No! I must live while I am young; breathe freely while I can! But you,
Hawthorn--do you know what life is?"
"Yes," the girl answered fervently; "it is love!"
"It is something else besides. Youth and spring and courage--and fate,
that brings the children of men together."
"Yes...? I wonder why I never thought of that myself."
"What does it matter what we think? We drift along, knowing nothing of
one another, like the errant winds or the stars in the skies. We pass
by hundreds, without so much as a glance, until fate as in a lightning
flash brings us face to face with the one appointed. And then--in a
moment we know that we belong to each other, we are drawn together by
magnetic force--for good or ill."
"I have felt the same--and I feel it more keenly now than ever,"
answered the girl, nestling trustingly close to him. "Each minute in
your arms is worth more than all the rest of my life before."
"And you are to me as the sap of the trees in spring, that thrills
me with ecstasy and makes me forget all else. And I _will_ feel it
so!--drown my sad autumn and my joyless winter in the delight of
spring. And I bless the fate that led you to me--there is none like
you!"
"None?" the girl repeated happily, and yet in doubt. "Oh, if only I
could be as you think."
"You are so! Every drop of blood in you is love and fire. The lightest
touch of your shoe against my foot is more than the warmest embrace
from any other--your breath is like a secret caress; you bring a scent
of hawthorn with you everywhere that lifts me almost to madness."
"Do not talk like that, Olof. I am nothing--it is you that are all.
Tell me--are all lovers as happy as we?"
"No."
"Why not? Is it because they--they can't love as we do?"
"They _dare_ not! They fear to be happy. Oh, how blind the world is!
Wandering sadly with prayer, book and catechism in hand, when love
and spring are waiting for all who will. And those who have grown old,
when their blood is as lead in their veins, and they can but gaze with
beggars' eyes on their own youth--they would have us too slaves of the
prayer book and catechism like themselves."
"Is it really so...?"
"Yes, it is true. Only while we are young, only while the flood of
youth runs free and bright in our veins can we be happy. And they are
the greatest who dare to demand their share of life in full, to plunge
unafraid into the waters, letting the waves break on their temples and
life's salt flood wash their cheeks."
"And have I dared all this, Olof? Tell me, have I not?"
"Yes, you have. And it is just that which makes you lovely and
bewitching as you are. It is a glorious thing to give oneself lip
entirely to another, without question, without thought of return or
reckoning--only to bathe body and soul in the deep wells of life!"
"Yes, yes.... And, do you know, Olof...?" The girl spoke earnestly,
with a quiver in her voice.
"What? Tell me?"
But she could say no more, and, bursting into tears, hid her burning
cheek against his breast, her body shaking with sobs.
"What--child, you are crying? What is it?"
"I don't know...." The girl was sobbing still. "Only that I
can't--can't give you all I would."
"But you have given me more than I ever dared to hope for!"
"Not so 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 your hair twined round my throat, and die.... Well for me
if I could, perhaps--and for others...."