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.”