"Quite comfy, sweetheart?"
"Quite," said Violet. And then, "Come quite close, Allegro dear!"
Olga sat down upon the bed, and took her into her arms, "You don't mind the dark?" she whispered.
And Violet answered. "No. I've passed it. I'm not afraid of anything now."
There fell a silence between them. A great, all-enveloping peace had succeeded the turmoil. Violet's breathing was short but not difficult. She lay nestled in the sheltering arms like a weary child. And slowly the seconds slipped away.
There came a faint sound outside the door as of muffled movements, and Cork, from his post at the foot of the bed, raised his head and deeply growled.
Sleepily the head on Olga's shoulder stirred. "It doesn't matter now," said Violet's voice, speaking softly. "He can never bring me back again." And then, still more softly, in a kind of breathless ecstasy, "The Door is opening, Allegro—darling! Let me—go!"
The words went into a deep sigh that somehow did not seem to end. Olga waited a moment or two, listening tensely, then rose and laid her very tenderly back upon the pillow. She knew that even as she did so, her friend passed through …
Slowly she turned from the bed, as one in a dream, unconscious of tragedy, untouched by fear or agitation or any emotion whatsoever. All feeling seemed to be unaccountably suspended.
The figure of a big man met her on the threshold. She looked at him with wide, incurious eyes, recognizing him without surprise.