r locks. "I love you now, Sigurd," she said
tenderly. "But perhaps we shall all love each other better in heaven."

"Yes, yes!" exclaimed Sigurd, patting her hand caressingly. "When we are
all dead, dead! When our bodies crumble away and turn to flowers and
birds and butterflies,--and our souls come out like white and red
flames,--yes! . . . then we shall love each other and talk of such
strange, strange things!" He paused and laughed wildly. Then his voice
sank again into melancholy monotony--and he added: "Mistress, you are
killing poor Sigurd!"

Thelma's face grow very earnest and anxious. "Are you vexed with me,
dear?" she asked soothingly. "Tell me what it is that troubles you?"

Sigurd met her eyes with a look of speechless despair and shook his
head.

"I cannot tell you!" he muttered. "All my thoughts have gone to drown
themselves one by one in the cold sea! My heart was buried yesterday,
and I saw it sealed down into its coffin. There is something of me
left,--something that dances before me like a flame,--but it will not
rest, it does not obey me. I call it, but it will not come! And I am
getting tired, mistress--very, very tired!" His voice broke, and a low
sob escaped him,--he hid his face in the folds of her dress. Gueldmar
looked at the poor fellow compassionately.

"The wits wander further and further away!" he said to his daughter in a
low tone. "'Tis a mind like a broken rainbow, split through by
storm--'twill soon vanish. Be patient with him, child,--it cannot be for
long!"

"No, not for long!" cried Sigurd, raising his head brightly. "That is
true--not for long! Mistress, will you come to-morrow with me and gather
flowers? You used to love to wander with your poor boy in the
fields,--but you have forgotten,--and I cannot find any blossoms without
you! They will not show themselves unless you come! Will you? dear,
beautiful mistress! will you come?"

She smiled, pleased to see him a little more cheerful. "Yes, Sigurd,"
she said; "I will come. We will go together early to-morrow morning and
gather all the flowers we can find. Will that make you happy?"

"Yes!" he said, softly kissing the hem of her dress. "It will make me
happy--for the last time."

Then he rose in an attitude of attention, as though he had been called
by some one at a distance,--and with a grave, preoccupied air he moved
away, walking on tip-toe as though he feared to interrupt the sound of
some soft invisible music. Gueldmar