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diff --git a/old/67929-0.txt b/old/67929-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 8a5cc7c..0000000 --- a/old/67929-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,12394 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Bridal Wreath, by Sigrid Undset - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you -will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before -using this eBook. - -Title: The Bridal Wreath - -Author: Sigrid Undset - -Translators: C. Archer - J. S. Scott - -Release Date: April 26, 2022 [eBook #67929] - -Language: English - -Produced by: Tim Lindell, Barry Abrahamsen, and the Online Distributed - Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was - produced from images generously made available by The - Internet Archive/American Libraries.) - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE BRIDAL WREATH *** - - - THE BRIDAL - WREATH - - TRANSLATED FROM THE NORWEGIAN OF - - SIGRID UNDSET - - BY C. ARCHER AND J. S. SCOTT - - - - - - - - - - - - GROSSET & DUNLAP - PUBLISHERS - _by arrangement with Alfred A. Knopf_ - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - COPYRIGHT, 1923, BY ALFRED A. KNOPF, INC. - - - =_MANUFACTURED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA_= - - - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - CONTENTS - - - BOOK I - - JÖRUNDGAARD 3 - - - BOOK II - - THE GARLAND 109 - - - BOOK III - - LAVRANS BJÖRGULFSÖN 219 - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - BOOK ONE - - - - - - - JÖRUNDGAARD - - - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - 1 - -WHEN the lands and goods of Ivar Gjesling the younger, of Sundbu, were -divided after his death in 1306, his lands in Sil of Gudbrandsdal fell -to his daughter Ragnfrid and her husband Lavrans Björgulfsön. Up to then -they had lived on Lavrans’ manor of Skog at Follo near Oslo; but now -they moved up to Jörundgaard at the top of the open lands of Sil. - -Lavrans was of the stock that was known in this country as the -Lagmandssons. It had come here from Sweden with that Laurentius, Lagmand -of East Gotland, who took the Belbo Jarl’s sister, the Lady Bengta, out -of Vreta convent, and carried her off to Norway. Sir Laurentius lived at -the Court of King Haakon the Old, and won great favour with the King, -who gave him the Skog manor. But when he had been in the country about -eight years he died in his bed, and his widow, who belonged to the -Folkunga kindred, and had the name of a King’s daughter among the -Norwegians, went home and made matters up with her relations. Afterwards -she made a rich marriage in another land. She and Sir Laurentius had no -children, so the heritage of Skog fell to Laurentius’ brother, Ketil. He -was father’s father to Lavrans Björgulfsön. - -Lavrans was married very young; he was three years younger than his -wife, and was only twenty-eight when he came to Sil. As a youth he had -been in the King’s bodyguard and had enjoyed a good upbringing; but -after his marriage he lived a quiet life on his estate, for Ragnfrid was -something strange and heavy of mood, and seemed not at home among the -people of the south. After she had had the ill-hap to lose three little -sons, one after the other, in the cradle, she grew yet more shy of -people. Thus it was in part to bring his wife nearer to her kinsfolk and -old acquaintance that Lavrans moved to Gudbrandsdalen. When they came -there, they brought with them the one child that was left, a little maid -called Kristin. - -But when they had settled at Jörundgaard they lived for the most part -just as quietly there, keeping very much to themselves; it seemed as -though Ragnfrid did not care much for her kindred, for she saw them no -oftener than seemly use and wont required. This was in part because -Lavrans and Ragnfrid were more than commonly pious and God-fearing folk, -diligent in church-going, and always pleased to give harbour to God’s -servants, to messengers sent on the Church’s errands, or to pilgrims on -their way up the valley to Nidaros; and showing the greatest honour to -their parish-priest—who was also their nearest neighbour, living at -Romundgaard. Other folk in the valley were rather given to think that -the Church cost them quite dear enough in tithes and in goods and money; -and that there was no need to fast and pray so hard besides, or to bring -priests and monks into their houses, unless at times when they were -really needed. - -Otherwise the Jörundgaard folk were much looked up to, and well-liked -too; most of all Lavrans, for he was known as a strong man and a bold, -but peace-loving, quiet and upright, plain in his living but courteous -and seemly in his ways, a rarely good husbandman and a mighty -hunter—’twas wolves and bears and all kinds of harmful beasts he hunted -most keenly. In a few years he had gotten much land into his hands; but -he was a good and helpful landlord to his tenants. - -Folk saw so little of Ragnfrid that they soon gave up talking much about -her. In the first time after she came back to the valley many people had -wondered, for they remembered her as she had been at her home at Sundbu -in her youth. Beautiful she had never been, but she had looked kind and -happy; now she had fallen off so that you might well believe she was ten -years older than her husband, and not only three. Most folk deemed she -took the loss of her children harder than was reason, for but for this -she was better off in every way than most wives—she lived in great -plenty and in high esteem, and things were well between her and her -husband, so far as people could see; Lavrans did not go after other -women, he took counsel with her in all affairs, and, sober or drunk, he -never said a harsh word to her. Besides she was not so old but she might -yet bear many children, if it were God’s pleasure. - -It