She turned to him, her face anguished, piteous, appealing.  “I can’t get any further than that, Nick.  It’s just a dreadful darkness that makes me afraid.  I think I begged him not to go to her.  But I know he went, because—­when he came down again”—­her voice faltered; bewilderment showed through her distress—­“when he came down again—­” she repeated the words like a child conning a lesson, then stopped, staring widely.  “Ah, I don’t remember,” she cried hopelessly.  “I don’t remember—­except that I think—­when he came down again—­it was all over.  And he seemed to be angry with me.  Why was he angry with me, Nick?  Why?  Why?”

She began to tremble violently; but Nick’s arm, strong and steadfast, drew her on.

“He wasn’t angry,” said Nick.  “Up to that point you are all right, but there your imagination runs away with you.  It’s not surprising.  He looks grim enough when he’s on the job.  But that’s his way.  We know too much of him, you and I, to take him over seriously.”

“Then he really wasn’t angry?” Olga said, relief struggling with doubt in her voice.

Nick began to smile.  “He really wasn’t,” he said.

She gave a sharp sigh.  “I’ve been so afraid sometimes.  But why—­why did he look so strange?”

“Doctors don’t like being beaten,” said Nick.

“But then, he knew it was hopeless—­he said so.  Was he angry because of his arm?  Was he angry with her, do you think?  Oh, Nick, my brain—­my brain!  It does whirl so!  It won’t let me think quietly.”

“There is no need to make it think any more,” said Nick, with quick decision.  “Give it a rest!  You’ve got hold of the main points, and that’s enough for anyone.  You mustn’t fret either, dear.  Remember, we are all going the same way.  God knows why we take these things so hard.  I suppose it’s our silly little minds that won’t let us look ahead.”

“If we only could look ahead!” murmured Olga.  “If we could only know!”

Nick’s eyes sent a single flashing glance over the cypresses.  His arm clasped her closely and very tenderly.  “That’s just where the trick of believing comes in,” he said.  “I don’t see how those who honestly believe in the love of God can help believing that all is well with those who have gone on.  To my mind it follows as the inevitable sequence.  Those who doubt it are putting a limit to the Illimitable and placing a lower estimate on the love of God than they place upon their own.  But we are all such wretched little pigmies—­even the biggest of us.  We are apt to forget that, don’t you think?  Horribly apt to try and measure the Infinite with a foot-rule.  And see what comes of it!  Only a deeper darkness and a narrowing of our own miserable limitations.  We never get any further that way, Olga mia.  Speculating and dogmatizing don’t help us.  We are up against the Unknown like a wall.  But the love of God shines on both sides of it; and till the Door opens to us also, that’s as much as we shall know.”