re too, wasn't he? I'm sure now--quite
sure--they didn't mean him."

"Very likely not, dear."

"And Muriel--do you know--Nick was just miserable--after you went. I
sort of felt he was. And late--late that night I woke up, and I crept
down to him--in the library. And he had his head down on the table--as
if--as if--he was crying. Oh, Muriel!"

A sharp sob interrupted the piteous whisper. Muriel folded her arms
about the child, pillowing the tired head on her breast. All the fair
hair had been cut off earlier in the day. Its absence gave Olga a very
babyish appearance.

Brokenly, with many gasping pauses, the pathetic little story came to
an end. "I went to him--and I asked him what it was. And he--he looked
up with that funny face he makes--you know--and he just said, 'Oh,
it's all right. I've been feeding on dust and ashes all day long,
that's all. And it's dry fare for a thirsty man!' He thought--I
wouldn't know what he meant. But I did, Muriel. And I always wanted
to tell you. But--somehow--you wouldn't let me. He meant you. He was
hurt--so hurt--because you weren't kind to him. Oh, Muriel, won't
you--won't you--try to be kind to him now? Please, dear, please!"

Muriel's eyes sought Nick, and instantly a thrill of surprise and
relief shot through her. He had not heard that request of Olga's. She
doubted if he had heard anything. He was sunk in a chair well in the
background with his head on his hand, and looking at him she saw his
shoulders shake with a soundless sob.

She looked away again with a sense of trespass. This--this was the man
who had fought and cursed and slain under her eyes--the man from whose
violence she had shrunk appalled, whose strength had made her shudder
many a time. She had never imagined that he could grieve thus--even
for his little pal Olga.

Tenderly she turned back to the child. That single glimpse of the man
in pain had made it suddenly easy to grant her earnest prayer.

"I won't be unkind to him again, darling," she promised softly.

"Never any more?" insisted Olga.

"Never any more, my darling."

Olga made a little nestling movement against her. It was all she
wanted, and now that the effort of asking was over she was very tired.

The nurse drew softly back into the shadow, and a deep silence fell in
the room. Through it in a long, monotonous roar there came the sound
of the sea breaking, eternally breaking, along the beach.

No one moved. Olga's breathing was growing sl