Then sleigh-bells are again heard outside, as on Twelfth-day evening; a large sleigh stops in the yard, and two persons alight from it, an officer in his ample cloak, and a young and classically beautiful woman in a magnificent mantle of black velvet, lined with precious fur. Meri and old Larsson turn pale at this sight; Larsson tries to hasten out, but it is too late. Bertel and Regina enter the "stuga."
Both the Larssons and Meri surround Bertel with warm and apparently embarrassed greetings. Ketchen flies and throws herself, without thinking of the difference between her burgher dress and the costly velvet cloak, into Regina's arms, who, with emotion, clasps her faithful friend to her heart.
Bertel gently frees himself from Meri's embrace, and goes straight up to old Bertila with a firm step, who, cold and silent in his high chair at the end of the table, does not honour him with a word or glance.
All present await with dismayed looks the result of this decisive meeting. The young officer has taken off his cloak and hat, his long fair hair falls in beautiful waves around his open brow, his cheeks are very pale, but the expressive blue eyes regard the grey-haired man's iron face with a firm and steadfast look.
Bertel now, as before, bends a knee, and says in a voice at once humble and confident:
"My father!"
"Who are you? I know you not; I have no son!" said the old man in chilling tones.
"My father!" continued Bertel, without allowing himself to be checked, "I come here once more, and for the last time, to ask your forgiveness and blessing. Thrust me not from you! I am going to leave my Fatherland, to fight and perhaps die on German soil. It depends upon you whether I ever return. Remember, my father, that your blessing gives you back a son; that your curse drives him into exile for ever."
The features of the old man did not change their expression, but the tones of his voice indicated an internal struggle.
"My answer is short," he said. "I had a son; he became unworthy of me and all the principles which have governed my life. He abandoned the cause of the people to pay homage to the pernicious power which I hate and detest. I have no longer a son. I have to-day disinherited him."