r something checked her, something
cried aloud within her, bidding her pause. She stopped. Nick was close
behind her. Swiftly, obedient to the voice that cried, she stretched
out her hand to him. He gripped it fast, and she was conscious for an
instant of a curious gladness, a willingness to leave it in his hold,
that she had never experienced before. But at the door of Olga's room
he softly relinquished it, and drew back.

Olga was lying propped on pillows, and breathing quickly. The nurse
was bending over her with a glass, but Olga's face was turned away.
She was watching the door.

As Muriel came to her, the light eyes brightened to quick
intelligence, and the parted lips tried to speak. But no sound came
forth, and a frown of pain succeeded the effort.

Muriel stooped swiftly and grasped the slender hand that lay clenched
upon the sheet.

"There, darling! Don't try to talk. It hurts you so. We are both here,
Nick and I, and we understand all about it."

It was the first time she had ever voluntarily coupled herself with
him. It came to her instinctively to do it in that moment.

But Olga had something to say, something apparently that must be said.
With infinite difficulty she forced a husky whisper. Muriel stooped
lower to catch it, so low that her face was almost touching the face
upon the pillow.

"Muriel," came haltingly from the parched lips, "there's something--I
want--to say to you--about Nick."

Muriel felt the blood surging at her temples as the faint words
reached her. She would have given anything to know that he was out of
earshot.

"Won't you say it in the morning, darling?" she said, almost with
pleading in her voice. "It's so late now."

It was not late. It was very, very early--the solemn hour when
countless weary ones fall into their long sleep. And the moment she
had spoken, her heart smote her. Was she for her own peace of mind
trying to silence the child's last words on earth?

"No, never mind, dear," she amended tenderly. "I am listening to you.
Tell me now."

"Yes," panted Olga. "I must. I must. You remember--that day--with the
daisies--the day we saw--the hawk?"

Yes, well Muriel remembered it. The thought of it went through her
like a stab.

"Yes, dear. What of it?" she heard herself say.

"Well, you know--I've thought since--that the daisies meant Nick,
not--not--I can't remember his name, Muriel."

"Do you mean Captain Grange, dear?"

"Yes, yes, of course. He was the