"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, all these years, when you said 'No' to one after another?"
"Yes," she answered calmly. "And I have made up my mind to be his wife."
The old man took a step towards her.