“We two, Silla,” he continued at length, with a shake as if of resolution, but his voice trembled—­“we two have been, as it were, brought up together.  And with things as they were, if they could make me go wrong, it would have been still easier for you to be twisted by them, for I was strong, you see; but you were weak, and had always to creep like a cat among lies and difficulties.  And so—­so—­I thought that we two—­who have always stood by one another—­and I haven’t had anyone else I could trust, as you know, Silla, and neither have you—­that we should join hands.  And if you’re of the same mind, then——­”

He had clasped his broad hands round the gate-post, and was squeezing it with all the strength of his square-set figure, while he waited for her answer.  He gazed at her bent head, but she did not look up; and he drew a deep breath, for he felt that he must go on.

“And now I’ve got together a little money, and not bought anything, and have filed and filed away at my probation work; because when I become journeyman, and another year has passed, and I’ve laid by a little, then—­then it might be that you could get away from the factory dirt and the ordering at home both at once, and be a real smith’s wife, Silla.  You’ve never had any one to take care of you as I’ve done, you know; and you don’t know how good I’ll be to you!  For a fellow who hasn’t had either father or mother, and since I was up at the police-station I haven’t had many companions either—­” But here his emotion overpowered him.

“Such an uncommonly pretty smith’s wife you would make, Silla!  If any one has eyes for a smith, it’s you; they are like sparks in the fire!  And then to come home and see only the top of your pretty little black head at the room door!  In spite of having always been treated like a dog, and worse than that—­like a thief, it would all be nothing at all, if that was how it could end.  One’s own room with a lock on the door and the chest, that would be something better than being dragged round a dancing-hall, Silla, by fine fellows and sailors.”

The last words, which were uttered in warm excitement, would have been better left unsaid; for, from standing melted and overcome, with tears in her eyes, she suddenly fired up against the accusation.

“Do you want to deny me a little pleasure, too, Nikolai?  I’m not to see any one, not to go anywhere.  Oh no!  I’m to be a girl who has never danced, a regular queer bird, that’s first been kept in a cage by her mother, and then by——­” her voice quivered, and she began to cry.  “Is that what you call being kind to me, Nikolai?  You must be trying to make me afraid of you, too!”

“Afraid of me?—­of me, Silla?”

“Don’t they all look upon me as a baby that’s tied to her mother’s apron-strings?  And now you come and want to help her, Nikolai.  That’s right!  That’s right!  Only keep me in!  Oh yes, you and mother!  It’s only a question of who gets the power over me.  But you’d better take care, Nikolai!”