s, and
oneself lying there pretending to be asleep and waiting--waiting--for
the man one hated." Suddenly the wide eyes glowed red. "Think of
it--think of it, Allegro!--how one would feel for the point of the knife
when one heard his step, and hide it away under the pillow when at last
he came in. How one's flesh would creep when he lay down! How one's ears
would shout and clamour while one waited for him to sleep! And then--and
then--when he began to breathe slowly and one knew that he was
unconscious--how inch by inch one would draw out one's hand with the
knife and raise the bedclothes, and plunge it hard and deep into his
breast! Would he struggle, Allegro? Would he open his eyes to see his
own life-blood spout out? Would he be frightened, or angry, or just
surprised? I think he would be surprised, don't you? He wouldn't give
his wife credit for hating him so much. Men don't, you know. They never
realize how far hatred will drive a woman until it pushes her over the
edge. I think he would hardly believe his own eyes even then, unless he
saw her laughing!" A burst of wild laughter broke from Violet's lips,
but she smothered it with her handkerchief.

"I mustn't laugh," she said, "though I'm sure she did. And I want to
talk to you seriously, Allegro."

"Dear, do lie down and rest!" Olga urged her gently. "That hateful story
has given you a shock. Do try and remember that there's nothing new
about it. It all happened years ago. And you are no different now than
you were this morning before you heard it."

Violet leaned her head back again upon the pillows, but her eyes roved
unceasingly. "But then I was mad this morning," she said, "only I didn't
know it. Do you know, I think madness is a sort of state in which people
lose their souls and yet go on living. Or else the soul goes blind. I've
thought of that too. But I think my soul has gone on. I shall go and
find it presently. You must help me."

"Of course I will help you, darling," Olga promised soothingly.

"Yes. But it won't be easy," said Violet, frowning upwards. "I've got to
go into a great space of lost souls, and I shan't find it very easily.
It was his fault. He never ought to have brought me back that night.
That's the worst of doctors. They are so keen about the body, but they
don't study the soul at all. They behave exactly as if the soul weren't
there."

"Look here, dear," said Olga, with sudden inspiration, "wouldn't you
like to talk to Nick about