* * * * *
"Couldn't you--couldn't you come across--just for a moment?" asked the
girl timidly.
"Just what I was going to do. But we can't stay there on the bank--the
men will be coming down directly."
He thought for a moment.
"Will you come over here if I come to fetch you? Then we can go up in
the woods where no one can see. Come over on the raft."
"Yes, I could do that!"
He took up his pole and set the raft loose--a couple of tree trunks,
no more, fastened together with withies--and rowed hurriedly across to
the opposite bank.
"Like a dear sister she comes," he thought to himself, as he helped
her on to the raft. The girl held his hands and looked deep into his
eyes, but without speaking.
"Sit there on the crosspiece--you can't stand up when it begins to
move."
She sat down obediently, and he rowed across.
"I never thought you could be such a friend," he said, as they stepped
ashore.
"Friend?" said the girl, with a tender, grateful glance--grateful
that he had found the very word for the feeling that had brought her
thither, and which had cost her so much already.
* * * * *
The sun was setting. A youth and a girl walked down from the woods
towards the river bank, talking together.
Then suddenly they awoke from their dreams, and looked at each other
in dismay. The river was a waste of water only, the banks deserted,
the raft gone--neither of them had thought of how they were to get
back.
"What are we to do?" The mute question was in the eyes of both.
"You can't get back along this bank?" said the young man at last.
"All through Vaha-Kohiseva village and over the bridge--no. And I
ought to bring the calves home, too."
"There's no boat anywhere near?"
"No."
A gleam of resolution shone in the young man's eyes.
"Can you swim?" he asked suddenly, turning towards her.
"Swim?" she repeated in surprise. Then her face lit up as she grasped
his meaning. "Yes, indeed!"
"And _would_ you swim across with me if I carry your clothes?"
She trembled slightly--it was a daring plan, yet there was a certain
secret fascination in the thought.
"With you? Yes!" she cried.
"Good. You can undress here. Then roll up all your clothes in your
blouse, and tie it round with the sleeves. I'll go a little way off
and get ready. We'll manage all right, you see."
And he strode off with rapid steps.
But the girl flushed, and looked anxiously around, as if she had
promised more than she could fulfil. She glanced along the shore--Olof
was sitting a little distance away, with his back to her, already
undressing.
"How childish I am!" she thought. And stepping briskly down to the
water's edge, she began hastily taking off her clothes.
* * * * *
A splash in the water--Olof was almost lost to sight in the reeds. He
took off his boots and hung them by one lace round his neck, then
he fixed his bundle of clothes above, and tied it with the remaining
lace.
"Ready?" he called over his shoulder, glancing down the stream.
Hurriedly the girl rolled her garments up in the blouse. Her white
body shivered--in womanly embarrassment at her position, and with an
ecstatic delight. Then with a splash the white figure dipped beneath
the water, swam up, and hid in the reeds.
Olof swam upstream, his eyes fixed on the heap of clothing, and a
faint smile on his lips. He took the bundle, tied his belt round it,
and fastened it above his own. The double load stood up high above his
head.
"They'll be all right now--if I don't make a mess of it," he assured
her.
With long, slow strokes he made for the opposite shore. The girl stood
motionless in the reeds, watching him as he swam.
"How strong and bold he is!" she thought. "And the wonderful things he
does! What does he care for the river?--water between us is nothing
to him. He makes everything do his will. How could one be afraid with
him?"
"_Her_ clothes!" thought Olof. "And I am carrying them."
He reached the bank, untied the girl's bundle, and set it carefully
ashore. Then swimming a little farther down, he flung his own things
up on land.
"Haven't you started yet?" he called across to the girl--though he had
been hoping all the time that she had not.
"No--I was just going to," she replied. "I--I forgot. It was such fun
watching you."
"I'll come and meet you, if you like. It'll be safer perhaps...."
"Ye--es," said the girl.
She felt no shame now, though he was looking straight at her. He was
filled with the strange delight that comes with any stepping over the
bounds of everyday life into a world of fairyland, where all is pure,
and nothing is forbidden, where the sense of being _two_ that go their
own ways unseen is like a purging, fusing flame.
Olof swam rapidly across.
"You look like a water-witch there in the reeds," he cried
delightedly, checking his stroke.
"And you're the water-sprite," she answered, with a joyous smile, as
she struck out.
"Bravo, water-witch, you're swimming splendidly!" he cried. They were
swimming side by side now, straight across the river.
The water rippled lightly about them; now and again the girl's white
shoulder lifted above the surface, her long hair trailed behind over
the water, that shone like gold in the sunset light.
"Wonderful!" he cried. "I've never seen anything so lovely."
"Nor I!" said the girl.
"Nor we!" laughed the trees behind them.
"Nor we!" nodded the bushes on the bank in front.
"It is like swimming in the river of forgetfulness," he went on. "All
the past disappears, all that was bitter and evil is washed away, and
we are but two parts of the same beautiful being that surrounds us."
"Yes, it is like that," said the girl, with feeling.
Slowly they came to land.
"It was very narrow, after all," said Olof regretfully, as he turned
from her and went down to fetch his clothes. He dressed as quickly as
he could, and hurried up to her again.
"Let me wring the water from your hair," he begged. She smiled
permission. The water fell like drops of silver from his hands.
"Must you go now?" asked Olof sadly. "Let me go with you as far as the
road at least."
Once more he looked regretfully at the river--as if to fix the
recollection in his mind.
They walked up to the road without speaking, and stopped.
"It's ever so hard for me to say good-bye to you," he said, grasping
her hands.
"Harder still for me," she answered in a low voice.
"Shall I ever forget you--you, and this evening?"
Her eyelids quivered, and she bowed her head.
"Kyllikki!" he cried desperately. "Would you hide your eyes from
me?--Kyllikki...." There was hope and doubt in his eyes; he loosed his
hold of her hands, and clasped his own as if questioningly about her
waist.
The girl was trembling. She laid her hands on his shoulders, and then
slowly twined her arms about his neck.
A tumult of delight came over him. He pressed her to him fervently,
lifting her off her feet--her arms drew closer round him.
He saw the look in her eyes change--giddiness seized him, and he set
her down.
"May I...?" he asked, with his eyes.
Her eyes consented--and their lips met....
When at last he let her go, the girl's face was changed almost beyond
recognition. On her under lip showed a tiny drop of blood.
A cry of dismay rose up in him, but remained unuttered. A strange
intoxication overpowered him--the red drop there was the seal of a
friendship deeper and more mysterious than all else--in a wild kiss
he drank the blood from her lip. He felt himself on the point of
swooning--and wished the world would end there, in that moment.
He could not speak--he did not know whether to stay or go. A darkness
seemed to close about him, and he staggered off like a drunken man,
without looking back.