And no more was said, but heartfelt wishes hovered protectingly about the little bed.

* * * * *

“Look now!” cried Kyllikki, after a while.  “He’s fallen asleep!  Isn’t he lovely?”

And warm sunshine seemed to fill the room—­even to its darkest corner.

“Olof?” said Kyllikki, with a questioning glance towards the door of the adjoining room.

His face lit up, and together they stole on tiptoe to the door; Olof opened it, and Kyllikki stood on the threshold, looking into the little room—­it was newly papered, and looked larger and brighter than before.

She turned and took his hand—­her eyes told him all she thought and felt.

He put his arm round her waist, and his eyes lit with a sudden gleam of recollection.

“I told you once,” he said dreamily, as they walked back into the sitting-room, “how sister Maya came to call me home, when I was still wandering about from place to place.”

“Yes, I remember; it was so beautiful, Olof—­I shall never forget.”

“And how we came home after, and began....”

They had reached the window now.  “Look!” said Olof suddenly, pointing out.

Down in the valley lay the marsh of Isosuo, spreading away almost immeasurably on every side.  At the edge of the water two big channels were being cut, in front were a host of workmen clearing timber, while others behind them dug the channels in the soil.  It was like the march of two great armies towards the land of the future.  The setting sun cast its red glow over the powerful shoulders of the men as they worked, here and there a spade or an axe flashed for a moment; the water in the dykes glittered like silver, and the moist earth at the edge shone with a metallic gleam.

“Ah!” cried Kyllikki joyfully.  “The work has begun!”

Olof turned her gently from the window towards him, put his arms round her, and looked into her eyes, as if trying to sum up in a single glance all they had seen and suffered, lived through and hoped.

“Yes, the work has begun,” he said softly, and held her closer to his breast.