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I don't know what it is. It went from me that night you remember! and it hasn't returned. I thought it was my soul at first. I still sometimes wonder." She laid a hand that quivered and clung upon Olga's arm. "And the dreadful part of it is, Allegro, that Max knows. He looks at me with the most deadly knowledge in his eyes such wicked eyes they are, all green and piercing, and so cruel so cruel."
This distaste had been heightened by the fact that along with Olga's adoration had gone a sense of proprietorship, with its inevitable accompaniment of jealousy.
"You are cold," said Grange. Yes, she was cold. It was as if an icy hand had closed upon her heart. As from an immense distance, she heard Olga's voice of protest. "Oh, Nick, how can you cheer?" And his careless reply. "My good child, don't grudge the poor creature his dinner. Even a bird of prey must live. Come along! We'll go in to tea. Muriel is cold."
Whether she had acted rightly or wrongly she did not know; but she felt that she had wrecked the girl's happiness, and the spontaneity of Olga's answering embrace did not reassure her. "Now, my chicken, to roost!" said Nick. He turned to give her his paternal embrace, but paused as Olga very slightly drew back from it. They stood in the dining-room which they had entered on arrival.
She watched them in the room together, and she knew that to Doyle the girl was an incident, the vehicle of his occasional passion, a strumpet and a tool. He did not even like her; she saw him looking at her sometimes with a sort of amused contempt. But Olga's somber eyes followed him as he moved, lit with passion and sometimes with anger, but always they followed him. She was afraid of Olga.
With her hand upon Olga's arm, she led her through the Gothic archway to a second smaller hall, and on up a wide oak staircase with a carved balustrade that was lighted half-way up by another great window of monastic design but clear glass. Olga always liked to pause by this window, for the view from it was magnificent.
Then Olga bade her guards draw their weapons and slay her foes, and a great slaughter began. When it ended, five thousand Drevlians lay dead at her feet. Olga's revenge was far from being complete: her thirst for blood grew as it was fed.
Those were days when news crept slowly, and the Drevlians did not dream of Olga's treachery. The Drevlians, full of joy at this message, gathered honey in quantities and brewed it into hydromel. Then Olga sought the tomb, followed by a small guard who were only lightly armed. For a while she wept over the tomb. Then she ordered a great mound of honor to be heaped over it.
"If the Greek religion were not the best," they said, in conclusion, "Olga, your ancestress, and the wisest of mortals, would never have thought of embracing it." Pomp and solemnity won the day, and Vladimir determined to follow Olga's example. As to what religion meant in itself he seems to have thought little and cared less.
"Yes, for for being very unkind to him." Olga's lips quivered again, and suddenly her eyes were full of tears. "I feel as if as if I've been running into things in the dark, and doing a lot of harm," she said. "Of course everything is quite over quite over between us. He will understand that. But I want I want to be friends with him if he will let me. Nick dear, that's all.
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