much as I gladly would! Why do you not ask more of me? Tell me
to die with you, and I am ready--I could die by fire with you. Or take
my life now, here, this moment...."

The fire of her increasing passion seemed to have sent out a spark
that glowed and burned in his soul.

"How can you speak so?" he asked, almost in dread. "It is madness,
child."

"Madness--yes. But if you knew how I love you.... Say but one word and
I will leave home--father and mother and all--and follow you like a
beggar girl from place to place."

"And never care what people said?"

"Care? Why should I care for them? What do they know of love?"

"Little Hawthorn...." Olof bent her head back and looked straight into
her eyes. "Was that a nice thing to say, now?"

The girl bowed her head. "No--but I wanted to do something, to make
some sacrifice for your sake."

She was silent for a moment, then her eyes brightened once more.
"Olof, now I know! I'll cut off one of the prettiest locks of my hair
and you shall keep it for remembrance--that's what people do, isn't
it? And you must keep it always--and think of me sometimes, even when
you love someone else."

"Oh, my love! I don't know whether to laugh or cry when you say such
things. But it is only now, in the gloom of the spring night. By
daylight you will think differently."

"No, never! Not even in the grave!"

"And then--it's so childish. Must you have a keepsake from me too, to
help you to remember?"

"No, of course not."

"Then why should I need one?"

"No, no--it's childish of me, of course. Forgive me, Olof--and don't
be sorry any more. I ask nothing but to go on loving you."

"And I you--without thought or question."

"Yes. And I shall remember all my life how happy you have made me; I
shall keep the memory of it all as a secret treasure till I die, and
bless you...."

She rose up suddenly on her elbow.

"Olof--tell me something. Did you ever hear of anyone dying of
happiness?"

"No--I have never heard of it. Why?"

"But when they are really, really happy...?"

"I don't think anyone could, even then."

"But they can die of sorrow sometimes, I've heard. And then if one
really wants to...."

"Hawthorn!" He clasped her in a wild embrace. "There is no one like
you in all the world. If _that_ were possible, I would ask nothing
else."

"Would you--would you really care to ... with me?"

"Yes, yes ... to swoon in the scent of you and die ... to feel the
strands of y