_ PART I CHAPTER X. THE DOOR
When remembrance of the previous day's happenings came to Olga, she was already so deeply engrossed in household duties that she was able to dismiss the matter without much difficulty. It was one of the busiest mornings of the week, and no sooner had she finished indoors than she donned a sun-bonnet and big apron and betook herself to the raspberry-bed to gather fruit for jam.
The day was hot, and Violet had established herself in the hammock under the lime-trees with a book and a box of cigarettes. The three boys had gone with Nick on a fishing expedition, and all was supremely quiet.
The sun blazed mercilessly down upon Olga as she toiled, but she would not be discouraged. The raspberries were many and ready to drop with ripeness, and the jam-making could not be deferred. So intent was she that she really almost forgot the physical discomfort in her anxiety to accomplish her task. She had meant to do it in the cool of the previous evening, but her talk with Nick had driven the matter absolutely from her mind.
So she laboured in the full heat of a burning August day, till her head began to throb and her muscles to ache so unbearably that it was no longer possible to ignore them. It was at the commencement of the last row but one (they were very long rows) that she became aware that her energies were seriously flagging. The rest of the garden seemed to be swimming in a haze around her, but she stubbornly ignored that, and bent again to her work, fixing her attention once more with all her resolution upon the great rose-red berries that were waiting to be gathered. She must finish now. She had promised herself to clear the bed by luncheon-time. But it was certainly very hard labour, harder than she had ever found it before. She began to feel as if her limbs were weighted, and the fruit itself danced giddily before her aching eyes.
Suddenly she heard a step on the ash-path near her. She looked up, half-turning as she did so. The next instant it was as if a knife had suddenly pierced her temples. She cried out sharply with the pain of it, staggered, clutched wildly at emptiness, and fell. The contents of her basket scattered around her in spite of her desperate efforts to save them, and this disaster was to Olga the climax of all. She went into a brief darkness in bitterness of spirit.
Not wholly did she lose consciousness, however, for she knew whose arms lifted her, and even very feebly tried to push them away. In the end she found herself sitting on an old wooden bench in the shade of the garden-wall, with her head against Max's shoulder, and his hand, very vital and full of purpose, grasping her wrist.
"Oh, Max," she said, with a painful gasp, "my raspberries!"
"Damn the raspberries!" growled Max. His hand travelled up to her head and removed the sun-bonnet while he was speaking. "Don't move till you feel better!" he said. "There's nothing to bother about."
He pressed her temples with a sure, cool touch. She closed her eyes under it.
"But I must get on," she said uneasily. "I want to make the jam this afternoon."
"Do you?" said Max grimly.
She was silent for a little. He kept his hand upon her head, and she was glad of its support though she wished it had not been his.
"It must be nearly luncheon-time," she said at last, with an effort.
"It is," said Max. "We will go indoors."
"Oh, but I must pick up my raspberries first, and--there's a whole row--more--to gather yet."
"You will have to leave that job for someone else," he said. "You are not fit for it. Are you quite mad, I wonder?"
"It had to be done," said Olga. "I must finish now--really I must finish." She took his hand from her head and slowly raised it. Instantly that agonizing pain shot through her temples again. She barely suppressed a cry.
"What is it?" he said.
"My head!" she gasped. "And oh, Max, I do feel so sick."
He stood up. "Come along!" he said. "I'm going to carry you in."
She raised a feeble protest to which he paid no more attention than if it had been the buzzing of a fly. Very steadily and strongly he lifted her.
"Put your head on my shoulder!" he said, and she obeyed him like a child.
They encountered no one on the way back to the house. Straight in and straight upstairs went Max, finally depositing her upon her bed. He seemed to know exactly how she felt, for he propped her head high with a skill that she found infinitely comforting, and drew the window-curtains to shade her eyes. Then very quietly he proceeded to remove her shoes.
"Thank you very much," murmured Olga. "Don't bother!"
He came and stood beside her and again felt her pulse. "Look here," he said. "As soon as you feel a little better, you undress and slip into bed. I'll come up again in half an hour and give you something for your head. Understand?"
"Oh, no!" Olga said. "No! I can't go to bed, really. I'll lie here for a little while, but I shall be quite all right presently."
Max continued to feel her pulse. He was frowning a good deal. "You will do as I say," he said deliberately. "You are to go to bed at once, and you won't come down again for the rest of the day."
There was so much of finality in his speech that Olga became aware of the futility of argument. She felt moreover totally unfit for it. She only hazarded one more protest.
"But what about Violet?"
"She can take care of herself," he said. "I will tell her."
There was no help for it. Olga gave in without further protest. But she did venture to say as he released her hand, "Please don't bother about bringing me anything! I couldn't possibly take it."
"Leave that to me!" said Max brusquely.
He left her then, to her unutterable relief. There was no doubt about it; she was feeling very ill, so ill that the business of undressing was almost more than she could accomplish. But she did manage it at last, and crept thankfully into bed, laying her throbbing head upon the pillow with the vague wonder if she would ever have the strength to lift it again.
From that she drifted into a maze of pain that blurred all thought, and from which she only roused herself to find Max once more by her side. He was watching her closely.
