The Keeper of the Door Part 74

Nick did not attempt to interrupt her. He waited, alert and silent, for the vision to come to an end.

The end was not far off. She went on speaking rapidly, as if more to herself than to him. She seemed indeed to have forgotten him for the moment.

"What a frightful storm it was! That flash of lightning--how it shone through the east window--and the floor was all red as if--as if--" She broke off; her hand clenched unconsciously upon Nick's. "Did you see her?" she whispered. "Or was it only a nightmare? She--was trying--to--to--kill Max--in the dark!"

"She was not herself," said Nick. His voice was low and soothing; he spoke as if he feared to awake her.

"No--no! She was mad--like her mother. Oh, Nick, how beautiful she was!"

Suddenly the tension pa.s.sed. Olga covered her face and began to cry.

His arm tightened about her; he drew her on up the shady walk. "And that is all you remember, kiddie?" he said.

She slipped her arm round his neck as they walked. "No, I remember two things more." She forced back her tears to tell him. "I remember Max's arm all soaked with blood. It stained my dress too. And I remember his saying that--that it was a hopeless case, and that she--Violet--was as good as dead. After that--after that----"

Nick waited. "After that?" he said.

She turned to him, her face anguished, piteous, appealing. "I can't get any further than that, Nick. It's just a dreadful darkness that makes me afraid. I think I begged him not to go to her. But I know he went, because--when he came down again"--her voice faltered; bewilderment showed through her distress--"when he came down again--" she repeated the words like a child conning a lesson, then stopped, staring widely.

"Ah, I don't remember," she cried hopelessly. "I don't remember--except that I think--when he came down again--it was all over. And he seemed to be angry with me. Why was he angry with me, Nick? Why? Why?"

She began to tremble violently; but Nick's arm, strong and steadfast, drew her on.

"He wasn't angry," said Nick. "Up to that point you are all right, but there your imagination runs away with you. It's not surprising. He looks grim enough when he's on the job. But that's his way. We know too much of him, you and I, to take him over seriously."

"Then he really wasn't angry?" Olga said, relief struggling with doubt in her voice.

Nick began to smile. "He really wasn't," he said.

She gave a sharp sigh. "I've been so afraid sometimes. But why--why did he look so strange?"

"Doctors don't like being beaten," said Nick.

"But then, he knew it was hopeless--he said so. Was he angry because of his arm? Was he angry with her, do you think? Oh, Nick, my brain--my brain! It does whirl so! It won't let me think quietly."

"There is no need to make it think any more," said Nick, with quick decision. "Give it a rest! You've got hold of the main points, and that's enough for anyone. You mustn't fret either, dear. Remember, we are all going the same way. G.o.d knows why we take these things so hard.

I suppose it's our silly little minds that won't let us look ahead."

"If we only could look ahead!" murmured Olga. "If we could only know!"

Nick's eyes sent a single flas.h.i.+ng glance over the cypresses. His arm clasped her closely and very tenderly. "That's just where the trick of believing comes in," he said. "I don't see how those who honestly believe in the love of G.o.d can help believing that all is well with those who have gone on. To my mind it follows as the inevitable sequence. Those who doubt it are putting a limit to the Illimitable and placing a lower estimate on the love of G.o.d than they place upon their own. But we are all such wretched little pigmies--even the biggest of us. We are apt to forget that, don't you think? Horribly apt to try and measure the Infinite with a foot-rule. And see what comes of it! Only a deeper darkness and a narrowing of our own miserable limitations. We never get any further that way, Olga _mia_. Speculating and dogmatizing don't help us. We are up against the Unknown like a wall. But the love of G.o.d s.h.i.+nes on both sides of it; and till the Door opens to us also, that's as much as we shall know."

He paused. Olga was listening with rapt attention. Her tears were gone, but the clasp of her hand was feverishly tense. Her breath came quickly.

"Go on, Nick!" she whispered. "Tell me more of the things you believe!"

He smiled whimsically. "My dear, I'm afraid I'm not over-orthodox. You see, I've knocked about a bit and seen something of other men's beliefs.

The love of G.o.d is the backbone of my religion, and all that doesn't go with that, I discarded long ago. If Christianity doesn't mean that, it doesn't mean anything. I've no use for the people who think that none but their own select little circle will go to heaven. Such Gargantuan smugness takes one's breath away. It is almost too colossal to be funny.

