“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.