heights, I am not ignorant of the world's depths. I
know you now, and God knows I pity you. Let me go."

Lycabetta shook her head.

"Why should you pity me? You should rather envy me. I am the joy of
life. I grasp and clasp all pleasures, heedless of the passing hour. I
make the most of our little summer, our fleeting sunlight. To drink, to
love, to laugh is the swallow flight of my soul. You shall be as wise as
I am and as happy."

"Have you no fear of God?" Perpetua asked, in sad curiosity. Brought
face to face with sin, her soul felt its pity stronger than its horror.

Lycabetta laughed, and her laughter sounded to Perpetua like the music
of birds in a magic wood.

"I fear nothing but old age. Chilling kisses, the death of desire, the
sands that overwhelm the altar of youth, the dying lights and fading
garlands of life's waning feast--these things I fear, but these things
are not yet for you or for me, and when they come there is always the
hemlock."

"You speak despair," Perpetua insisted, eager with the eagerness of
untainted youth. "I answer with God's mercy that can cleanse and save
you. You are the Strange Woman--but you are a woman, born of a woman,
made to bear the burden of women. Woman to woman, let me go."

"I love you too well to lose you," Lycabetta retorted. "You dream too
much. I shall take great joy in teaching you realities. You do not know
the value of your violet freshness. You will make a sweet priestess of
love."

Perpetua thrust out her hands as if to ward off her enemy, while she
cried:

"You are the Strange Woman! Were you a devil, do you think you could
ever make me like you?"

Lycabetta nodded ominously.

"I will conquer your mad maidenhood, I promise you, and when you sleep
in silk and shine in splendor you will thank me devoutly. Already your
cheek flushes gratitude."

The girl's cheeks were flushed, but her eyes were unchanged in defiance
as she answered:

"Your words sting me like blows, and my face flames at them. But you
are not so wise as you think, if you hope to tempt me or terrify me."

Lycabetta watched her, catlike.

"Torture may change your mind, as shame shall change your body."

Perpetua crossed herself again.

"Nothing that you can do to me will change my soul. That I will carry
with me pure to heaven."

"You may long for death ere I have done with you," Lycabetta whispered,
sourly. She would have said more, but her speech was interrupted by the
sudde