The utterance was very faint, yet it reached Olga, sitting, as she had sat for hours, by her friend's side, watching the long, still slumber that had followed Max's draught.
She bent instantly over the girl upon the bed, and warmly clasped her hand. "I am here, darling."
The shadows were lengthening. Evening was drawing on. Very soon it would be dark.
"Allegro!" The low voice said again. It held a note of unutterable weariness, yet there was pleading in it too. The hand Olga had taken closed with a faint, answering pressure.
"Are you wanting anything?" whispered Olga, her face close to the face upon the pillow, the beautiful face she had watched, with what a passion of devotion, during the long, long afternoon.
"Have you been here all the time?" murmured Violet.
"Yes, dear."
"How sweet of you, Allegro!" The dark eyes opened wider; they seemed to be watching something very intently, something that Olga could not see. "I suppose you thought I was asleep," she said.
"Yes, dear."
"I wasn't," said Violet. "I was just—away."