The voice of the gloom spoke again: "So she is to live just for your pleasure—like all the others?"
The smile died from the young man's face.
"Go on—your sister is sitting on your lap, looking mischievously into your eyes…?"
"No, no—not like that—no. She looks earnestly, with eyes that no deceit can face, and says, 'Olof, what's this they are saying about you…?'
"'Saying—about me…?'
"And she looks at me still. 'Hard things they say, brother—that you play with women's hearts…. Is it true?'
"And I cannot meet her eyes, and bow my head.
"'Olof—remember that I too am a woman.'
"And that cuts me to the heart. 'Sister, sister, if you knew it all; if you knew how I have suffered myself. I never meant to play with them—only to be with them—as I am with you.'
"'As you are with me?' She looks at me; wonderingly. 'But you know—you must know—that you cannot be as a brother to them.'