w, lounging chair I sat for hours beside her, told her of my
love which would remain forever the same; I reminded her of her pledges
of constancy, reviving instances of our past lives, even bringing to my
mind bright bits of pleasantry which had been habitual to her while
here.

At times I placed my cheek upon the icy glass as near hers as possible,
whispering words of love--always my great love, which like a deep and
flowing well refused to be stopped.

At last one evening I leaned back in my easy chair much wearied, and
because of the stillness, soon slept.

Ah! She had come again! In the brightest and purest yellow light she
stood there bending toward me with a radiant and happy smile upon her
face.

"Victor," she said, softly, "don't worry so much, dear, you will make
yourself ill. Believe me you will soon cease to do this for you will
know the better way and find real happiness. I know that this trial has
been very hard indeed for you to bear, but you must not grieve longer,"
then I seemed to feel the light pressure of her hand upon my head.

Oh, the joy of it all once more!

"Tell me, Olga, do you still love me as well as before you went away?"

"Victor, dear Victor, believe me, I love you far better than ever
before, because I understand. Try to be happy, dear." Then, with a light
caress, she vanished.

For a moment I felt dazed. I looked about me. The lighted candle was
sputtering itself out in its socket, fitfully darting a thin and feeble
flame upward into the darkness. My mouth was parched and dry--I must
have water.

Carefully I lowered the blue-robed form to its resting place, adjusting
the cover, locked the door behind me, and crept back into my own cabin.

Time passed. With a young lover's regularity at the side of his
sweetheart I visited my dear one in the little cabin beside my own.
Casting about in my mind how to make the place appropriate for the
purpose for which it was now used, and at the same time be somewhat more
comfortable, I had covered the walls of Olga's cabin both inside and out
with a heavy black paper, well calculated to keep out the wind. Upon the
ceiling of the front room hung silvered stars which shone brightly, and
with a fitfulness not all unnatural in the flickering candlelight. In
one corner of the outer room there still remained the heap of earth and
gravel taken from the spot where Olga's body now rested. The rainy
season was far advanced and before many days the sno