She burst into a violent fit of weeping, and sank trembling to a seat.

And the bridal chamber echoed with sounds of woe, with utterances of misery that might have called the very walls to pity.

* * * * *

Olof wakened with a start; moving blindly, he had stumbled against her, and at the touch of her body he flung himself on his knees before her and hid his face in her lap.

“Kill me!” he moaned.  “Forgive me and then kill me and make an end.”

His passionate outburst seemed to calm her; she sat still, and her tears subsided.

“Speak to me!” cried Olof again.  “If you cannot forgive me, then kill me, at least—­or must I do it myself?”

But Kyllikki made no answer, only bent forward and, slipping her hands beneath his arms, drew him up, softly and slowly, and pressed him closer to her.

A sudden warmth filled him, and he threw his arms round her gratefully, as a child might do.

“Crush me, then, crush me to death, and I have all I asked for!”

But she did not speak, only held him closer.  And so they lay in each other’s arms, like children, worn out with weeping.

“Olof,” said Kyllikki at last, freeing herself, “when you wrote, you said you did not ask me to share joy and happiness, but to work and suffer with you.”

“Ay, then,” said Olof bitterly.  “And even then I still hoped for happiness.”

“But, don’t you see....  To-night, it is just that.  Our first suffering together.”

“It has ruined all!”

“Not all—­only what we had hoped for to-night.  All the rest is as it was.”

“No, no, do not try to deceive yourself and me.  And for myself—­what do I care now?  I have deserved it all—­but you, you....”

“Say no more, Olof.  Let this be ended now and never speak of it again.  See, I have forgotten it already.”

“All ... you....”

“Yes, all—­for your sake.  Oh, let us be content!  No one in all the world can ever have all they hoped and wished for.  And if we cannot have our wedding night as lovers—­let us at least be friends and comrades now.”

“Comrades? ... yes, in misery,” sighed Olof.  And they drew together in a close embrace; two suffering creatures, with no refuge but each other.

* * * * *

“Olof,” whispered Kyllikki after a while, “we must go to rest now—­you are worn out.”

Both glanced at the white bridal bed—­and each turned in dismay to the other, reading each other’s thought.

“Can’t we—­can’t we sleep here on the sofa?—­it’s nearly morning,” said Kyllikki timidly.

Olof grasped her hand and pressed it to his lips without a word.

Kyllikki went to fetch some coverings.  As she did so, she caught sight of something lying on the table, and keeping her back turned to Olof, she picked up the thing and put it back in the drawer.  Olof’s eyes followed her with a grateful glance.