a word he drew his knife and
struck it through the mark deep into her breast...."

She would have said more, but her voice failed--she could feel Olof's
knees trembling against her breast.

"You are good at telling stories," said he in a stifled voice. "But
the end was too horrible."

"It was not horrible at all," she replied. "It was just as lovely as
could be. The girl herself could have wished for nothing better. She
died with a smile on her lips, as only those who are happy ever die.

"But it is not all ended yet--there is more to come."

"More?" cried Olof in surprise, at a loss to understand how she would
go on.

"Yes," she continued. "For when she was dead, the girl came to the
gate of heaven. And there stood St. Peter at the gate, as he always
does.

"'You cannot enter in,' said St. Peter, 'for you bear on your breast
the mark of sinful lust. 'But God heard it from His throne, and cried,
'Open and let her in!' And God looked at the girl's breast, and
she did not flinch. 'You should know better,' He said to St. Peter
reproachfully. 'Here is one that was faithful to her first love....
Enter in, My child.'"

Both were silent. A little blue flame rose from the embers on the
hearth.

"Thanks, Clematis," whispered Olof, and kissed her hands that lay hot
in his own. "I know what you meant. And how prettily you said it!"

"Are you sure you knew what I meant?" she asked. "I hadn't finished,
you know...."

"What--not finished yet?"

"No!"

She drew her hands away, and as if summing up all she had said before,
she clasped his knees and looked imploringly into his eyes.

"Give me that mark!"

Olof shivered--waves of heat and cold seemed passing through his body.

"No, no--my love! You must not ask that of me--it is more than I can
do," he went on bitterly.

"You can, if you only will. Love can do all things."

"But now--after what you have said...."

"But you said yourself it was so pretty."

"Yes--there is a lovely thought in it--but the end was too
horrible--you know what I mean."

"That was the loveliest of all. Oh, won't you do what I ask?" Her lips
trembled, and she looked at him entreatingly.

Olof sighed deeply; drops of sweat stood out on his forehead. "How
can I refuse you anything? But--but I could never forget it if I did,
and...."

"Oh ... I almost thought that was how it would be. You cannot
understand--for you are not me. But something I must have!" she went
on passionately. "I