"Only God puts to death; and no one would hurt a thing I love!"
"What should you think of one who put to death a man?"
Gnulemah looked for a moment perplexed and indignant. Then, to Balder's great discomfiture, she laughed like a bird-chorus.
"Why do you imagine what cannot be? Would you and Hiero kill each other? The gray owl kills little mice, but that is to eat them. Would you eat Hiero—"
"Don't laugh, Gnulemah!" besought he. "I should kill him, not as animals kill one another, but from rage and hatred."
"Hatred!" repeated Gnulemah, dislikingly; "hatred,—what is it?"
"A passion of men's hearts,—the wish that evil may befall others. When the hatred is bitter enough, and the opportunity fair, they kill!"
Gnulemah shuddered slightly and looked sad. Then she leaned towards Balder and touched his shoulder persuasively.
"Never think of such things, or talk of them! Could you hate anyone, Balder? or kill him if you did?"
With that glorious presence so near him,—her voice so close to his ear,—how could he answer her? His heart awoke, and beat and drove the tingling blood tumultuously forth to the remotest veins. She saw the flush, and caught the passionate brilliancy of his eyes. Happy and afraid, she drew back, saying in haste,—