The Song of the Blood-Red Flower Part 43

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. Blus.h.i.+ngly 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."

THE BROKEN STRING

The dark of an autumn evening was abroad. It marched along the roads, stole over the meadows, and sat brooding in the forest; the s.h.i.+mmering waterways marked its track.

But at Moisio all the homestead was ablaze with light; every window shed its bright stream into the night, as if from a single fire within.

And from within came a constant sound of many voices, as of men sitting round the hearth relating manifold adventures. Outside, all round the house, were voices too, loud and low, soft and harsh, with an undertone of whispering in corners, and footsteps moving here and there. All that there was of life and light and sound in Kohiseva seemed gathered this night at Moisio.

The fiddler played his hardest, the floor creaked, and the walls quivered to the tramp of many feet; a stream of figures pa.s.sed continuously before the windows.

The wedding had taken place that afternoon. Then came feasting and dancing--and the guests were dancing still, though it was close on midnight.

The bridegroom was a fine upstanding fellow, and the bride a worthy mate--as stately a pair as any had seen. All the neighbourhood agreed in this--and all had seen the couple, though not all had been bidden to the feast. A whisper had been pa.s.sed among the crowd without, followed by a shout from all, demanding to see the bride and bridegroom. And when the pair came out and stood in the porch, with their following behind, the onlookers greeted them with shouts and cheers--just as at fine folk's weddings in the great cities, declared those who knew.

The bridegroom was happy--and well he might be, with such a bride.

And the bride, too, was happy--as well she might be after waiting all those years. All knew the story--the first strange wooing, with the desperate venture down the rapids, and the lover's Song of the Blood-Red Flower as he went away. And more was whispered about--fragmentary tales of the bridegroom's adventurous life and the trials of the girl who waited for him to return; rumour had gathered what was known, and popular fancy had added thereto at will. The stories pa.s.sed from mouth to mouth among those outside, and even among the guests within, reaching almost to the bridal pair themselves.

There was a touch of something legendary, heroic, about it all, that shed a halo of romance even upon old Moisio's grey head.

Again they call for bridegroom and bride--the hero and heroine of the story--manly courage and womanly faithfulness personified; a sight to look on again and again. Again the light streamed out into the porch, and again the shouts and cheers went up, and one or two of the more curious and venturesome slipped into the house unbidden in the press.

It was a bright and festive scene within. The roof-beams were draped with white, and the hangings glittered like newly-fallen snow in the morning sunlight. The walls, too, were draped, and decked with wreaths and garlands; here and there a bunch of fresh juniper twigs seeming to speak of newly-arisen life.

The dancing ceased for a moment; the guests adjourned to the well-furnished tables in an adjoining room--the women following the bride, the men by themselves, with the bridegroom and old Moisio himself. Trays clattered, gla.s.ses rang, a hum of gay voices filled the room, and all eyes shone with a festive gleam.

Then the fiddler tuned up once more, and the guests streamed out back into the hall. The men stayed a moment to finish their gla.s.ses, and followed after.

The bridegroom came last. Suddenly it occurred to him to fetch something for the fiddler, and he turned back. Having found what he wanted, he was leaving the room, when a stranger barred his way.

Olof started; the man had come suddenly and silently as a ghost.

There was something uncanny about him as he stood there--a short, heavily-built fellow, standing without a word, one hand in his trousers pocket, a cigar in his mouth, and a red rosette, such as peasants wear on holidays, in the b.u.t.tonhole of what was evidently his best coat. There he stood, gazing fixedly at Olof, with a curious glitter in his eyes.

"I've a word to say to the bridegroom, if so be he's time to hear,"

said the man in a hoa.r.s.e voice, still keeping the cigar between his teeth.

"Why ... here I am, if you want me," said Olof, "though I don't know who you are...."

"No," said the man, "you don't know who I am. And yet we're sort of related--yes, that's the word--for all we've never met before."

He took a step forward.

"'Tis your wedding night--and I've come to wish you joy of it. You've played with many a woman's heart in your time, and driven more than one good lad to despair--maybe 'twill do you good to learn...."

"What?" cried Olof, with sudden fury. "Out with it, man!"

The fellow's gla.s.sy eyes seemed to be straining forward, the pupils were glittering points of light.

"You, that have worked your will on any and all as it pleased you--robbed your betters of all they had and cared for--'twill do you good, maybe, to know that.... _Do you think you're taking an innocent girl for your bride_?"

The man stood watching the effect of his words. He saw Olof's face darken, his nostrils expand and quiver. Saw him tremble from head to foot, like a tree about to fall, waiting but for the last stroke of the axe. Well, he should have it....

"Well--how does it feel?" He bowed mockingly, and went on with a sneer: "Wish you joy.... I've more reason, perhaps, than the others, seeing we're partners, so to speak, in the same...."

"Liar--devil--coward!" Olof's rage broke loose. A step forward, almost a spring, and with the strength of fury he seized the man by his coat with both hands and lifted him from the floor.

"Say your prayers!" hissed Olof between his teeth, still holding the man in mid-air, the s.h.i.+rt-front crus.h.i.+ng under his grip. The man struggled helplessly once or twice, then hung limp; the cigar fell from his mouth, and Olof felt the body a dead weight in his hands.

"I ... I've been drinking," he gasped--"drinking... don't know what I've been saying...." The words bubbled pitifully from the pale lips, like the last drops from an empty barrel.

"Well for you!" Olof set the man down and loosed his hold. "Or I'd....

Huh! Get out of this--d'you hear?"

The man staggered, looking this way and that, then turned and stole from the room without a word.

Olof stood alone. His brain was in a whirl, dazzling lights floated before his eyes.

"It must be true! No one would ever dare unless...." There was no doubt in his mind--it was only too natural that it should be so. The retribution he had feared so long--it had come at last, and ruined all in a moment.

The fiddler was playing louder than before; the whole house shook--they were dancing again. To Olof the music seemed like a mighty peal of scornful laughter, as if the host of people there were laughing and dancing for joy at his shame.

"Make an end--make an end!" he cried to himself, and he rushed from the room. How he was to end it he did not know--only that this was unendurable--it was h.e.l.l!

Smiling faces greeted Olof as he appeared in the doorway and stood a moment, unable to get through the press. His brain cleared a little--after all, he could not drive the guests from the house like a madman with a knife in his hand.

They stood aside to let him pa.s.s, and he slipped round by the wall to the farther end of the room, and went up to the fiddler.