“But suppose I’ve made up my mind?” The old man drew himself up and stood between them, straight as a fir stem.  “And this I say:  My daughter’s not for any wandering lumberman that has the impudence to ask.”

He spoke with firmness and authority—­matters seemed hopelessly at a deadlock.  There was a moment of tense silence.  Kyllikki bowed her head, then slowly she looked up and faced her father, steadily, confidently—­Olof noticed with surprise how the two in that moment were alike.  Expression and attitude were the same in both.

“And if she chooses to give herself—­what then?”

The old man’s eyes flashed.

“Then—­why, she can go as his mistress, if she please, but not as my daughter!”

Silence again.  Kyllikki flushed angrily; Olof was hardly able to restrain himself.  But he realised that the two must be left to themselves for what concerned themselves—­he could only make matters worse.

“Choose,” said her father, coldly and with dignity.  “And make haste about it—­the fellow here is waiting.  But mark this,” he added with a sneer, as confident of victory:  “If you go, you go at once.  And you take with you nothing—­not a rag nor stitch that was my daughter’s.  You go ... dressed as you came.  You understand!”

The two stood amazed at first, hardly comprehending.  Then, as the meaning of his words dawned on them, in its fearful cruelty, they looked at him aghast.

“Father ... is that your last word?” asked the girl earnestly.

“Yes!”

Pale and red by turns, she stood hardly seeming to breathe.

The old man’s lips curved in a scornful smile.  Olof stood waiting his sentence, unable to think or feel.

Then slowly the girl raised her head, seeming to tower over her surroundings.  She raised her hands without a tremor, slipped the fastenings of her blouse, and almost before they could realise what she was doing, she stood bare-armed, bare-throated before them.

The smile faded from the old man’s lips.  Olof’s heart beat with a wild delight—­he felt an impulse to take the girl in his arms and carry her off.

Calmly she went on—­unhooked her skirt and let it slip to the floor beside her blouse.

The old man’s face was ashy pale.  Olof turned his back in fury and disgust.

But the girl never flinched.  Quietly she loosened the strings of her petticoat....

“Enough!” The old man’s voice was like a cry from the underworld.

Olof turned—­the girl looked inquiringly at him.

“Go!  Take her—­be off with you both!” cried her father, beyond himself.  “Ay, you’re hard,” he went on, to the girl, “hard and obstinate as the rest of our blood ever were, too hard for your woman’s clothes!  And as for you, I hope you can keep a wife now you’ve got her.  Of all the cursed....”

The young pair flushed, but they stood still, unable to move.