One wonders where on earth they get it from. I suppose it's a survival of the Dark Ages, but even then surely people had brains of some description."

"But death, Nick!" she said. "Death is such a baffling kind of thing."

"Yes, I know. You can't grasp it or fathom it. You can only project your love into it and be quite sure that it finds a hold on the other side.

Why, my dear girl, that's what love is for. It's the connecting link that G.o.d Himself is bound to recognize because it is of His own forging.

Don't you see--don't you know it is Divine? That is why our love can hold so strongly--even through Death. Just because it is part of His plan--a link in the everlasting Chain that draws the whole world up to Paradise at last. It's so divinely simple. One wonders how anyone can miss the meaning of it."

Olga's rapt face relaxed. She smiled at him--a very loving, comprehending smile. "Yes, I see it when you put it like that, Nick, of course. It is only just at first Death seems so staggering--such a plunge into the dark."

"But there is nothing in the dark to frighten us," Nick said. "If some of us died and some didn't, it would be terrible, I grant. But we are all going sooner or later. No one is left behind for long. To my mind there's a vast deal of comfort in that. It doesn't leave much time for grousing when we simply can't help moving on."

She squeezed his hand. "I wonder where I'd be without you, Nick."

Nick's grin flashed magically across his face. "I'm only a man, kiddie,"

he observed, "and I seem to have been ga.s.sing somewhat immoderately.

However, them's my sentiments, and you can take 'em or leave 'em according to fancy."

Thereafter for a s.p.a.ce they talked of Violet, touching no tragic note, recalling her as an absent friend. Olga dwelt fondly upon the thought of her, scarcely realizing her loss. The new life she had entered had done much to soften the blow when it should fall. Here in a strange land she did not feel her friend's death as she would inevitably have felt it at Weir. Circ.u.mstances combined with Nick's sheltering presence to lift the weight which otherwise must have pressed heavily upon her. Moreover, the longer she contemplated the matter, the more completely did she realize that it had not come to her with the force of a sudden calamity. Deep within her she had carried a nameless dread that had hung upon her like an iron fetter. She had longed--yet trembled--to know the truth. Now that burden seemed lifted from her, and she was conscious of relief.

Before, she had feared she knew not what; but now she feared no longer.

She was weary beyond measure, too weary for grief or wonder, though she did ask Nick, faintly smiling, why they had kept the truth from her for so long.

"I should have found it easier if I had known," she said.

But Nick shook his head with the wisdom of an old man. "You weren't strong enough to know," he said.

She did not contest the point, reflecting that Nick, with all his shrewdness, was but a man, as he himself admitted.

She asked him presently, somewhat haltingly, if he would give her the details of her friend's death. "Max was there, I know. But he never tells one anything. It was one of the reasons why I never got on with him."

A hint of the old resentment was in her tone, and Nick smiled at it.

"Poor old Max! You always were down on him, weren't you? But there is really nothing to tell, dear. She just went to sleep, and her heart stopped. They said it was not altogether surprising, considering her state of health."

"Who said?" questioned Olga.

"Sir Kersley Whitton and Max. Max sent for him, you know."

"Oh, did he? Yes, I remember now. I saw him just for a moment." Again her brow contracted. "Oh, I wish I could remember everything clearly, Nick!" she said.

"Never mind, my chicken! Don't try too hard!" Cheery and rea.s.suring came Nick's response. "Don't you think you have thought enough for one day?

Shall we tell Kasur to order the horses, and go for a canter?"

She turned beside him. "Yes, I shall like that. But--why did you say I was always hard on Max?"

"The result of observations made," he answered lightly.

She smiled with a hint of wistfulness, and said no more. The child Olga would have argued the point. The woman Olga held her peace.

Undoubtedly Nick had stepped off his pedestal that day. She loved him none the less for it, but she wondered a little.

And Nick, philosopher and wily tactician, grinned at his fallen laurels and let them lie. He had that day accomplished the most delicate task to which he had ever set his hand. Behind the mask of masculine clumsiness he had subtly worked his levers and achieved his end. And he was well satisfied with the result.