was somewhat hard for them to get young folks to take service at -Jörundgaard, the mistress being thus heavy of mood and all the fasts so -strictly kept. Otherwise it was a good house to serve in; hard words and -punishments were little in use; and both Lavrans and Ragnfrid took the -lead in all the work. The master, indeed, was glad of mood in his own -way, and would join in a dance or lead the singing when the young folk -held their games on the Church-green on vigil nights. But still it was -mostly older folks who came and took service at Jörundgaard; these liked -the place well and stayed there long. - -When the child Kristin was seven years old, it so fell out one time that -she got leave to go with her father up to their mountain sæter. - -It was a fine morning, a little way on in the summer, Kristin was in the -loft-room, where they were sleeping now summer had come; she saw the sun -shining outside and heard her father and his men talking in the -courtyard below—and she was so joyful that she could not stand still -while her mother put on her clothes, but hopped and jumped about as each -piece of clothing was put on her. She had never been up in the mountains -before; only across the pass to Vaage, when she was taken to visit her -mother’s kinsfolk at Sundbu, and sometimes to the woods near by the -manor with her mother and the house-folk, when they went out to pluck -berries for Ragnfrid to mix with the small beer, or to make into sour -paste of cranberries and cowberries that she ate on her bread in Lent -instead of butter. - -The mother twisted up Kristin’s long yellow hair and tied it into her -old blue cap, then kissed her daughter on the cheek, and Kristin sprang -away and down to her father. Lavrans was in the saddle already; he -lifted her up behind him and seated her on his cloak, which he had -folded up and placed on the horse’s loins for a pillion. Kristin had to -sit there astride and hold on to his belt. They called out “Goodbye” to -Ragnfrid; but she came running down from the balcony with Kristin’s -hooded cape—she handed it to Lavrans and bade him look well to the -child. - -The sun shone, but it had rained much in the night, so that everywhere -the becks came rushing and singing down the grassy slopes, and wreaths -of mist clung and drifted under the mountain sides. But over the -hill-crest white fair-weather clouds were swelling up in the blue air, -and Lavrans and his men said among themselves that it was like to be hot -as the day went on. Lavrans had four men with him, and they were all -well-armed; for at this time there were many kinds of outlandish people -lying up among the mountains—though a strong party like this, going but -a short way in, was not like to see or hear aught of such folk. Kristin -was fond of all the men; three of them were men past youth, but the -fourth, Arne Gyrdsön, from Finsbrekken, was a half-grown boy, and he was -Kristin’s best friend; he rode next after Lavrans and her, for it was he -that was to tell her about all they saw on their road. - -They passed between the Romundgaard houses and changed greetings with -Eirik priest. He was standing outside chiding with his daughter—she kept -house for him—about a web of new-dyed cloth that she had hung out and -forgotten the day before; it was all spoilt now with the night’s rain. - -On the hill behind the parsonage lay the church; it was not large, but -fair and pleasant, well-kept and newly tarred. By the cross outside the -churchyard gate Lavrans and his men took off their hats and bowed their -heads; then the father turned in the saddle, and he and Kristin waved to -Ragnfrid, whom they could see down below at home standing out on the -sward by the houses; she waved back to them with the full of her linen -head-dress. - -Up here on the church-green and in the church yard Kristin was used to -come and play near every day but to-day, when she was setting out to go -so far, the sight she knew so well—home and all the parish round -it—seemed new and strange to the child. The clusters of houses at -Jörundgaard looked, as it were, smaller and greyer, lying there down on -the flats, courtyard and farmyard. The river wound shining on its way, -the valley spread far with broad green meadows and marshes in its bottom -and farms with ploughland and pasture stretched up the hillsides under -the grey and headlong mountain walls. - -Far below, where the mountains came together and closed the valley, -Kristin knew that Loptsgaard lay. There lived Sigurd and Jon, two old -men with white beards; they were always for playing and making merry -with her when they came to Jörundgaard. She was fond of Jon, for he -would carve out the fairest beasts in wood for her, and once she had had -a gold finger-ring of him; nay, the last time he came to them, at -Whitsuntide, he had brought her a knight so sweetly carved and coloured -so fairly that Kristin thought she had never had so fine a gift. She -must needs take the knight to bed with her every single night; but when -she woke in the morning he was always standing on the step in front of -the bed she lay in with her father and mother. Her father said the -knight jumped up at the first cockcrow; but Kristin knew well enough -that, after she had fallen asleep, her mother took him away, for she -heard her say that he was so hard, and hurt so if he got underneath them -in the night.