A glare of sunlight smote upon her from a passage-window with a brilliance that almost hurt her. She stood still, clinging to Nick's shoulder.
"Oh, Nick," she faltered weakly, "why don't they—pull down the blinds?"
Nick turned aside, still closely holding her, into the room in which she had rested for the earlier part of the night.
"Because, thank God," he said, "there is no need. Olga is going to live."
He helped her down into an easy-chair, and would have left her; but she clung to him still, weakly but persistently.
"Oh, Nick, don't laugh! Tell me the truth for once! Please, Nick, please!"
He yielded to her so abruptly that she was half-startled, dropping suddenly down upon his knees beside her, the morning light full upon his face.
"I am telling you the truth," he said. "I believe you have saved her life. She has been sleeping ever since sunrise."
Muriel gazed at him speechlessly; but she no longer suspected him of trying to deceive her. If he had never told her the truth before that moment he was telling it to her then.
She gave a little gasping cry of relief unspeakable, and hid her face. The next moment Nick was on his feet. She heard his quick, light step as he crossed the threshold, and realised thankfully that he had left her alone.