They came out at length upon the shore, where the stream from the glen gurgled and fell in bubbling cascades into its channel on the beach.  The sun poured full over a sea of blue and purple, threaded with silvery pathways here and there.

Olga paused for a moment, as it were instinctively, because from her earliest childhood she had always paused in just that spot to drink in the beauty of the scene.

Nick waited beside her, alert but patient.  When she turned along the beach, he turned also, walking close to her over the stones, saying no word.

They came to the hollow in the rocks where she and Violet had rested on that summer morning, and again Olga paused with her face to the sea.  A curious little spasm passed across it as she looked.  Far away a white sail floated over the blue, and the cries of circling gulls came to them over the water.  There was no other sound but the long, long roar of the sea.

Again, in utter silence, Olga turned, pursuing her way.  They reached the cliff-path that still remained intact, and began to climb.

The way was steep, but she did not seem aware of it.  Nick, lithe and agile, followed her step for step.  His yellow face was full of anxious wrinkles.  He looked neither to right nor left, watching her only.

Olga never paused in the ascent.  She went unswervingly, as though drawn by some magnetic force above.  Reaching the summit of the cliff, she turned at once from the Redlands ground, and struck across towards the boundary of the Priory.  Nick fell into pace beside her again, vigilant as an eagle guarding its young in the first terrifying flight, not offering help, but ready to give it at the first sign of weakness.

But Olga gave no such sign.  Only as they came in sight of the old grey building, standing stark and gaunt above them, she uttered a sudden sigh that seemed to break from her in spite of rigid restraint.  And a moment later she quickened her pace.

They passed at length around a buttressed corner and so on to the yew-lined drive that led to the front of the house.  The Gothic archway gaped wide to the spring sunshine.  Olga came swiftly to it, and there stood suddenly still.

“Nick!” she said.  “Nick!”

Her voice was vibrant, her eyes widely staring into the gloom within.

He slipped his arm about her, that wiry arm of great strength that had served her so often.  “I am here, darling,” he said soothingly.

Olga turned to him in piteous appeal.  “Nick,” she whispered, “where is she?  Where?  Where?”

He answered her steadfastly, with the absolute conviction of one who knew.  “She is there beyond the Door, dear.  You’ll find her some day, waiting for you where it is given to all of us to wait for those we love.”

But Olga only trembled at his words.  “What door, Nick?” she asked.  “Do you—­do you mean Death?”

“We call it Death,” he said.