room beyond. The door opened and closed again.

An old woman stood there waiting. Motionless as a statue, her wrinkled
features set, her eyes full of a pain and bitterness that crushed him
like a burden.

For a while neither moved. The woman's face seemed to fade away into
the gloom, but the look in her eyes was there still. A sudden tremor,
and Olof saw no more, but felt a warm flood welling from beneath his
eyelids.

Without a word she turned, and went down the steps. Olof followed her.

With bowed head, and arms hanging loosely at her side, she walked on.
The last brief hour seemed to have aged her beyond all knowing.

He felt a violent impulse to run forward and throw himself on his
knees in the dust before her. But he dared not, and his feet refused
their service.

They came to Kankaala.

The porch seemed glowering at them like a questioning eye as they came
up. Olof started, and the blood rushed to his head.

"Who comes here?" queried the porch. "'Tis the mistress of Koskela,
or should be. And who is it walks behind, hanging his head? Surely not
her son?"

"Ay, 'tis her son, never fear," said the broad window above, grinning
all the length of the wall. "The son of the house been seeing his
light-o'-love, and his mother brings him home!"

"H'm," said the porch. "'Twas not that mother's way to go seeking her
sons, nor ever need of it before."

Olof's head dropped again.

Heavily the old woman trudged up Seppala hill.

"Who's this out and abroad so late?" creaked the wooden pail in its
chain above the well. "Mother and son? And what's the mischief now?"

Olof felt the ground quaking beneath his feet.

They were nearly home now. Musti the house-dog came to meet them,
wagging his tail in friendly wise. But suddenly it checked, and
crouched anxiously in the grass.

"What's mistress all so sorrowful about? And where have you been so
late at night?"

Olof turned his head aside, and walked by as if fearing to tread.

They reached the steps.

"What's this, what's this?" buzzed the vane on its pole by the fence.
Olof had made it himself one day, as a boy. It said no more, only
muttered again, "What's this?"

The old woman mounted the steps. She said no word, nor ever looked
behind her, but Olof followed her step by step. His own room was
at the side of the house, by the kitchen, but he went on after her
without a thought of escape.

She passed through the front room into the next, crossed to the