“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!”