".... Ay, but God
despises me too, and elates me. He will send me to eternal fire.
Philammon said so--though he was my brother. The old monk said
so--though he wept as he said it.... The flames of hell for ever! Oh,
not for ever! Great, dreadful God! Not for ever! Indeed, I did not know!
No one taught me about right and wrong, and I never knew that I had been
baptized--Indeed, I never knew! And it was so pleasant--so pleasant to
be happy, and praised, and loved, and to see happy faces round me. How
could I help it? The birds there who are singing in the darling, beloved
court--they do what they like, and Thou art not angry with them for
being happy! And Thou wilt not be more cruel to me than to them, great
God--for what did I know more than they? Thou hast made the beautiful
sunshine, and the pleasant, pleasant world, and the flowers, and the
birds--Thou wilt not send me to burn for ever and ever? Will not a
hundred years be punishment enough-or a thousand? Oh God! is not this
punishment enough already,--to have to leave him, just as just as I
am beginning to long to be good, and to be worthy of him?.... Oh, have
mercy--mercy--mercy--and let me go after I have been punished enough!
Why may I not turn into a bird, or even a worm, and come back again out
of that horrible place, to see the sun shine, and the flowers grow
once more? Oh, am I not punishing myself already? Will not this help to
atone?.... Yes--I will die!--and perhaps so God may pity me!'

And with trembling hands she drew the sword from its sheath and covered
the blade with kisses.

'Yes--on this sword--with which he won his battles. That is right--his
to the last! How keen and cold it looks! Will it be very painful?....
No--I will not try the point, or my heart might fail me. I will fall on
it at once: let it hurt me as it may, it will be too late to draw back
then. And after all it is his sword--It will not have the heart to
torture me much. And yet he struck me himself this morning!'

And at that thought, a long wild cry of misery broke from her lips, and
rang through the house. Hurriedly she fastened the sword upright to the
foot of the bed, and tore open her tunic.... 'Here--under this widowed
bosom, where his head will never lie again! There are footsteps in the
passage! Quick, Pelagia! Now--'

And she threw up her arms wildly, in act to fall....

'It is his step! And he will find me, and never know that it is for him
I die!'

The Amal tried the