Part 51 (1/2)

Ah, I can see it in your eyes. None who have known you could ever forget. If only you had been like all the rest--we do not long for them when they are gone. But you were--you. And a woman must ever come back to the man that won her _heart_. We may think we hate him, but it is not true. And when life has had its way with us, and left us crushed and soiled--then we come back to him, as--how shall I say it?--as to holy church--no, as pilgrims, penitents, to a shrine ...

come back to look for a moment on all that was pure and good ... to weep over all that died so soon....”

Her voice broke. She thrust aside the piece of wood he had been holding all the time, and sent it clattering to the floor; then grasping his hands, she pressed them to her eyes, and hid her head in his lap.

Olof felt the room darkening round him. He sat leaning forward, with his chin on his breast; heavy tears dropped from his eyes like the dripping of thawed snow from the eaves in spring.

For a long while they sat thus. At last the woman raised her head, and looked with tear-stained eyes into his.

”Olof, do not be harsh with me. I had to come--had to ease my heart of all that has weighed it down these years past. I have suffered so.

And when I see you now, I understand you must have your own sorrows to bear. Forgive me all the cruel things I said. I had to say it all, that too, or I could not have told you anything; I wanted to cry the moment I saw you. Your wife--did I say anything? Oh, I do not hate her, you must not think I hate her. I can't remember what I said. But I am happier now, easier now that I have seen you.”

Her glance strayed from his face, and wandered vaguely into distance, as if she had been sitting alone in the twilight, dreaming.

”Olof,” she said after a while, turning to him with a new light in her eyes, ”do you know, a pilgrimage brings healing. It is always so in books--the pilgrims are filled with hope, and go back with rejoicing to their home.... Home...!” She started, as if wakening at the word.

”Should I go home, I wonder? What do you say, Olof? Father and mother--they would be waiting for me. I know they would gladly take me back again, in spite of all. Do you know, Olof, I have not been home for two years now. I have been.... Oh no, I cannot, bear to think....

Yes, I will go home. Only let me sit here just a little while, and look into your eyes--as we used to do. I will be stronger after that.”

And she sat looking at him. But Olof stared blankly before him, as at some train of shadowy visions pa.s.sing before his eyes.

”You have changed, Olof, since I saw you last,” murmured the woman at his feet. ”Have you suffered?...”

Olof did not answer. He pressed his lips together, and great tears gathered anew in his eyes.

”Oh, life is cruel!” she broke out suddenly, and hid her face in his lap once more.

For a moment she lay thus; deep, heavy silence seemed to fill the room. At last she looked up.

”I am going now,” she said. ”But, Olof, are we...?” She looked at him, hoping he would understand.

He took both her hands in his. ”Are you going--home?” he asked earnestly.

”Yes, yes. But tell me--are we...?”

”Yes, yes.” He uttered the words in a sigh, as if to himself. Then, pressing her hand, he rose to his feet.

Staggering like a drunken man, he followed her to the door, and stood looking out after her as she went. Then the night mist seemed to rise all about him, swallowing up everything in its clammy gloom.

THE RECKONING

He sits deep in thought. Not a sound in the room.

Then a knocking....

The man starts, rises to his feet, and stares about him with wide eyes, as if unable to recognise his surroundings. He glances towards the door, and a shudder of fear comes over him--are they coming to torture him again?

Furiously he rushes to the door and flings it wide. ”Come in, then!”