"Go on--your sister is sitting on your lap, looking mischievously into your eyes...?"
"No, no--not like that--no. She looks earnestly, with eyes that no deceit can face, and says, "Olof, what"s this they are saying about you...?"
""Saying--about me...?"
"And she looks at me still. "Hard things they say, brother--that you play with women"s hearts.... Is it true?"
"And I cannot meet her eyes, and bow my head.
""Olof--remember that _I too am a woman_."
"And that cuts me to the heart. "Sister, sister, if you knew it all; if you knew how I have suffered myself. I never meant to play with them--only to be with them--as I am with you."
""As you are with me?" She looks at me; wonderingly. "But you know--you must know--that you cannot be as a brother to them."
""Yes, I can--sometimes."
""But never quite. And still less can they be sisters to you. Surely you know enough to understand that."
""No!"
""But you should know. Oh, think! With some men, perhaps, they might be as sister and brother--but not with you. You, with your dark eyes--I have always feared them. They beckon and call ... to evil and disaster."
""Sister--what must you think of me!" And I hide my head in her lap, as I used to do in mother"s.
""I am only sorry--bitterly sorry for you. And I can"t help being fond of you, for I know your heart is good and pure--but you are weak; very, very weak." And she strokes my forehead, as mother used to do.
""Yes, I am weak, I know it. But I promise you...."
""Don"t promise!" she says almost sternly, and lifts a finger warningly. "How many times have you promised, with tears in your eyes, and done the same again? Don"t promise--but try to be stronger."
""I will try, sister--dear, dear sister." And I take her hands and kiss them gratefully again and again...."
"Ho! so that"s the way you talk together, is it?" said the gloom.
"Well, I"m not sure it might not be a good thing if your sister were alive. Then, perhaps, if she talked like that to you occasionally, you might be a different man altogether."
The young man sat for a while in thought.
"Then suddenly she jumps up and lights the lamp--it is getting dark.
And she comes and puts her hands on my shoulders and says, "Let me help you checking those accounts--you know I can."
"And she sits down at the table, and I watch her little hand gliding over the paper. And I set to work at the books, and so we work for a long time.
"Then suddenly she looks up, and begins talking again. "Why, what a great man you"re getting, Olof--keeping the books in an office of your own--and with a secretary into the bargain. There"s never a lumberman risen so far at your age, and never a foreman that looks so fine, with office and clerk and all"
"And I laugh at that. "And never one with such a sister to help--that I"m sure."
"Then she turns serious again, and looks at me strangely. I can"t make out what she means.
""Tell me," she says at last, "how long are you going to go on with this wandering life? It"s three years now."
""Is it so long as that?" I ask in surprise. "Twill be longer yet, I doubt."
""If I were you, I would make an end of it at once. Let us both go home and take over the farm there--mother and father have worked so hard there all their lives--it"s time they were allowed to rest."
"I look at her without speaking, and she understands. "Father? Never fear--he"s forgotten his anger long ago. And mother and he are both waiting for you to come home--for brother Heikki is too young to take over the place...."
""Do you really think so?"
""Think? I know! And there"s any amount of work all waiting for you.
New ground to be sown, and a new barn to build, and we ought to have three times the stock we have now. And there"s all Isosuo marsh--you"ve that to drain and cultivate. When are you going to begin?"
""Drain the marsh? How could you think of that?"
""Why shouldn"t I? I"m your sister. It will be a big piece of work--father himself never ventured to try it--but you"re a bigger man than your father--a big, strong man...."
""Sister! Now I simply must give you a kiss. There"s no one like you in all the world.
"And we go home the very next week. And all turns out just as you said--more live stock, new ground sown, clover where there was but marsh before, and Koskela is grown to a splendid place, known far and wide. And we are so happy--with you to keep house and me to work the land. And the years go by and we grow old, but our children....
"... Oh, misery! What am I dreaming of...?" "That was the best of your dreams so far," said the gloom, with a full glance of its coal-black eyes. "May it soon come true! But light your lamp now--it is dark as night in here now."
CLEMATIS
"If I were a poet, I would sing--a strange, wild song.
"And if I could string the quivering _kantele_, I would play on it a melody to my song.
"I would sing of you, and of love. Of clematis with the snow-white flowers. For you are as the clematis, my love, sweet and beautiful as its blossoms, dear as its growth about the windows of a home--and deep, endlessly deep, as life itself."
"But that is just what you are doing, Olof--for all you say is like a poem and a song," answered the girl. "Sing for me again--and let me just sit here at your feet and listen."
"Ah, if only you could sit there always, as now. Clematis--how strange that I should meet you--when I never thought to meet with any flower again--saw only the yellow faded leaves of autumn everywhere around."
"Autumn ... faded leaves...." The girl looked at him, timidly questioning. "Olof, don"t be angry with me. But.... Have you loved others before? They say so many things about you."
The young man was silent a moment.
"Ay, there are many things to say, perhaps," he murmured sadly.
"But you, Clematis--could you care for me; could you not love me altogether, if you knew I had loved another before?"
"No, no--"twas not meant so," said the girl hastily, touching his knee with a slight caress. "I was not thinking of myself...."
"But of...?"