The Song of the Blood-Red Flower Part 29

"Little Hawthorn...." Olof bent her head back and looked straight into her eyes. "Was that a nice thing to say, now?"

The girl bowed her head. "No--but I wanted to do something, to make some sacrifice for your sake."

She was silent for a moment, then her eyes brightened once more.

"Olof, now I know! I'll cut off one of the prettiest locks of my hair and you shall keep it for remembrance--that's what people do, isn't it? And you must keep it always--and think of me sometimes, even when you love someone else."

"Oh, my love! I don't know whether to laugh or cry when you say such things. But it is only now, in the gloom of the spring night. By daylight you will think differently."

"No, never! Not even in the grave!"

"And then--it's so childish. Must you have a keepsake from me too, to help you to remember?"

"No, of course not."

"Then why should I need one?"

"No, no--it's childish of me, of course. Forgive me, Olof--and don't be sorry any more. I ask nothing but to go on loving you."

"And I you--without thought or question."

"Yes. And I shall remember all my life how happy you have made me; I shall keep the memory of it all as a secret treasure till I die, and bless you...."

She rose up suddenly on her elbow.

"Olof--tell me something. Did you ever hear of anyone dying of happiness?"

"No--I have never heard of it. Why?"

"But when they are really, really happy...?"

"I don't think anyone could, even then."

"But they can die of sorrow sometimes, I've heard. And then if one really wants to...."

"Hawthorn!" He clasped her in a wild embrace. "There is no one like you in all the world. If _that_ were possible, I would ask nothing else."

"Would you--would you really care to ... with me?"

"Yes, yes ... to swoon in the scent of you and die ... to feel the strands of your hair twined round my throat, and die.... Well for me if I could, perhaps--and for others...."

SISTER MAYA

Sadness pervaded his soul, and he spoke to the evening gloom that stole in through the window and hovered about his pale face like a watcher.

"I too should have had a sister--sister Maya," he said dreamily.

"You had one--and the best that one could wish for," said the evening gloom.

"I don't remember--I was too young to know.... But mother always spoke so nicely of her ... the time I was ill, for instance."

"So your mother spoke of that. Yes, yes, she would...."

"It was when I was a child. I was very ill--on the point of death, she said. And mother and all the others were crying, and comforting themselves with the thought that little Olof would be an angel soon, and wear a crown. And sister Maya said then I should sit by her bedside with wings outspread, warding off evil dreams."

"Well if it had been so," said the evening gloom.

"But the girl, my sister, burst into tears, and cried that I should not be an angel, but a big man, bigger than father--ever so big and strong. And she threw her arms round my neck and said no one should ever come and take away Olof--no!"

"Ay," nodded the gloom, "so it was--yes."

"And my sister tried her own way to make me well again--fondling me and blinking her eyes and stroking me under the chin. And I began laughing, for all that I was ill. And she was all overjoyed at that, and more certain than ever that I was to get well again and grow a big strong man. And I laughed again, and life began laughing too--and after that, I gradually got well."

"Ay, 'twas so. And your sister, she looked after you and nursed you all by herself--no one else was allowed to touch you; yes, that was your sister Maya!"

"Then Maya was taken ill herself. And weak as she was, she would have me near her all the time, and made me sit by her bedside. And I only laughed at it all--I did not understand that my only sister was at death's door. Ay, sometimes I pinched her thin cheek, or pulled her hair, or flicked her ear in play...."

"So you have done since with many other girls--ay, and laughed at them."

"And then the others came and wanted to take me away, out of her sight, because I was so cruel."

"Ay, just so. If only someone had done the same thing afterwards, with the rest...."

"But Maya held my hand and would not let them. And even when she was dying I had to stay there, and with her last words she hoped that Olof would grow up and be a fine strong fellow, and a good man."

He relapsed into thought.

"And now ... here you are, a fine strong fellow, and...." The voice seemed urging him to go on.

"Why did my sister die? Oh, if only she were alive now!"

"Who can say--perhaps it is better for her as it is."

"If she were alive now, she would be in her best years. And she could live with me, we two together, and never caring about anyone else.

Keep house together--and she should be my friend and sister--and all else! I know just what she would look like. Tall and slender, with fair hair, light as the flax at home, and all curling down over her shoulders. And she would carry her head high--not vain and proud, but n.o.ble and stately. And her eyes all fire and mischief. Deep eyes, with a reflection of strange worlds, and none could face them with so much as a thought of deceit. Like mother's eyes--only with all, all the fire of youth--almost like Kylli...."

"So ho!" laughed the gloom. "So that's what your sister's to be like.... Well, go on!"

"And her nature, too, would be strange. Independent, choosing her own way--such a nature as old folks say is no good thing for a lad, far less for a girl. But for her.... And in winter-time she would come racing home on ski--rus.h.i.+ng into the place and making the doors shake.

Then she would jump on my lap, put her cold hands on my shoulders, and look mischievously: 'Why, what's this, brother? As gloomy as a monk again, I declare!' And I should feel happier then, but still a little earnest, and say, 'Maya, Maya, what a child you are! As thoughtless as a boy. And such a noise you make about the place.' 'Oh, but you're always in the dumps--sitting here moping like a grey owl. You ought to go out and race through the snow, till it whirls up about your ears ... that's the thing to freshen you up....' And then she presses cold hands against my cheek, till I s.h.i.+ver, and looks teasingly. And then all my dull humour's gone, and I can't help laughing at her, and calling her a little impudent thing...."

Olof stopped, and smiled--as if to fix the picture of this bright young creature indelibly in his mind.

The voice of the gloom spoke again: "So she is to live just for _your_ pleasure--like all the others?"

The smile died from the young man's face.