d.

"I preach to myself, Augusta, who need it greatly, not to you, who
mayhap do not need it."

"Hating me as you do, why should you need it? You are the worst of
hypocrites, who would veil your hate under a priest's robe."

"Have you no pity, Irene? When did I say that I hated you? Moreover, if
I had hated you, should I----" and I ceased.

"I do not know what you would or would not have done," she answered
coldly. "I think that Constantine is right, and that you must be what is
called a saint; and, if so, saints are best in heaven, especially when
they know too much on earth. Give me that sword of yours."

I drew the sword, saluted with it, and gave it to her.

"It is a heavy weapon," she said. "Whence came it?"

"From the same grave as the necklace, Augusta."

"Ah! the necklace that your dream-woman wore. Well, go to seek her in
the land of dreams," and she lifted the sword.

"Your pardon, Augusta, but you are about to strike with the blunt edge,
which may wound but will not kill."

She laughed a little, very nervously, and, turning the sword round in
her hand, said:

"Truly, you are the strangest of men! Ah! I thank you, now I have it
right. Do you understand, Olaf, I mean, Sir Saint, what sort of a story
I must tell of you after I have struck? Do you understand that not only
are you about to die, but that infamy will be poured upon your name and
that your body will be dragged through the streets and thrown to the
dogs with the city offal? Answer, I say, answer!"

"I understand that you must cause these things to be done for your own
sake, Augusta, and I do not complain. Lies matter nothing to me, who
journey to the Land of Truth, where there are some whom I would meet
again. Be advised by me. Strike here, where the neck joins the shoulder,
holding the sword slantwise, for there even a woman's blow will serve to
sever the great artery."

"I cannot. Kill yourself, Olaf."

"A week ago I'd have fallen on the sword; but now, by the rule of our
faith, in such a cause I may not. My blood must be upon your hands, for
which I grieve, knowing that no other road is open to you. Augusta, if
it is worth anything to you, take my full forgiveness for the deed, and
with it my thanks for all the goodness you have shown to me, but most
for your woman's favour. In after years, perhaps, when death draws near
to you also, if ever you remember Olaf, your faithful servant, you will
understand much it is not fitting that I