looked at the
sobbing figure.

"I'll tell you what this place is," she said, looking up between sobs.
"'Tis hell--and in hell you're always wanting something to wet the tip
of your tongue--I've read that somewhere, haven't I? Oh, oh...!" She
fell to sobbing again.

Olof felt he could bear it no longer. He would have liked to comfort
her, but his tongue was dry, he could not speak.

Then suddenly the girl jumped up and struck the table with her
fist, shaking the things on the tray. "What the hell am I snivelling
about--'twon't make it any better." She took the bottle of beer,
filled a tumbler and drank it off at a draught, then flung the glass
crashing against the wall behind the stove.

"Puh! Now I've got that wretched fit again." She stood in the middle
of the room, looking round. "I can't help it, I get like that every
now and then. Wait a bit, and I'll bring you better company. A real
good girl--she's younger than me, and only just beginning, but she's
lovely, lovely as an angel. Only don't go and fall in love with her,
or I'll be jealous."

"No! Stay where you are!" Olof would have stopped her, but she was out
of the door in a moment. He rose to his feet, his head was throbbing,
and he could hardly stand.

"Here you are--here's the beauty!"

A bright-eyed girl, young and slightly built, stood in the doorway
smiling.

Olof started as if he had seen a ghost, the blood seemed to stand
still in his veins; a cold weight seemed crushing him like an iceberg.

"You--Gazelle!" he cried in horror.

"Olof!"

"Oho, so you're old friends, it seems? Well, then, shake hands nicely.
Come along, man, give her a kiss...."

Olof felt the room growing dark before his eyes.

The girl turned deathly pale. She stood a moment, trembling from head
to foot, then turned and fled. There was the sound of a key drawn from
a lock, a door was slammed, and then silence.

Olof stood as if rooted to the spot, seeing nothing but a vague
glimmer of light through a rent in blackness. Then at last he pulled
himself together, snatched up his hat, and rushed out of the place as
if pursued by demons.

* * * * *

Morning found him seated on a chair by the window, looking out. The
night had been cold. Before him lay a group of housetops, the dark
roofs covered with a thin white coating of rime; beyond, a glimpse of
a grey, cold sky.

He had been sitting thus all night, deep in thought. His road seemed
en