“Runa!”
The girl stood still as if paralysed. He walked up to her without a word; he did not look at the sack, but touched it as if by accident with his foot, sending it into the water. Then, taking the girl’s arm, he led her quietly back to the house.
He took her to his room, led her to a seat and sat down beside her, taking her hands in his and stroking them tenderly. The girl’s breast heaved; she was deadly pale, but she made no sound. So unexpected had been Ormarr’s intervention that she had hardly realized as yet what had happened.
Ormarr held her hands in his.
“Poor child, it is hard for you, I know. Life is hard. I have learned something of that myself. Poor child, poor child! But, Runa, you must trust me ... will you try? I will be kind to you. Perhaps, after all, you may be glad of the child and I as well. For we must marry, you know; it is the only thing to do. But only as a matter of form, of course, to save a scandal. The child will be born in wedlock, and it will be understood to be mine. No one knows anything as yet; we can go abroad at once, and stay away a year or so. It is not what you had wished for, I know, not what you had a right to expect, but—there is no other way now. As far as he is concerned it is too late.”
Runa burst into tears, and sat weeping silently, with scarcely a movement of her face; but her breast heaved violently, and the tears poured down her cheeks.
“I know, dear child, it is hard for you; you love him, and me you neither know nor care for.”
The girl drew back her hands and wiped her eyes.
“I hate him,” she said, almost in a whisper. And a moment after, she added passionately, defiantly. “And I never loved him at all.”
She threw herself face downwards over the table, sobbing bitterly.