"Is your head very bad?" he asked.
"Yes," she whispered.
"I've got some stuff here that will soothe it," he said.
"Just drink it down, and then see if you can get a sleep."
His tone was so gentle that had her pain been less severe Olga might have found room for amazement. As it was, she began very weakly to cry.
"Now don't be silly!" said Max. "You needn't move. I'll do it all."
He slipped his arm under the pillow, and lifted her. She commanded herself and drank from the medicine-glass he held to her lips.
"What queer stuff!" she said. "Is it--is it 'the pain-killer'?"
"What do you know about 'the pain-killer'?" he said.
She shrank a little at the question, and he did not pursue it. He laid her down again, settled the pillows, and left her.
Olga lay very still. She felt as if a strange glow were dawning in her brain, a kind of mental radiance, inexpressibly wonderful, absorbing her pain as mist is absorbed by the sun. Gradually it grew and spread till the pain was all gone, swamped, forgotten, in this curious flood of warmth and ecstasy. It was the most marvellous sensation she had ever experienced. Her whole being thrilled responsive to the glow. It was as though a door had been opened somewhere above her and she were being drawn upwards by some invisible means, upwards and upwards, light as gossamer and strangely transcendentally happy, towards the warmth and brightness and wonder that lay beyond.
Up and still up her spirit seemed to soar. Of her body she was supremely, most blissfully, unconscious. She felt as one at the entrance of a dream-world, a world of unknown unimagined splendours, a world of golden atmosphere, of ineffable rapture, and she was floating up through the ether, eager-spirited, wrapt in delight.
And then quite suddenly she knew that Max had returned to her side. His hand was laid upon her arm, his fingers sensitive and ruthless closed upon her pulse.
In that instant Olga also knew that her dream-world was fading from her, her paradise was lost. Softly, inexorably, the door that had begun to open to her closed. The hand that grasped her drew her firmly back to earth and held her there.
In her disappointment she could have wept, so vital, so entrancing, had been the vision. Piteously she tried to plead with him, but it was as though an obscuring veil had been dropped upon her. She could only utter unintelligible murmurings. She sought for words and found them not.
And then she heard his voice quite close to her, very tender and reassuring.
"Don't vex yourself, sweetheart! It's all right--all right."
His hand smoothed her brow; she almost fancied that he kissed her hair, but she was not certain and it did not seem to matter. Surely nothing could ever matter again since the closing of that door!
A brief confusion was hers, a brief wandering in dark places, and then a slow deepening of the dark, the spreading of a great silence....
The last thing she heard was the steady ticking of a watch that someone held close to her. The last thing her brain registered was the close, unvarying grip of a hand upon her wrist....
It was many hours--it might have been years to Olga--before she awoke. Very slowly her clogged spirit climbed out of the deep, deep waters of oblivion in which it had been steeped. For a long time she lay with closed eyes, semi-conscious, not troubling to summon her faculties. At last very wearily she opened them, and found Nick seated beside her, alertly watching.
"Hullo!" she murmured languidly.
"Hullo, darling!" he made soft response. "Had a nice sleep?"
She stared at him vaguely. "What are you sitting there for?"
"Taking care of you," said Nick.
She frowned, collecting her wits with difficulty. "It's night, isn't it?"
"Half-past one," said Nick.
"My dear!" She opened her eyes a little wider. "But what are you waiting for? Why don't you go to bed?"
"I like sitting up sometimes," said Nick. "Keeps me in form."
She turned her head on the pillow. "Is Max here?"
"No," said Nick.
"But--he has been?" she persisted.
"Yes. He's been in now and then."
"Ah!" Olga frowned still more. "Am I ill, Nick?" she asked, with a touch of nervousness.
His lean hand sought and held hers. "You've had a touch of sun, dear," he said, "but you've slept it off. Max is quite satisfied about you. You'll feel a bit rotten for a day or two, but that's all."
"How horrid!" said Olga.
"Don't worry!" said Nick. "I'm here. I shall stick like a leech for the future. You will never be out of my sight again in your waking hours."
She squeezed his hand. "Poor old Nick! I'm dreadfully sorry. But I had to get those raspberries. Oh, what's that?"
She started violently at the soft opening of the door. Nick got up, but she clung to him so fast that he could not leave her side. He bent down over her.
"It's all right, darling. It's only Max with some refreshments. We'll leave you in peace as soon as you have broken your fast."
"I don't want Max," she whispered. "Please send him away!"
"I'll go like a bird," Max said, "if you will let me take your pulse first. It isn't much to ask, is it?"
He set down a tray he was carrying, and came and stood beside Nick. Outlined against the dim light shed by a shaded night-lamp, he looked gigantically square and strong.
"I won't hurt you, Olga," he said. "Won't you trust me?"
Again his voice was softened to a great gentleness; yet it compelled. In another second Nick had withdrawn himself, and Max stood alone beside her bed. He stooped low over her, put back the hair from her forehead, looked intently into her eyes.
"Are you in pain?" he asked.
"No," she whispered back.
"You are sure? It doesn't hurt you to move your eyes?"
"No," she said again.
