great, overwhelming love for the giant that gleamed in her eyes.

“Milo,” she said, and the word was a caress, “Milo, if thou must, strike swiftly. Yet again I ask, forgive.”

The giant slowly lowered his great ax, and his honest heart answered the pitiful plea. His deep chest swelled and throbbed; into his face crept the look that had been there on that day when he told Pascherette he loved her — loved her, yet worshiped Dolores as his gods. Letting the ax fall to his elbow by the thong at the haft, he stooped and tenderly picked up the girl, carrying her as a child carries a doll; yet his face was averted from Pascherette’s passionate lips that sought to kiss him.

“Not yet can I forgive thee,” he said.