible. But it was not long before Violet had extracted from her an account of the discussion that had resulted in Mitchel's unwilling presence. She was not very anxious to supply the information, but Violet was insistent and soon possessed herself of the full details of the argument which she seemed to find highly amusing.
"Oh, my dear, he's in love with me of course!" she said "I discovered that the first night I was with you. Hence his solicitude."
"I'm not so sure of that," said Olga.
"What! You haven't noticed it? My dear child, where are your eyes?
Haven't you seen the way he watches me?"
Yes, Olga had seen it; but somehow she did not think it meant that. She said so rather hesitatingly.
"What else could it mean?" laughed Violet. "But you needn't be afraid, dear. I'm not going to have him. He's much too anatomical for me, too business-like and professional altogether. I'd sooner die than have him attend me."
"Would you?" said Olga. "But why? He's very clever."
"That's just it. He's too clever to have any imagination. He would be quite unscrupulous, quite merciless, and utterly without sympathy. Can't you picture him making you endure any amount of torture just to enable him to say he had cured you? Oh yes, he's diabolically clever, but he is cruel too. He would take the shortest cut, whatever it meant. He wouldn't care what agony he inflicted so long as he gained his end and made you live."
"I don't think he is quite so callous as that," Olga said, but even as she said it she wondered.
"You will if he ever has to doctor you," rejoined Violet. "I wonder what
Mrs. Briggs thought of him. We'll find out to-day."
Mrs. Briggs was the daughter of the old woman who had died the preceding week at "The Ship Inn," whither they were bound that morning. She had nursed Violet in her infancy, and was a privileged acquaintance of both girls.
They found her busy pastry-making, for the business of the establishment had not been suspended during her recent troubles. She greeted them both hospitably, though not without a hint of reproach, which found expression in words when she had come to the end of a detailed account of the funeral.
"I thought you'd 'a' been round long ago," she said. "Your flowers was lovely, Miss Olga. You ought to 'a' seen 'em a-layin' on pore mother. I made sure as you'd want to. And you too, Miss Violet. I kept the coffin open till the very last minute, thinkin' as you'd come."
"That was very sweet of you, Mrs. Briggs," said Violet. "It was all Dr. Wyndham's fault that we didn't. I'm staying there, you know, and whatever he says is law. I'm sure I don't know why, but there it is."
"Well, there!" said Mrs. Briggs. "I might 'a' known. Pore mother was frit to death o' he. 'There's black magic in 'im' she says to me. It was the day as she was took, too. 'Black magic,' she says. 'I've a-begged 'im to let me die easy, but Lor' bless yer, 'e don't take no more notice than if 'e were the Spink,'" Mrs. Briggs glanced over her shoulder. "But there's one thing as you'll both be glad to know," she said, lowering her voice confidentially, "she died easy, pore soul, in spite of 'im. 'E don't know 'ow that was."
"What?" gasped both girls in a breath.
Mrs. Briggs went to the door, peered out, softly closed it. Her eyes shone craftily as she returned. She took up her rolling-pin, holding it impressively between her floury hands.
"Two days afore pore mother went," she began, with an air of gruesome mystery, "Dr. Wyndham, 'e came and examined 'er, and 'urt 'er cruel, 'e did. I thought 'e'd 'ave killed 'er afore 'e'd finished. Well, just afore 'e left, 'e come to me with a dark blue bottle, and 'e says: 'Look 'ere, Mrs. Briggs, she won't last out the week. She's quiet now,' 'e says, 'for I've given 'er a dose as'll last for some hours. But when that's exhausted,' 'e says, 'the pain'll come back. And so I'm goin' to give you this.' 'E 'olds it up to the light, and looks at it. 'It's good stuff,' 'e says. 'It's warranted to kill pain. But it ain't a thing to play with. You give 'er a teaspoon of it,' 'e says, 'but only if she's took with bad pain. But she mustn't 'ave more than one in twenty-four hours,' 'e says. 'You mind that. And if you 'ave to give it to 'er, you send at once for me. If you don't send,' 'e says, 'I won't be 'eld responsible for the consequences.' With that 'e goes, and pore mother she seemed to take a turn, and all that day and the next she seemed to drowse like and not take much notice o' things. The neighbours come in and look at 'er, but she didn't seem to know. We 'ad two quiet nights with 'er, and then all of a sudden in the middle of the afternoon she started screamin' and writhin.' Oh, lor, Miss Olga, you never see the like. It was just as if she were bein' tortured over a slow fire. Well, Briggs, 'e was fair unmanned by it. 'For 'eaven's sake,' 'e says, 'give 'er the medicine as the doctor left, and I'll go and tell 'im as you've done it.' And off 'e goes, though it was gettin' latish and no one to attend to the bar. Well, I fetched the medicine, and I took it to 'er, and I says, ''Ere you are, mother,' I says, 'you 'ave a dose o' this. It'll kill the pain.' I gave it 'er in a teaspoon like 'e said, and she took it. But there, it didn't make no more difference to 'er than if it 'ad been water.'" Mrs. Briggs heaved a sob, and picked up a corner of her apron to wipe her eyes. "I told 'er as I dursn't give 'er any more because of what the doctor 'ad said, and I said as 'ow Briggs 'ad gone for him, and 'e'd know 'ow to quiet 'er when 'e came. But the very thought of 'im seemed to drive 'er crazy. And then she said that about the black magic, and 'ow 'e'd never be persuaded to let 'er die easy. And then she says to me. 'But you didn't shake the bottle,' she says. 'I expect the stuff that kills the pain is all at the bottom.' And I thought there might be somethin' in it, so I fetched the bottle again and shook it up. And I thought I'd give 'er just 'alf a dose more in case she 'adn't 'ad enough. But just as I was a-goin' to pour it out there was such a rappin' down in the bar, that I 'ad to just give it 'er and run. I was back in under a minute, and there was pore mother a-sittin' up in bed and a-smilin' at me as if all 'er troubles was past, and says she, 'Annie,' she says, 'I've 'ad enough and I don't want no more,' she says; 'it's killed the pain.' And then she laid down in bed still smilin', and says she, 'You tell the doctor when 'e comes as I'm sorry to 'a' fetched 'im for nothin', but I couldn't wait—.' And—if you'll believe me, Miss Olga,—those was the last words she spoke." Again vigorously Mrs. Briggs dried her eyes. "She just dropped off to sleep as easy as easy, and I left 'er and went back to the bar. There was a stick by the bedside, and I knew I should 'ear 'er knock if she wanted me. But she didn't knock, and she didn't knock, and I kept thinkin' to myself what a nice sleep she was 'avin', and I wouldn't disturb 'er till the doctor came. And then all of a sudden, it came into my mind to wonder about that there medicine. And I just run up to see. And there I found 'er a-laying' dead, and the stuff in the bottle were 'alf-gone!"