He set down a tray he was carrying, and came and stood beside Nick. Outlined against the dim light shed by a shaded night-lamp, he looked gigantically square and strong.
"I won't hurt you, Olga," he said. "Won't you trust me?"
Again his voice was softened to a great gentleness; yet it compelled. In another second Nick had withdrawn himself, and Max stood alone beside her bed. He stooped low over her, put back the hair from her forehead, looked intently into her eyes.
"Are you in pain?" he asked.
"No," she whispered back.
"You are sure? It doesn't hurt you to move your eyes?"
"No," she said again.
He passed his hand again over her forehead, felt her face, her temples, finally turned his attention to her pulse. As he took out his watch, she remembered again the two things that had outlasted all other impressions before she had sunk into her long sleep. And with this memory came another. She raised her eyes to his grave face.
"Max!"
"In a moment!" said Max.