Olof walked up the steps to the homestead at Moisio.
A trifle pale, perhaps, but confident, ready to meet whatever might
chance, and determined to gain his end.
He opened the door and went in. There were two in the room: an old man
with bushy brows--who, unaware of the visitor's approach, was on the
point of going out himself--and a girl. She was waiting anxiously,
and as the door opened, her heart beat as if it would leap from her
breast.
All three stood for a moment in silence.
"Good-day to you," said Olof respectfully to the old man.
No one answered. Olof marked how the dark brows drew together like two
murky storm-clouds.
"Good-day," came the answer at last, sharp and hard--as if the speaker
were unwilling to deny a certain courtesy, even to the most unwelcome
guest, in his own house.
Having said so much, however, he felt no further obligation, and went
on sternly:
"I told you last time that I did not wish to see you again. What
brings you here now?"
The words fell like strokes of an axe; the girl turned pale, and
leaned against the wall.
"This," said Olof calmly. "When I spoke to you last time, matters did
not pass off as they should. I beg your forgiveness for that. And now
I have come to ask again for your daughter's hand."
"You--a wastrel...!" The old man's voice trembled with anger.
"I have been. But let us talk calmly, if you please."
"Lumberman!" The word was flung out with a bitterness and contempt
that cut like a knife.
A dark flush rose to Olof's cheek; he was hard put to it already to
control himself.
"True," he said, slowly and with emphasis. "I have been a lumberman.
There are clodhoppers enough to ditch and plough, but good lumbermen
are none so easy to find."
The old man raised his eyebrows, then lowered them again with an
expression as of a beast about to spring.
"Go!" he thundered.
A deep silence followed. Olof bit his lip, then drawing himself up
defiantly, he poured out a flood of words.
"You--you drove me out from here once before, and I went at your
bidding. Now, I move not a step till we have fought this out between
us. I came to you to-day with all respect--yes, and asked your pardon
for last time, though even now I do not know which of us two was more
in the wrong. And I am going now, but not at your bidding--and not
alone. I have come to ask for what is mine by right--and I would do
the same if she were a star in the skies of heaven!"
The old man was leaning forward with clenched fists; without a word he
rushed towards the door.
Olof's mind was made up on the instant--he would take the man by
the arms and set him down and bid him talk over matters quietly and
decently, as became his age. He stepped forward resolutely.
"Father!" The girl sprang forward hastily between them, "Father--I ...
it is true. I am his by right!"
The words came like a blow from behind--the father turned and looked
long at the girl.
"You...!" he cried, astounded. "You say--you are his by right? Ho! And
perhaps you've been waiting for him, then, all these years, when you
said 'No' to one after another?"
"Yes," she answered calmly. "And I have made up my mind to be his
wife."
The old man took a step towards her.
"Made up your mind, have you...?"
"Yes," said the girl gently; "and I want you, father, to consent."
"But suppose I've made up my mind?" The old man drew himself up
and stood between them, straight as a fir stem. "And this I say: My
daughter's not for any wandering lumberman that has the impudence to
ask."
He spoke with firmness and authority--matters seemed hopelessly at
a deadlock. There was a moment of tense silence. Kyllikki bowed
her head, then slowly she looked up and faced her father, steadily,
confidently--Olof noticed with surprise how the two in that moment
were alike. Expression and attitude were the same in both.
"And if she chooses to give herself--what then?"
The old man's eyes flashed.
"Then--why, she can go as his mistress, if she please, but not as my
daughter!"
Silence again. Kyllikki flushed angrily; Olof was hardly able to
restrain himself. But he realised that the two must be left to
themselves for what concerned themselves--he could only make matters
worse.
"Choose," said her father, coldly and with dignity. "And make haste
about it--the fellow here is waiting. But mark this," he added with a
sneer, as confident of victory: "_If_ you go, you go at once. And you
take with you nothing--not a rag nor stitch that was my daughter's.
You go ... _dressed as you came_. You understand!"
