“There is the thing you wanted.  It is loaded.  Now, answer me, if you please.”

She spoke slowly, putting forth all her strength to keep her voice from trembling.  Then stepping back, she stood waiting, her face pale, her eyes fixed on Olof’s face.

It was the critical moment.  To Kyllikki it seemed endless, as she stood there stiffly, dreading with every breath lest she should fall.

Olof stood motionless, staring at her as at a vision.  Once before he had seen her thus—­during the ordeal with her father.  A stifling fear came over him as he marked the similarity.

“What do you mean—­are you trying to drive me mad?” he cried in a choking voice.  And tearing his hair, he rushed violently towards the door.

Kyllikki felt the blood coursing warmly through her veins once more.

Olof strode furiously up and down, then came to a standstill before her.  His rage flamed up again, and he set himself to play the part of a judge.

“Defy me, would you?” he shouted, pale with anger.  “Do you know what you are?  A liar, a perjured hypocrite!  Do you know what you have done?  You have cheated me!  You have ruined my wedding night, trampled on my happiness and my future—­you have shamed me in the eyes of the world.  You are no pure and innocent girl, but a....”

He stopped, breathless, and stood gasping for a moment, then went on brokenly:  “But now it is out.  Now you shall answer for it all.  Do you know a fellow who was here to-night—­a wretched little worm with a red rosette in his coat?  You know who I mean well enough—­deny it if you dare!”

“Yes, I know him well.  What of it?”

“Ah, you know him—­yes....”  He gave a hoarse, nervous laugh.  “That ghastly little abortion came to me to-night and told me....”

He stopped, on purpose to torture her the more.

“What did he tell you?” asked Kyllikki breathlessly.

“You know well enough ... that you had given him long ago what should have been mine to-night!”

He stood enjoying the effect of his words:  Kyllikki staggered as if struck—­exactly as he had intended.

The girl was trembling in every limb.  She felt a loathing for the man before her—­and for all his sex.  These men, that lied about women, or cried out about what was theirs on their wedding night, raved of their happiness, demanding purity and innocence of others, but not of themselves ... she felt that there could be no peace, no reconciliation between them now, only bitterness and the ruin of all they had hoped for together.

“And what then?” she asked coldly, with lifted head.

“What then?” cried Olof wildly.  “What....”

“Yes.  Go on.  That was only one.  Are there no more who have told you the same thing?”

“More?  My God—­I could kill you now!”

“Do!” She faced him defiantly, and went on with icy calm:  “And how many girls are there who can say the same of you?”