Clara lifted her head and pulled herself together. 'Are you crazy, Nils? We couldn't go away like that.'
'That's the only way we ever will go. You can't sit on the bank and think about it. You have to plunge. That's the way I've always done, and it's the right way for people like you and me. There's nothing so dangerous as sitting still. You've only got one life, one youth, and you can let it slip through your fingers if you want to; nothing easier. Most people do that. You'd be better off tramping the roads with me than you are here.' Nils held back her head and looked into her eyes. 'But I'm not that kind of a tramp, Clara. You won't have to take in sewing. I'm with a Norwegian shipping line; came over on business with the New York offices, but now I'm going straight back to Bergen. I expect I've got as much money as the Ericsons. Father sent me a little to get started. They never knew about that. There, I hadn't meant to tell you; I wanted you to come on your own nerve.'
Clara looked off across the fields. 'It isn't that, Nils, but something seems to hold me. I'm afraid to pull against it. It comes out of the ground, I think.'
'I know all about that. One has to tear loose. You're not needed here. Your father will understand; he's made like us. As for Olaf, Johanna will take better care of him than ever you could. It's now or never, Clara Vavrika. My bag's at the station; I smuggled it there yesterday.'
Clara clung to him and hid her face against his shoulder. 'Not tonight,' she whispered.
'Sit here and talk to me tonight. I don't want to go anywhere tonight. I may never love you like this again.'
Nils laughed through his teeth. 'You can't come that on me. That's not my way, Clara Vavrika. Eric's mare is over there behind the stacks, and I'm off on the midnight. It's goodbye, or off across the world with me. My carriage won't wait. I've written a letter to Olaf, I'll mail it in town. When he reads it he won't bother us--not if I know him. He'd rather have the land. Besides, I could demand an investigation of his administration of Cousin Henrik's estate, and that would be bad for a public man. You've no clothes, I know; but you can sit up tonight, and we can get everything on the way. Where's your old dash, Clara Vavrika? What's become of your Bohemian blood? I used to think you had courage enough for anything. Where's your nerve--what are you waiting for?'
Clara drew back her head, and he saw the slumberous fire in her eyes. 'For you to say one thing, Nils Ericson.'
'I never say that thing to any woman, Clara Vavrika.' He leaned back, lifted her gently from the ground, and whispered through his teeth: 'But I'll never, never let you go, not to any man on earth but me! Do you understand me? Now, wait here.'
Clara sank down on a sheaf of wheat and covered her face with her hands. She did not know what she was going to do-- whether she would go or stay. The great, silent country seemed to lay a spell upon her. The ground seemed to hold her as if by roots. Her knees were soft under her. She felt as if she could not bear separation from her old sorrows, from her old discontent. They were dear to her, they had kept her alive, they were a part of her. There would be nothing left of her if she were wrenched away from them. Never could she pass beyond that skyline against which her restlessness had beat so many times.
She felt as if her soul had built itself a nest there on that horizon at which she looked every morning and every evening, and it was dear to her, inexpressibly dear. She pressed her fingers against her eyeballs to shut it out. Beside her she heard the tramping of horses in the soft earth. Nils said nothing to her. He put his hands under her arms and lifted her lightly to her saddle. Then he swung himself into his own.
'We shall have to ride fast to catch the midnight train. A last gallop, Clara Vavrika.
Forward!'
There was a start, a thud of hoofs along the moonlit road, two dark shadows going over the hill; and then the great, still land stretched untroubled under the azure night. Two shadows had passed.
VII
A year after the flight of Olaf Ericson's wife, the night train was steaming across the plains of Iowa. The conductor was hurrying through one of the day coaches, his lantern on his arm, when a lank, fair-haired boy sat up in one of the plush seats and tweaked him by the coat.
'What is the next stop, please, sir?'
'Red Oak, Iowa. But you go through to Chicago, don't you?' He looked down, and noticed that the boy's eyes were red and his face was drawn, as if he were in trouble.
'Yes. But I was wondering whether I could get off at the next place and get a train back to Omaha.'
'Well, I suppose you could. Live in Omaha?'
'No. In the western part of the State. How soon do we get to Red Oak?'
'Forty minutes. You'd better make up your mind, so I can tell the baggageman to put your trunk off.'
'Oh, never mind about that! I mean, I haven't got any,' the boy added, blushing.
'Run away,' the conductor thought, as he slammed the coach door behind him.
Eric Ericson crumpled down in his seat and put his brown hand to his forehead. He had been crying, and he had had no supper, and his head was aching violently. 'Oh, what shall I do?' he thought, as he looked dully down at his big shoes. 'Nils will be ashamed of me; I haven't got any spunk.'
Ever since Nils had run away with his brother's wife, life at home had been hard for little Eric. His mother and Olaf both suspected him of complicity. Mrs. Ericson was harsh and faultfinding, constantly wounding the boy's pride; and Olaf was always setting her against him.
Joe Vavrika heard often from his daughter. Clara had always been fond of her father, and happiness made her kinder. She wrote him long accounts of the voyage to Bergen, and of the trip she and Nils took through Bohemia to the little town where her father had grown up and where she herself was born. She visited all her kinsmen there, and sent her father news of his brother, who was a priest; of his sister, who had married a horse-breeder--of their big farm and their many children. These letters Joe always managed to read to little Eric. They contained messages for Eric and Hilda. Clara sent presents, too, which Eric never dared to take home and which poor little Hilda never even saw, though she loved to hear Eric tell about them when they were out getting the eggs together. But Olaf once saw Eric coming out of Vavrika's house-- the old man had never asked the boy to come into his saloon--and Olaf went straight to his mother and told her. That night Mrs.
Ericson came to Eric's room after he was in bed and made a terrible scene. She could be very terrifying when she was really angry. She forbade him ever to speak to Vavrika again, and after that night she would not allow him to go to town alone. So it was a long while before Eric got any more news of his brother. But old Joe suspected