The two stood amazed at first, hardly comprehending. Then, as the
meaning of his words dawned on them, in its fearful cruelty, they
looked at him aghast.
"Father ... is that your last word?" asked the girl earnestly.
"Yes!"
Pale and red by turns, she stood hardly seeming to breathe.
The old man's lips curved in a scornful smile. Olof stood waiting his
sentence, unable to think or feel.
Then slowly the girl raised her head, seeming to tower over her
surroundings. She raised her hands without a tremor, slipped the
fastenings of her blouse, and almost before they could realise what
she was doing, she stood bare-armed, bare-throated before them.
The smile faded from the old man's lips. Olof's heart beat with a wild
delight--he felt an impulse to take the girl in his arms and carry her
off.
Calmly she went on--unhooked her skirt and let it slip to the floor
beside her blouse.
The old man's face was ashy pale. Olof turned his back in fury and
disgust.
But the girl never flinched. Quietly she loosened the strings of her
petticoat....
"Enough!" The old man's voice was like a cry from the underworld.
Olof turned--the girl looked inquiringly at him.
"Go! Take her--be off with you both!" cried her father, beyond
himself. "Ay, you're hard," he went on, to the girl, "hard and
obstinate as the rest of our blood ever were, too hard for your
woman's clothes! And as for you, I hope you can keep a wife now you've
got her. Of all the cursed...."
The young pair flushed, but they stood still, unable to move.
"Get your things on," said the old man impatiently. "And you--sit
down."
A sudden wave of shame came over the girl; snatching up her clothes,
she fled into the next room.
The master of Moisio walked slowly to the window and sat down heavily,
a beaten man. Olof felt a thrill of pity for the old man.
They sat for a few moments in silence; then Kyllikki entered once
more, blushing still, glanced hastily at Olof, and sat down, watching
her father's face.
At last the old man turned. The scene had left its mark on him, but
there was dignity still in his glance as he looked Olof full in the
face.
"You've made yourself my son-in-law," he said, "though 'twas no
wish of mine it should be so. But we may as well start with a clear
understanding. 'Tis our way here to say what's to be said at once, or
give a blow where it's needed--and have done with it."
"'Tis no bad way," said Olof, hardly knowing what he was saying. "My
father's way was much the same."
There was a slight pause. "We've one or two things to talk over now,"
went on the old man. "I should like to hear, to begin with, what
you're thinking of doing. Wandering about as before, maybe?"
"No. I've done with that. I've settled down in my own place--I'm
building a house there," answered Olof.
"H'm. Building a house, are you? I could find you a house here, for
that matter. I dare say you know I've no son to come after me. And I'm
an old man now."
Olof looked wonderingly at him. "I understand now," he said slowly,
"what you meant before. And I thank you for your kindness. But it's
this way with me now--I can't live in another man's house; I must make
a place for myself, and work for myself. I was to have had the farm at
home, but I couldn't take it." "A farm?" cried the old man, rising to
his feet. "Where--where do you come from, then?"
"From Kylanpaa in Hirviyoki--I don't know if you've heard of the
place."
"I have been there, years ago," said the old man in a kindlier tone,
taking a step towards him. "And what's the name of your place there?"
he asked.
"Koskela."
"Koskela? That's a big place."
"Why, 'tis big enough," said Olof.
"And why didn't you say that before--when you were here last?" said
the old man sharply. "'Twould have been better for both if you had."
Olof flushed slightly. "I never thought to take a wife but in my own
name," he answered--"for myself, and what I might be worth by myself."
"Yes, that's your way," said the old man, scanning him critically. "I
see it now."
He glanced out of the window and seemed to catch sight of something.
"Don't mind what's past," he said kindly. "There's the horses
coming from the smith's. I must look to them a minute. I'll be back
again...." And he strode out.
The two that remained felt as if the calm of a bright Sunday morning
filled the room after a stormy night. Blushingly the girl hurried
across to her lover, who came towards her; she flung her arms round
his neck, and whispered:
"Olof, I have never really known you until now!"
"And I," he answered, "have never known you till to-day."