He flung himself face downward on the sofa, sobbing violently.
"Your wedding night?" said Kyllikki softly. "Your wedding night? How many such have you not had before? But mine…." Her voice broke. "Oh, mine has never been, and never will be, never…."
She burst into a violent fit of weeping, and sank trembling to a seat.
And the bridal chamber echoed with sounds of woe, with utterances of misery that might have called the very walls to pity.
* * * * *
Olof wakened with a start; moving blindly, he had stumbled against her, and at the touch of her body he flung himself on his knees before her and hid his face in her lap.
"Kill me!" he moaned. "Forgive me and then kill me and make an end."
His passionate outburst seemed to calm her; she sat still, and her tears subsided.
"Speak to me!" cried Olof again. "If you cannot forgive me, then kill me, at least—or must I do it myself?"
But Kyllikki made no answer, only bent forward and, slipping her hands beneath his arms, drew him up, softly and slowly, and pressed him closer to her.