Part 43 (2/2)
”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.
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