"She did suffer then?" whispered Olga, commanding herself with an
effort.

"When she wasn't under the influence of morphia--yes. That was the only
peace she knew. But of course it affected her brain. It always does, if
you keep on with it."

Olga's hands fell. She straightened herself. "Then--you think she is
better dead?" she said.

He squared his great shoulders, and she felt infinitely small. "If I
could have followed my own inclination with that old woman," he said, "I
should have given her a free pass long ago. But--I am not authorized to
distribute free passes. On the contrary, it's my business to hang on to
people to the bitter end, and not to let them through till they've paid
for their liberty to the uttermost farthing."

She glanced at him quickly. Cynical as were his words, she was aware of
a touch of genuine feeling somewhere. She made swift response to it,
almost before she realized what she was doing.

"Oh, but surely the help you give far outweighs that!" she said. "I
often think I will be a nurse when I am old enough, if Dad can spare
me."

"Good heavens, child!" he said. "Do you want to be a gaoler too?"

"No," she answered quickly. "I'll be a deliverer."

He smiled his one-sided smile. "And I wonder how long you will call