brief words reassured her. She felt no
agitation, was scarcely aware of shock. In his presence even the shadow
of Death became devoid of all superstitious fears. In some fashion he
made fear seem absurd.

Nick waited for her on the verandah with his face turned up to the sky.
He scarcely looked like a man bracing himself for a stiff ordeal, but it
was not his way to stoop under his burdens. He had learned to tread
jauntily while he carried a heart like lead.

When Olga joined him, he put his hand through her arm and led her forth.
The path wound along between the tangle of shrubs and lower growth till
it reached the cypresses, and here was a shady stretch where they could
pace to and fro in complete privacy.

Arrived here, Nick spoke. "It wasn't altogether news to you, was it?"

She passed her hand across her eyes in the old, puzzled way. "I didn't
remember," she said, "and yet I wasn't altogether surprised. I think
somehow at the back of my mind--I suspected."

"You remember now," said Nick.

She looked at him with troubled eyes. "No, I don't, dear. That's just
it. I--I can't remember. It--frightens me." She clasped his hand with
fingers that trembled.

"No need to be frightened," said Nick. "You were ill, you know; first
the heat and then the shock. After brainfever, people very often do
forget."

"Ah, yes," she said, with a piteous kind of eagerness. "But it is coming
back now. I only want you to help a little." She stood suddenly still.
"Nick, you are not afraid of Death, I know. Wasn't it you who called it
the opening of a Door?"

"It is--just that," said Nick.

"But the body," she said, "the body dies."

"The body," he said, "is like a suit of clothes that you lay aside till
the time comes for it to be renovated and made wearable again."

"Ah! She couldn't die, could she, Nick?" Olga's eyes implored him. "Not
she herself!" she urged. "She was so full of life. I can't realize it. I
can't--I can't! Tell me how it happened! Surely I never saw her dead!
Whatever came after, I never could have forgotten that!"

"Tell me how much you do remember, kiddie," Nick said gently. "And I
will fill in the gaps."

Her forehead contracted in a painful frown. "It's so difficult," she
said, "so disjointed--like a dreadful dream. I know she was horribly
afraid of Max. And then there was Major Hunt-Goring. I can't believe she
ever liked him. It was only because he--flattered her, and gave her
those dreadful cigarette