No, no--not like that--no. She looks earnestly, with eyes that no
deceit can face, and says, 'Olof, what's this they are saying about
you...?'

"'Saying--about me...?'

"And she looks at me still. 'Hard things they say, brother--that you
play with women's hearts.... Is it true?'

"And I cannot meet her eyes, and bow my head.

"'Olof--remember that _I too am a woman_.'

"And that cuts me to the heart. 'Sister, sister, if you knew it all;
if you knew how I have suffered myself. I never meant to play with
them--only to be with them--as I am with you.'

"'As you are with me?' She looks at me; wonderingly. 'But you
know--you must know--that you cannot be as a brother to them.'

"'Yes, I can--sometimes.'

"'But never quite. And still less can they be sisters to you. Surely
you know enough to understand that.'

"'No!'

"'But you should know. Oh, think! With some men, perhaps, they might
be as sister and brother--but not with you. You, with your dark
eyes--I have always feared them. They beckon and call ... to evil and
disaster.'

"'Sister--what must you think of me!' And I hide my head in her lap,
as I used to do in mother's.

"'I am only sorry--bitterly sorry for you. And I can't help being
fond of you, for I know your heart is good and pure--but you are weak;
very, very weak.' And she strokes my forehead, as mother used to do.

"'Yes, I am weak, I know it. But I promise you....'

"'Don't promise!' she says almost sternly, and lifts a finger
warningly. 'How many times have you promised, with tears in your eyes,
and done the same again? Don't promise--but try to be stronger.'

"'I will try, sister--dear, dear sister.' And I take her hands and
kiss them gratefully again and again...."

"Ho! so that's the way you talk together, is it?" said the gloom.
"Well, I'm not sure it might not be a good thing if your sister were
alive. Then, perhaps, if she talked like that to you occasionally, you
might be a different man altogether."

The young man sat for a while in thought.

"Then suddenly she jumps up and lights the lamp--it is getting dark.
And she comes and puts her hands on my shoulders and says, 'Let me
help you checking those accounts--you know I can.'

"And she sits down at the table, and I watch her little hand gliding
over the paper. And I set to work at the books, and so we work for a
long time.

"Then suddenly she looks up, and begins talking again. 'Why, what a
great man you're getting, Olof--kee