"Mother, I promise—you shall never go that way again for me. And … and…."
He broke off.
The warmth rose to her eyes, seeking an outlet there.
"And…?" she asked gently. "What then, my son?"
The young man's brow was deeply lined, as he strove to speak. Then resolutely he looked up and said, "I will marry her."
"Marry her?" An icy wave came over her, and she gasped for breath.
"Olof," she went on in a trembling voice, "look at me. Have you—has anything happened already?" Breathlessly she waited for his answer.
"No," said the boy, and looked her frankly in the eyes. "But I love her."
The mother's hands trembled, and she sighed. But for a long while she said no word, only sat looking as before out into vague distance, as if seeking what to say.
"Ay," she said at last, "'tis right to marry where you love, and no other. But a servant-girl—there's none of our race ever married that way before. And as for love—you're over young to know."