The iron drove in a little deeper.  His spirit, his pride, awoke and rebelled, raging impotently.  He would not bear the burden.  He would die somehow.  He would find a means, do what they would to stop him.  He would escape—­somehow—­from this particular hell.  He would not be chained between life and death.  He would burst the bonds.  He would be free!

His pulses rose to fever pitch.  He started up upon the bed.  Now was the time—­now—­now!  He might not have another chance.  And there must be some means to his hand—­some way out of this awful darkness!

The madness of fever urged him.  In another moment he would have been on his feet, at grips with the fate that bound him; but even as he gathered himself together for the effort, something happened.

The door opened and a woman entered.  He heard the swish of her draperies, and his heart gave a great throb and paused.

“Who is it?” he said, and his voice was harsh and dry even to his own hearing.  “Who is it?  Speak to me!”

She spoke, and his heart, released from the sudden check, leaped on at a pace that nearly suffocated him.  “It’s I, Noel,—­Olga!  They said I might come and see you.  You don’t mind?”

“Mind!” he said, and suddenly a great sob burst from him.  He felt out towards her with hands that wildly groped.  “Let me feel you!” he entreated.  “I—­I’ll let you go again!”

And then very suddenly her arms were all around him, closing him in, lifting him out of his hell.  “Noel!  My own Noel!” she whispered.  “My own, splendid boy!”

He held her fast, his battered head pillowed against her while he fought for self-control.  For many seconds he could not utter a word.  And in the silence the world he knew opened its gates to him again and took him back.  The darkness remained indeed, but it had been lightened.  The horror of it no longer tore his soul.  The iron had been withdrawn.

He moved at last, drawing her hand to his lips.  “Olga, you don’t know what you’ve saved me from.  I was—­in hell.”

“Lie down, dear!” she murmured softly.  “I’m going to take care of you now.”  She added, as she shook up the pillow, “It’s my business, isn’t it?”

He sank back with a sense of great comfort, holding her hand fast in his.  It made the darkness less dark to hold her so.

“I want to know what happened,” he said.  “Sit down and tell me!”

“And you will try to keep quiet,” she urged gently.

“Yes—­yes!  But don’t keep anything back!  Tell me everything!”

“I will, dear,” she said, “though really there isn’t much to tell.  Is that quite comfy?  You’re not in bad pain?”

“I can bear it,” he said.  “Go on!  Let’s hear!”

So, sitting by his side, her hand in his, Olga told him.