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He sat up; the girl grasped his hand in fear. They could hear it plainly now footsteps, coming nearer. Heavily, hesitatingly, as if not knowing whether to go on or turn back. Olof was petrified. It was all unreal as a dream, and yet he knew that step would know it among a thousand. "I must go!" He pressed the girl's hand fiercely, and reached hurriedly for his hat.
Ah, you should know! Answer me, as you would to God Himself: of all the women you have known, has any one of them ever craved your body? Answer, and speak the truth!" "No no ... it is true!" stammered Olof confusedly. "Good that you can be honest at least. And that is just what makes the gulf between us. For you, the body is all and everything, but not for us.
The girl's eyes twinkled mischievously, and a shout of laughter came from the rest. Olof would have been furious, but he paid no heed to the laughter now, having just at that moment noticed something else. The girl's glance as she turned heavens, what eyes! And he had never noticed her before.... He sprang up like a rocket and continued the pursuit.
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!
"Is it any wonder?" said the glass coldly. The face in the glass was staring at him yet, with the dark furrows under the eyes. "But what how did they come there?" asked Olof in dismay. "Need you ask?" said the glass. "Well, you have got your 'mark, anyhow though it was not one you asked for." The face in the mirror stared at him; the dark furrows were there still.
Olof was proud of his wife; she moved with the beauty of a summer Sunday in their new home calm and clear-eyed, ever surrounded by a scent of juniper or heather. And he was filled with gratitude, respect, and love for her for her tender and faithful comradeship. Then, like a bird of night on silent wings, came this walking in his sleep. It had happened many times without his knowing it.
All eyes were turned towards the two competitors, who stood facing each other, with their friends around. One of them, a young man in a bright red coat, lifts his head boldly. "I'm not afraid of drowning, and not going to drown," he cries. "You draw back, then," says Moisio to Olof. "He'll not care to make the trip alone. No man's gone down the rapids here and lived 'tis madness to try."
So also in the Norse Saga of Saint Olof, king and martyr; the king, who died in 1030, eager for the conversion of one of his heathen chiefs Eindridi, competes with him in various athletic exercises, first in swimming and then in archery. After several famous shots on either side, the king challenges Eindridi to shoot a tablet off his son's head without hurting the child.
"Kyllikki," he whispered entreatingly, "have you forgiven me everything?" "Yes, everything," she answered, smiling through her tears, and threw her arms round his neck. "It was childish of me to cry." Gratefully, and with a new delight, he pressed her to his heart.... "Olof, don't put out the light yet let it burn till the morning." Kyllikki lay stretched on the sofa.
He flung down coat and hat, never heeding where, glanced up along the stem he had chosen, then the axe was lifted, and the steel sank deep into the red wood it was his first stroke in his native forest after six years' absence. The forest answered with a ringing echo from three sides, so loud and strong that Olof checked his second stroke in mid-air, and turned in wonder to see who was there.
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