"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?"