At his first word the girl had looked up surprised, and she must have seen something strange in his face, for she moved hastily as if to rise. Ulric held her fast.
"Stay here, Martha, I want to talk to you. I want to ask you ... Well, I am not one for many words, and between us they are not needed. We are first cousins, we have lived together for years in the same house. You know best whether you can care for me at all, and you must know too that I have always been fond of you in spite of all our quarrels. Will you be my wife, Martha?"
The wooing was abrupt, brusque and stormy, as became the suitor's nature.
He drew a long breath, as if with these decisive words a weight had fallen from him. Martha still sat motionless before him. Her blooming colour had faded, had changed to a deep pallor, but she neither trembled nor hesitated as she uttered a low half-stifled "No."
Ulric thought he had not heard aright. "You will not?"
"No, Ulric, I will not!" repeated the girl resolutely, though almost under her breath.
The young man drew himself up offended.
"Well then, I might have spared my words. My father has been mistaken and so have I. No offence, Martha."
Wounded in his pride by the curt refusal he had met with, he was about to leave the room at once, but a look at Martha arrested him. She had risen and was grasping the chair with both hands, as though needing its support. No word of reply or of explanation came from her lips, but they trembled so and there was such an expression of unspoken pain in her white face that Ulric began to feel his father might be right after all.
"I thought you cared for me, Martha," he said, with some slight reproach in his tone.