Of late, the mere thought of this had made him restless.  And to guard against it, he had thrown himself with redoubled energy into his work, as if life depended on the ditching and draining of a marsh.  And gradually there grew out of this a new and far greater project, in which the entire neighbourhood would share.

* * * * *

It was in the quiet hour of dusk, when Olof had just come home from his work, and the walls of the room seemed whispering expectantly.

Silently as the dusk, Kyllikki stole into his opened arms, her eyes asking what he had to tell, and pouring out her own thoughts and feelings.

Olof laughed, but did not try to meet the innermost depth of her eyes; after a little, he ceased to look at her at all, but turned his gaze far off, as if looking out over the work of the day.

A little while passed thus.

Almost unconsciously Olof lifted one hand and loosened the plaits of his wife’s hair, letting the long tresses fall freely over her shoulders.  Smiling and looking into far distance, he passed his hand through the soft waves, and wrapping the ends about his fingers, clasped her waist.

“My own love,” he whispered, gazing at her as through a veil, and bending to touch her lips.

And as they kissed, Kyllikki felt his arm tremble.  Tenderly she looked into his eyes, but started in wonder at their strange expression—­they seemed wandering far off.

And the dark forebodings that had long oppressed her filled her now with a sudden dread.  The more she looked at him, the more she felt this fear—­at last it was almost more than she could bear.

It was as if the soul that looked out of his eyes had suddenly vanished, leaving only a body that stiffened in a posture of embrace.

She trembled from head to foot, her whole body seemed turned to ice.  Suddenly she tore herself away, and sank down on a seat; Olof stood without moving, as if turned to stone.

In a single moment, something terrible had passed between them, which neither dared to speak of, but which showed plainly in their eyes.  A gulf seemed to have opened before their feet, filled with strange and horrible creatures, all waving tentacles and ghastly staring eyes.

Kyllikki covered her face with her hands as if to shut out the sight.

“Olof—­your soul, your soul ...” she moaned, like a little child.

Olof stood as hovering on the verge of sleep and waking.  But at sight of her trembling figure he seemed to come to himself, and tried to break loose from the spell.

“Kyllikki...!” he said imploringly.

She sat up, sobbing, and gazed at him as at one whom she did not know.

“Kyllikki, poor child!” he said brokenly, and sat down by her side.  But his own voice sounded strange in his ears, and he could say no more—­he felt as if he were a ghost, not daring to speak to a living human creature.