"HIRVIYOKI, KYLANPAA, 28/9/97.
"Kyllikki,--You will be surprised, no doubt, to hear from me
again after so many years. I am not sure of your address,
and do not even know if you are still 'Kyllikki,' or possibly
someone with another name that I do not know. I am too proud
to ask news of you from any but yourself.
"And now to what I have to say. I have never been able to free
myself from you quite, however much I wished. I have tried to
forget you, to wipe away all trace of you from my soul, but in
spite of everything you have followed me from place to place,
year after year, and now, just lately, you have been ever
before my eyes. Was it your friendship that followed me so, or
my own guilty conscience--or perhaps my better self that has
been longing for you, and silently calling for you, though I
tried to stifle the voice?
"I do not know. I only know that my years of wandering are
over now, and I have come to settle down in my own place. I
may freely confess that I was weary and broken down, worn out
and hopeless, when I came home--to see my mother for the last
time, and follow her to the grave. And I cannot say, even now,
that I am much better, though perhaps a little. I can feel
something in me that seems to grow, something that gives me
hope. So perhaps it is not altogether lost.
"I am building myself a house, and have other plans of a like
sort. But there is one thing I miss, and the lack of it grows
stronger every day: a friend and comrade, one that I could
respect and trust entirely. Not one to share my good fortune,
but one to be with me in toil and want.
"Kyllikki, you can never guess how I have suffered in doubt
and questioning of late. Have I any right at all to hope for
comradeship? Could I promise anything to anyone? And if so--to
whom?... Kyllikki, you know me well enough to understand what
I mean. It is no light question, and no easy one to answer.
"As far as I myself am concerned, I believe I see my way
clear. And therefore I ask you--will you venture out upon the
water with me once more--not the mere crossing of a little
stream, but for a voyage that may lead we know not where? I
cannot be sure that we should ever reach safely to land, only
that if your hand is still free to give, and you are willing,
and can trust me enough to offer it, then I will never let go,
whatever may come.
"And one thing more--could a daughter of Moisio venture to
share the lot of a poor settler? I can offer nothing more, and
would not if I could. If she will, then I can dare anything.
"Again--would you _wish_ to join your life with mine? Or do
you despise me, perhaps? I will not try to defend myself,
and it would be useless in any case, for I know that little
matters would not influence your decision; all must rest on
what you think of me as a whole, and that is fixed already.
"One thing most of all--let there be no question of pity or
giving out of charity. I fancy neither of us would ever give
or take in that way, but I have heard say that pity counts for
much in a woman's heart. Myself, I do not think pity can go
far, if the earlier feeling is once dead. And you know best
yourself whether that is so.
"Is your father still alive? And does he still think as
before? But it makes no difference now. Once _we_ are agreed,
ten fathers could make no difference. I feel now that I can do
what I will.
"And that is all for now, Kyllikki. You know how anxiously I
wait to hear from you--your answer means very much to me. But
I know it will be clear and true, whichever way it may be.
OLOF.
"My address is, Olof Koskela, as above."
* * * * *
"KOHISEVA, 2 _Oct_. 1897.
"OLOF,--Your letter found me. Kyllikki is unchanged--and
you, I see, are much as I had thought you would be. Proud and
exacting as ever, though not perhaps in quite the same way.
And well it is so, for if _you_ had seemed otherwise I should
have suspected at once.
"Yes, I will venture. I am ready to venture anything. I did
not even need to think it over; I had decided long since, and
have not changed. I am not ashamed to tell you that I knew
more of you than you thought. I have followed your doings
and your movements from a distance, until you came home, and
determined to wait for you till it was past hoping for. I feel
I ought to tell you this at once, that you may know I am not
building up fair hopes on no foundation, but know what I am
doing, and what I can expect.
"You need not fear pity from me, Olof. I believe in fate, and
in life as a thing with some meaning. I have often wondered,
these last few years, if there could be any meaning in my
life, and why fate had brought us so strangely together. Was
it only to make us suffer? I came at last to the conclusion
that if there were any meaning in my life, it must be with
you; and if fate had any plan at all, it must be that you
should come back to me some day, even though the way were
hard. And you came, came with the very word I had been waiting
to hear from your lips for years--that _you had need of me_!
All is easy after that; no need to doubt or hesitate. I can
answer at once: I am ready.
"I do not think, or hope, that our way will be strewn with
roses. But it is right, I feel that; and in time we shall
reach our goal.
"Come, Olof, come soon. Four years I have waited--four years
of longing, all my life's longing.--Your
"WATER-WITCH.
"P.S.--Father is the same, but what you say about that is what
I say myself.
"One thing I would ask you--let me see you alone first, before
you meet my father. I could not bear to meet again after
all these years in that way. Come to our old meeting-place
beforehand, if you can, and let me know what day and time you
will be there.
"KYLLIKKI."