“You’re not to tell him—­not to tell him—­what I have just told you.  If he knows I’m trying to get out, he’ll stop me.  Don’t you understand?  Oh, don’t you understand?” A fury of impatience sounded in her voice; she quivered from head to foot.  “He keeps the door,” she said.  “And he never sleeps.  Why, even last night he was there.  Didn’t you see him?  Those dreadful green eyes—­like—­like a tiger in the dark?  Olga—­” suddenly and passionately she began to plead “—­you won’t tell him, dearest!  You couldn’t be so cruel!  Can’t you see what it means to me?  Don’t you realize that it’s my better self that’s gone?  And I’ve got to follow—­I must follow.  If he doesn’t know, perhaps I shall manage to slip through when he isn’t looking.  Dear, you wouldn’t have me kept a prisoner—­against my will?  He’s so hard, Allegro—­so hard and merciless.  And he keeps the door so close.  I should have got away last night if it hadn’t been for him.  So you won’t tell him, will you?  You’ll promise me you won’t!”

Olga listened to the appeal with a heart that seemed turned to stone.  She knew not what to say or do.

“It’s my only chance!” urged Violet, in a voice that was beginning to break.  “Oh, how can you hesitate?  Are you all in league against me?  Allegro!  Allegro!”

“There, dear, there!  It’s all right.  Don’t worry!” Swiftly Olga collected herself and spoke.  “There’s nothing to be afraid of.  No one shall keep you against your will.”

“You promise, Allegro?” Violet looked at her doubtfully, yet as if she wished to be reassured.

“Yes, of course, dear.  Now really you must let me go and dress.  It’s eight o’clock, and I shan’t be ready for breakfast.”

Violet came slowly away from the door.  She did not look wholly satisfied, but she said no more; and Olga hastened back to her room with deadly misgiving at her heart.  She felt as if there were tragedy in the very air.  It seemed to be closing in upon her, a dread mist of unfathomable possibilities.

She dressed with nervous haste, and hurried downstairs, wondering a little that Max had not bestirred himself to ascertain the effect of his treatment.

She wondered still more when she found him calmly established behind the morning paper in an arm-chair in the dining-room.  He laid it aside at her entrance, and rose to greet her.

“Well?” he said, with her hand in his.

She looked up to find his eyes piercingly upon her.  They shone intensely green in the morning light.

She removed her hand somewhat abruptly.  There was something in his manner that she resented, without knowing why.  “Well?” she said.

“How do you find yourself this morning?” asked Max.

“I’m perfectly well, thank you,” said Olga briefly.

“Ready to start jam-making?” he suggested.

Olga went to the coffee-urn.  “I really don’t know,” she said.  “I’ve had other things to think about.”