k brows drew together like two
murky storm-clouds.

"Good-day," came the answer at last, sharp and hard--as if the speaker
were unwilling to deny a certain courtesy, even to the most unwelcome
guest, in his own house.

Having said so much, however, he felt no further obligation, and went
on sternly:

"I told you last time that I did not wish to see you again. What
brings you here now?"

The words fell like strokes of an axe; the girl turned pale, and
leaned against the wall.

"This," said Olof calmly. "When I spoke to you last time, matters did
not pass off as they should. I beg your forgiveness for that. And now
I have come to ask again for your daughter's hand."

"You--a wastrel...!" The old man's voice trembled with anger.

"I have been. But let us talk calmly, if you please."

"Lumberman!" The word was flung out with a bitterness and contempt
that cut like a knife.

A dark flush rose to Olof's cheek; he was hard put to it already to
control himself.

"True," he said, slowly and with emphasis. "I have been a lumberman.
There are clodhoppers enough to ditch and plough, but good lumbermen
are none so easy to find."

The old man raised his eyebrows, then lowered them again with an
expression as of a beast about to spring.

"Go!" he thundered.

A deep silence followed. Olof bit his lip, then drawing himself up
defiantly, he poured out a flood of words.

"You--you drove me out from here once before, and I went at your
bidding. Now, I move not a step till we have fought this out between
us. I came to you to-day with all respect--yes, and asked your pardon
for last time, though even now I do not know which of us two was more
in the wrong. And I am going now, but not at your bidding--and not
alone. I have come to ask for what is mine by right--and I would do
the same if she were a star in the skies of heaven!"

The old man was leaning forward with clenched fists; without a word he
rushed towards the door.

Olof's mind was made up on the instant--he would take the man by
the arms and set him down and bid him talk over matters quietly and
decently, as became his age. He stepped forward resolutely.

"Father!" The girl sprang forward hastily between them, "Father--I ...
it is true. I am his by right!"

The words came like a blow from behind--the father turned and looked
long at the girl.

"You...!" he cried, astounded. "You say--you are his by right? Ho! And
perhaps you've been waiting for him, then, a