THE MARK

Olof was growing uneasy—­a feeling of insecurity had come over him.  The air seemed full of mysterious forces, whispering together and joining in alliance against him.

It had all looked clear and simple enough before.  No one had ever stood in his way or threatened his plans.  But now something was threatening him—­something unknown, mysterious, but which he could not help feeling all the time.

He made every effort to resist—­to gather arms and allies against what was to come.  His project for draining the marsh was the first thing; he went about from one homestead to another, talking to the men one by one, and trying to interest them in the idea.  A general meeting was held, and he made a great speech, putting out all his powers of persuasion; his voice rang with a convincing strength, and his words carried weight.  And to begin with, all went well enough; it was agreed that an expert should be called in to investigate the whole question, and work out the probable cost of the undertaking.

But then came a period of waiting and inactivity, which sapped his strength anew.  He had to seek about for some fresh task, for new difficulties to meet and overcome, in order to regain his confidence in himself.  And so for a week he roved about in the forest between his own and the neighbouring parishes.

At last he found what he sought—­the line for a new road, better and quicker than the old one.

It was a fine idea, that no one could deny.  It would be a great gain to all in Hirviyoki, especially for those in the outlying parts; it meant a saving of miles on their way to the railway, the mills, and other centres.

And so once more Olof went from house to house, seeking adherents among the most influential men, so as to crush opposition before the matter was taken up for general discussion.  He started with those nearest at hand, working gradually farther out.

“Is this Inkala?” asked Olof of a serving-girl, as he entered the courtyard; he did not know the place, nor who lived there.

“This is Inkala—­yes,” answered the girl.

“Is the master at home?”

“No; he went off to Muurila this morning.”

“H’m.  And when’s he coming back?”

“Don’t know at all.  But maybe mistress’ll know.  If you’d go in by the front way, I’ll tell her.”

Olof walked up the front steps.

Hardly had he entered the room when a slender, fair-haired woman appeared from within.

“Good-day to ...”  Olof began; but the greeting died on his lips, and a shiver passed through his body.

The woman stopped still; her lips moved, but uttered no word.

Stiffly, uneasily, they looked at each other.  A glimpse of the past, a sequence of changes, things new and things familiar—­the vision of a moment, seen in a flash.

A warm flush spread over the woman’s cheeks, and she stepped forward without hesitation to greet the newcomer.