The Song of the Blood-Red Flower Part 24

"Kyllikki, Kyllikki, if you only knew!" he cried sorrowfully, and took her hands in his. Then a sudden coldness came over him once more.

"And if I were to dare," he said, "there is one other besides you and me."

"Are you afraid of him?" she asked sharply.

"No. But if he turned me from his door in scorn...."

"If the thought of that counts for so much," she said, with emphasis, "then it were better not to ask. For, after--whom would you love more, do you think; yourself, or the one you think you love?"

He winced under her glance.

"If it were for your sake I feared?" he asked, with some feeling.

"No need of that--as long as I know you are sure in your own mind. And if you were sure--you need have no fear for me."

He looked at her in surprise and admiration.

"You are a strange girl, Kyllikki," he said at last. "I am only just beginning to understand you. You are not as I hoped you would be--but you are something more. I know what it must have cost you to say so much. I shall not forget."

Again the trouble rose within him. "You, I understand," he said wearily. "Yes. But myself--"

"You will find that out as well, some day," she said tenderly.

"If only there was time now...." He sat for a moment in thought.

"We are leaving to-morrow afternoon. If I have got things clear in my own mind by then, I will come and see you before we go. But it will be at the last minute. For if it comes to what I think it will, then I must not stay a moment longer."

The girl nodded. Both rose to their feet.

"Kyllikki," he said, with emotion, taking her hands, "it may be this is the last time I see you alone. Do not think hardly of me because I am what I am."

"You could not be otherwise," she answered warmly. "I understand."

"I shall be grateful to you for that always. And perhaps...." His voice broke. "Good-bye, Kyllikki!"

It was Sunday afternoon. The lumbermen were getting ready to leave.

The young folk of the village, and some of the elders, had come down to the creek at Kohiseva to see them start.

The water was almost clear of timber already, the boom was being dragged slowly down the dead water by a few of the men. Some went ahead, getting odd logs out of the way, others strolled idly about on the sh.o.r.e, exchanging greetings with the villagers.

A little way down the bank a log is stranded with one end thrust far insh.o.r.e. Close by it lies a pole.

"That's Olof's," says one of the men. "He's not come down yet--busy up at the village, it seems."

A girl in the group of lookers-on felt her heart beat suddenly.

"H'm--left it to ride down on, I suppose. Wants to take another turn down the rapids before he goes."

"Ay, that's it. Likes that way better than going on a raft like ordinary folk. That's him coming down, isn't it?"

Olof came racing down like the wind.

A girl in the group turned pale. She could see from his manner what had pa.s.sed. Something terrible it must have been to bring him down in a fury like that.

He came nearer. His face was deadly pale, his lips compressed, and his eyes flashed, though he looked out over the water all the time.

He raised his hat as he pa.s.sed the group, but without a glance at anyone.

"What's happened now?" The question was in all eyes, but no one spoke.

Olof grasped his pole, thrust off the log, and sprang out on it. He took a few powerful strokes, and turned, casting his eyes over the group on the sh.o.r.e. He was looking for one amongst them--and found her.

"Good-bye!" he cried, waving his hat.

"Good-bye--good-bye! Come again some day to Kohiseva!"

The men waved their hats, the girls fluttered kerchiefs in farewell.

Olof was still facing toward the sh.o.r.e, paddling slowly out across the creek.

Those on sh.o.r.e would have sent him a friendly word, but no one spoke--all were looking at a girl whose face was strangely pale.

Paler than ever it seemed as the man stopped rowing, and fixed his eyes on the group.

"Ay, cast your coins in a beggar's hat, And he'll bless your charity.

I was good enough for the girl I loved, But her kin were prouder than she!"

There was a depth of bitterness in the words--the listeners started involuntarily.

"What's taken him all at once? Never heard him sing that way before!"

"Sh! Listen!"

The singer glanced down at the water, took a few strokes out, and went on:

"My home is where the rapids roar, Below the river's brink.

All the rivers of all the world-- Who cares if he swim or sink?"

The listeners glanced at one another--the meaning of the song was growing clear.

"'Twas no spring day that gave me life With sunlit skies and clear, But a leafless gloom that sent me forth To wander many a year.

My mother wept in her garden lone, Or ever I was born; Looked at a blood-red flower and wept For that her heart was torn."

He was midway across now, paddling slowly, bending a little forward.

Those on the sh.o.r.e stood still, waiting.