“Death,” he said, “is the opening—­and the closing—­of a Door.”

She leaned eagerly forward.  “You think that?”

“Just that,” said Nick.  He smiled and blew out the match, just in time.  “But—­as you perceive—­I am afraid of pain—­that is, when I think about it.”

She scarcely seemed to hear.  “And have you ever seen anyone die?”

“Plenty,” said Nick.

“Ah, I forgot!  You’ve killed men, haven’t you?” There was suppressed excitement in her voice.

Nick threw up his head and smoked towards the oak-beamed roof.  “When I had to,” he said, with brevity.

“Ah!” The word leaped from her like a cry of triumph.  “Did you ever kill anyone with a knife?  What did it feel like?”

“I shan’t tell you,” said Nick rudely.  “It isn’t good for anyone to know too much.”

An abrupt silence followed his refusal.  The surging of the sea had risen to a continuous low roar; and from the garden came the sound of trembling leaves.  The storm was at hand.

“Do you think I don’t know?” said Violet, and laughed.

Quickly Olga rose, as if her nerves were on edge, and went towards the open door.  As she did so, a violet glare lit the hall from end to end, quivered, and was gone.  She stopped dead, and in the awful silence that succeeded she heard the wild beat of her heart rising, rising, rising, in a tumult of sudden fear.

Violet remained at the table, staring, as one transfixed.  She was gazing at the open door.  Nick leaned swiftly forward and took her hand.  So much Olga saw in the dimness before the thunder with a fierce crash burst forth overhead.

Ere it died away there came a shriek, wild, horrible, unearthly.  It pierced Olga through and through, turning her cold from head to foot.  Another shriek followed it, and yet another; and then came a dreadful, sobbing utterance in which words and moans were terribly mingled.

Olga caught at her self-control, as it were, with both hands, and went swiftly back to the table.  Violet was on her feet.  She had wrenched herself free, and was wildly pointing.

“No!  No!  No!” she cried.  “Take him away!” Mortal terror was in her starting eyes.  Suddenly perceiving Olga, she turned and clung to her.  “Allegro!  You promised!  You promised!”

Then it was that Olga realized that someone had entered during that awful peal of thunder, and was even then advancing quietly down the hall.  It needed not a second flickering flash to reveal him.  Her heart told her who it was.

With Violet pressed close in her arms, she spoke.  “Max, stop!”

She never knew whether it was the note of authority or of desperation in her voice that induced him to comply; but he stopped on the instant a full twenty feet from where they stood.

“What’s the matter?” he said.

Brief, matter-of-fact, almost contemptuous, came his query.  Yet Olga thrilled at the sound of it, feeling strengthened, reassured, strangely unembarrassed.