"Yes, those are the very words. Once upon a time there was a boy--and a girl. And they loved each other--especially the girl. No words could ever tell how she loved him." She looked at Olof as if to see the effect of what she had said.
"That begins well. Go on," said Olof. But a thought was slowly taking form in his mind.
"And they sat in the woods, under the tall birches, and talked of how happy they were. But the girl could not have the boy for her own--they had to say good-bye. He had to go away, and she knew she would never see him again."
Olof looked thoughtful--the fancy was taking root. "Go on--what happened then?"
"Then, just as he was going away, the girl said to him, "Set a mark on me somehow, so that I shall always feel I belong to you, and no one can tear you from my heart."
"The boy thought for a moment. "Where shall I set the mark?" he asked.
""Here, above my heart," said the girl.
"And she bared her breast, and the boy took out his knife and with its sharp point scratched a little heart on her breast."
The girl shivered a little.
"And then he coloured it where he had cut, like sailors do with anchors on their arms. And when he had finished, he kissed it. And they said good-bye, and he went away."
Olof was touched--now he understood....
"And what then?" he asked softly. "What happened after, to the girl with a mark above her heart, and to him that made it?"
"The boy...." She stopped, at a loss, and then went on: "There"s no more about him in the story. He went away. Only about the girl...."
"Yes, yes, of course," said Olof. "He went away. And the girl?"
"The girl--she looked at the mark every night when she undressed, and every morning when she dressed herself, for she felt as if he were there all the time, because of the mark. But then the time came when her parents said she must marry. And she didn"t want to, but she had to all the same. But she did not love her husband, and was always looking secretly at the mark her lover had made, as if she were talking with him that way, and it made her happy."
"And the husband," asked Olof eagerly, "did he find out?"
"No. Men don"t notice things like that as a rule. But then the girl bore a child--she was still a girl, for she had remained true to her lover. And the child had the very same mark in the same place.
"The husband saw the mark. "What"s this?" he asked in a stern voice.
""Tis a birth-mark," said the girl. ""Do not lie to me!" cried the man. "It is more than that. Let me see your breast."
"Now the girl did not want to do this, for she felt that the mark was nothing to do with him. But her husband"s face grew dark with anger, and he tore away her clothes, and bared her breast. And now she would not try to hide the mark at all, but stood up straight and let him see. And before he could even ask, she told him what it was, "That is the mark my lover made when I was a girl," she said. "For a sign that I should belong to him for ever--and I have." And at that the husband"s eyes flashed, and without 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 l.u.s.t. "But G.o.d heard it from His throne, and cried, "Open and let her in!" And G.o.d 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 pa.s.sing 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 pa.s.sionately. "I cannot live without. Look!" She drew from her breast a little case of blue silk, hung by a red cord round her neck, "See--it just reaches to there!"
"It"s very pretty," said Olof in relief, taking the case in his hand."
And you want something to put in it?"
"Yes."
"A lock of hair or something? Are you as childish as all that?"
"No--not as childish as all that."
"A flower, then--or what?"
"No, nothing like that."