He passed his hand again over her forehead, felt her face, her temples, finally turned his attention to her pulse. As he took out his watch, she remembered again the two things that had outlasted all other impressions before she had sunk into her long sleep. And with this memory came another. She raised her eyes to his grave face.
"Max!"
"In a moment!" said Max.
But it was many moments before he laid her hand down.
"You will be all right when you have eaten something," he said then, "and had another sleep. Is there something you want to say to me?"
His tone was kind, but his manner repressive. She wished the light had not been so dim upon his face.
"Max," she said, with an effort, "why--why did you close the door?"
She fancied he smiled, grimly humorous, at the question. She was sure his eyes gleamed mockery. He was silent for a space, and then: "Ask me some other time!" he said.
She breathed a sigh of disappointment. She knew she would never have the courage.
He waited a few seconds more, then as she remained silent he laid his hand again on hers and pressed it lightly.
"Good-night!" he said.
She scarcely responded, nor did he wait for her to respond. In another moment he had turned from her, and was talking in a low voice to Nick.
A minute later he went softly out, and she saw no more of him that night.
Nick remained for some little time longer, waiting on her with the tenderness of a woman. It was wonderful to note how little his infirmity hampered him. There were very few things that Nick could not accomplish with one hand as quickly as the rest of the world with two.
But Olga, having recovered the full possession of her faculties, would not permit him to sacrifice any more of his night's rest to her.
"I shall be perfectly all right," she declared. "If I'm not, you are only in the next room, and I can rap on the wall."
"Yes, but will you?" said Nick.
"Of course I will."
"Is it a promise?"
She caught his hand and kissed it. "Yes, dear Nick, a promise."
"All right," said Nick. "I'll go."
But he was obviously loth to leave her, and she detained him to assure him how greatly she loved to be in his care.
"Max tells me I am not in the least fitted to look after you," he said rather ruefully, "and I believe he's right."
The humility of this speech was so extraordinary that it nearly took Olga's breath away.
"My dear Nick," she said, "what nonsense! Surely you don't--seriously--care what Max says?"
"Don't you?" said Nick.
She began to answer in the negative, but tripped up unexpectedly. "I--I can't quite say. I haven't really thought about it. But--anyhow--it's no business of his, is it?"
"He thinks it is," said Nick.
"Why?" She suddenly put out her hand to him with a little shiver. "Nick, you haven't told him about--that scheme of ours?"
"Yes, I have," said Nick.
"Oh, why?" There was unmistakable distress in the question.
Nick knelt down beside her. "Olga, I had to. He's a clever chap, cleverer than Jim even. I wanted to know if I'd better go on with it, if he thought--in view of to-day's misfortune--it might upset your health, supposing you were allowed to go. I couldn't run the risk of that."
"What did he say?" said Olga.
Nick chuckled a little. "He said that your normal health appeared to be up to the average young woman's, but he hadn't sounded you in any way, and--"
"And he shan't!" interjected Olga, with vehemence.
"And so couldn't say for certain," ended Nick. "But--I'll tell you this--he doesn't like our precious scheme--at all."
"Why not?" said Olga. "What has it got to do with him?"
"I don't know," said Nick.
"Why didn't you ask him?"
"My dear, you can do that in the morning--before I write to Muriel."
"I will," said Olga firmly. "It's my belief that you're afraid of him," she added, a moment later.
"No, I'm not," said Nick simply.
"Then why are you so careful of his feelings?"
"I shouldn't like to see him writhing in hell," said Nick. "I've done it myself, and I know exactly what it feels like."
"Really, Nick!"
"Yes, really, little sweetheart. You know or p'raps you don't know--what fools men can be."
"I know they can be quite unreasonable and very horrid sometimes," said Olga. "Nick dear, you'll promise me, won't you, that if Muriel agrees and Dad agrees you won't let an outsider like Max stand in our way?"
"Is he an outsider?" asked Nick humorously.
"He is so far as I am concerned," said Olga. "I can't imagine why you take any notice of him."
"Are you sure you don't yourself?" asked Nick.
"Oh, in some things perhaps. But not in a matter of this sort. I think he is very interfering," said Olga resentfully.
Nick smiled and rose. "I shouldn't be too hard on him, kiddie. Doubtless he has his reasons."
"I should like to know what they are," said Olga.
He stooped for a final kiss. "I daresay--if you were to ask him prettily--he would tell you."
"Oh, no, he wouldn't," she said. "He never tells me anything, even if I beg him." She slipped her arms round his neck and held him closely for a moment. "Nick darling, you will work that lovely scheme of ours if you possibly can--promise me!--in spite of anything Max may say or do!"
"You don't mind hurting his feelings?" asked Nick.
"Oh, well,"--she hesitated--"he couldn't care all that. It's only his love of interference."
"Or his love of you? I wonder which!" whispered Nick.
"Nick! Nick!" Wonder, dismay, incredulity, mingled in the cry.
But Nick had already slipped free from the clinging of her arms, and he did not pause in answer.
"Good-night, Olga _mia_!" he called back to her softly from the door. "Don't forget to knock on the wall if you feel squeamish!"
And with that he was gone. The latch clicked behind him, and she was alone. _