Their tale of love shall tell,
In language whose excess imparts
The power they feel so well.'
The old women applauded vigorously. 'What a gay one he is, that Nils!' And old Mrs.
Svendsen's cap lurched dreamily from side to side to the flowing measure of the dance.
Of days that have as ha-a-p-py been,
And you'll remember me.'
VII
The moonlight flooded that great, silent land. The reaped fields lay yellow in it. The straw stacks and poplar windbreaks threw sharp black shadows. The roads were white rivers of dust. The sky was a deep, crystalline blue, and the stars were few and faint.
Everything seemed to have succumbed, to have sunk to sleep, under the great, golden, tender, midsummer moon. The splendour of it seemed to transcend human life and human fate. The senses were too feeble to take it in, and every time one looked up at the sky one felt unequal to it, as if one were sitting deaf under the waves of a great river of melody. Near the road, Nils Ericson was lying against a straw stack in Olaf's wheat field.
His own life seemed strange and unfamiliar to him, as if it were something he had read about, or dreamed, and forgotten. He lay very still, watching the white road that ran in front of him, lost itself among the fields, and then, at a distance, reappeared over a little hill. At last, against this white band he saw something moving rapidly, and he got up and walked to the edge of the field. 'She is passing the row of poplars now,' he thought. He heard the padded beat of hoofs along the dusty road, and as she came into sight he stepped out and waved his arms. Then, for fear of frightening the horse, he drew back and waited. Clara had seen him, and she came up at a walk. Nils took the horse by the bit and stroked his neck.
'What are you doing out so late, Clara Vavrika? I went to the house, but Johanna told me you had gone to your father's.'
'Who can stay in the house on a night like this? Aren't you out yourself?'
'Ah, but that's another matter.'
Nils turned the horse into the field.
'What are you doing? Where are you taking Norman?'
'Not far, but I want to talk to you tonight; I have something to say to you. I can't talk to you at the house, with Olaf sitting there on the porch, weighing a thousand tons.'
Clara laughed. 'He won't be sitting there now. He's in bed by this time, and asleep--
weighing a thousand tons.'
Nils plodded on across the stubble. 'Are you really going to spend the rest of your life like this, night after night, summer after summer? Haven't you anything better to do on a night like this than to wear yourself and Norman out tearing across the country to your father's and back? Besides, your father won't live forever, you know. His little place will be shut up or sold, and then you'll have nobody but the Ericsons. You'll have to fasten down the hatches for the winter then.'
Clara moved her head restlessly. 'Don't talk about that. I try never to think of it. If I lost Father I'd lose everything, even my hold over the Ericsons.'
'Bah! You'd lose a good deal more than that. You'd lose your race, everything that makes you yourself. You've lost a good deal of it now.'
'Of what?'
'Of your love of life, your capacity for delight.'
Clara put her hands up to her face. 'I haven't, Nils Ericson, I haven't! Say anything to me but that. I won't have it!' she declared vehemently.
Nils led the horse up to a straw stack, and turned to Clara, looking at her intently, as he had looked at her that Sunday afternoon at Vavrika's. 'But why do you fight for that so?
What good is the power to enjoy, if you never enjoy? Your hands are cold again; what are you afraid of all the time? Ah, you're afraid of losing it; that's what's the matter with you!
And you will, Clara Vavrika, you will! When I used to know you--listen; you've caught a wild bird in your hand, haven't you, and felt its heart beat so hard that you were afraid it would shatter its little body to pieces? Well, you used to be just like that, a slender, eager thing with a wild delight inside you. That is how I remembered you. And I come back and find you--a bitter woman. This is a perfect ferret fight here; you live by biting and being bitten. Can't you remember what life used to be? Can't you remember that old delight? I've never forgotten it, or known its like, on land or sea.'
He drew the horse under the shadow of the straw stack. Clara felt him take her foot out of the stirrup, and she slid softly down into his arms. He kissed her slowly. He was a deliberate man, but his nerves were steel when he wanted anything. Something flashed out from him like a knife out of a sheath. Clara felt everything slipping away from her; she was flooded by the summer night. He thrust his hand into his pocket, and then held it out at arm's length. 'Look,' he said. The shadow of the straw stack fell sharp across his wrist, and in the palm of his hand she saw a silver dollar shining. 'That's my pile,' he muttered; 'will you go with me?'
Clara nodded, and dropped her forehead on his shoulder.
Nils took a deep breath. 'Will you go with me tonight?'
'Where?' she whispered softly.
'To town, to catch the midnight flyer.'