—Sigurd of Loptsgaard Kristin was afraid of, and she did -not like him to take her on his knees; for he used to say that when she -grew up he meant to sleep in her arms. He had outlived two wives, and he -said himself he was sure to outlive the third; and then Kristin could be -the fourth. But when she began to cry at this, Lavrans laughed and said -he had no fear that Morgit would give up the ghost so speedily; but if -the worst came to pass and Sigurd should come a-wooing, let Kristin have -no fear—he should have No for his answer. - -A bowshot or so north of the church there lay by the roadside a great -block of stone, and around it a thick small grove of birch and aspen. -Here the children were wont to play at church, and Tomas, the youngest -son of Eirik priest’s daughter, stood up in the person of his -grandfather and said mass, sprinkled holy-water, and even baptized, when -there was rain-water in the hollows of the rock. But once, the autumn -before, this game had fallen out but sadly for them. For first Tomas had -married Kristin and Arne—Arne was not so old but he would go off and -play with the children when he saw a chance. Then Arne caught a baby pig -that was going by, and they brought it into church to be baptized. Tomas -anointed it with mud, dipped it into a pool of water, and, copying his -grandfather, said mass in Latin and chid them for the smallness of their -offerings—and at this the children laughed, for they had heard their -elders talk of Eirik’s exceeding greed of money. But the more they -laughed the worse Tomas got in the things he hit on: for next he said -that this child had been gotten in Lent, and they must pay penalty for -their sin to the priest and the church. The great boys shouted with -laughter at this; but Kristin was so ashamed that she was all but -weeping, as she stood there with the little pig in her arms. And just as -this was going on who must chance to come that way but Eirik himself -riding home from a sick-visit. When he understood what the young folks -were about, he sprang from his horse, and handed the holy vessels to -Bentein, his eldest grandson, who was with him, so suddenly that Bentein -nearly dropped the silver dove with God’s body in it on the hillside, -while the priest rushed in among the children belabouring all he could -reach. Kristin let slip the little pig, and it rushed shrieking down the -road with the christening robe trailing after it, while Eirik’s horses -reared and plunged with terror; the priest pushed her too so that she -fell down, and he knocked against her with his foot so hard that she -felt the pain in her hip for many days after. Lavrans had thought when -he heard of this, that Eirik had been too hard with Kristin, seeing she -was but a little child. He said he would speak to the priest of it, but -Ragnfrid begged him not to do so, for the child had gotten but what she -deserved, for joining in such a blasphemous game. So Lavrans said no -more of the matter; but he gave Arne the worst beating the boy had ever -had. - -So now, as they rode by the stone, Arne plucked Kristin by the sleeve. -He dared not say aught for fear of Lavrans, but he made a face, then -smiled and clapped his hand to his back. But Kristin bowed her head -shamefacedly. - -Their way led on into thick woods. They rode along under Hammerhill; the -valley grew narrow and dark here and the roar of the river sounded -louder and more harsh—when they caught a glimpse of the Laagen it ran -ice-green and white with foam between walls of rock. The mountains on -either side of the valley were black with forest; it was dark and narrow -and ugly in the gorge, and there came cold gusts of wind. They rode -across the Rostaa stream by the log-bridge, and soon could see the -bridge over the great river down the valley. A little below the bridge -was a pool where a kelpy lived. Arne began to tell Kristin about it, but -Lavrans sternly told the boy to hold his peace in the woods about such -things. And when they came to the bridge he leaped off his horse and led -it across by the bridle, while he held the child round the waist with -his other arm. - -On the other side of the river was a bridle-path leading steeply up the -hillside, so the men got off their horses and went on foot; but her -father lifted Kristin forward into the saddle, so that she could hold on -to the saddle-bow; and let her ride Guldsveinen all alone. - -Now grey-stone peaks and blue domes flecked with snow rose above the -mountain ridges as they climbed higher up; and now Kristin saw through -the trees glimpses of the parish north of the gorge, and Arne pointed, -and told her the names of the farms that they could make out down there. - -High up the mountain-side they came to a little croft. They stopped by -the stick fence; Lavrans shouted, and his voice came back again and -again from the mountains round. Two men came running down, between the -small tilled patches. These were both sons of the house; they were good -men at the tar-burning and Lavrans was for hiring them to burn some tar -for him. Their mother came after them with a great bowl of cooled milk; -for the day was now grown hot, as the men had foretold. - -“I saw you had your daughter with you,” she said when she had greeted -them, “and methought I must needs have a sight of her. But you must take -the cap from her head; they say she hath such bonny hair.” - -Lavrans did as the woman asked him, and Kristin’s hair fell over her -shoulders and hung down right to the saddle. It was thick and yellow -like ripe wheat. The woman, Isrid, took some of it in her hand and said: - -“Aye, now I see the word that has gone about concerning this little maid -of yours was nowise too great—a lilyrose she is, and looks as should the -child of a knightly man. Mild eyes hath she too—she favours you and not -the Gjeslings. God grant you joy of her, Lavrans Björgulfsön! And you’re -riding on Guldsveinen, as stiff and straight as a courtier,” she said, -laughingly, as she held the bowl for Kristin to drink. - -The child grew red with pleasure, for she knew well that her father was -held to be the comeliest man far around; he looked like a knight, -standing there among his men, though his dress was much of the farmer -fashion, such as he wore at home for daily use. He wore a coat of -green-dyed wadmal, somewhat wide and short, open at the throat, so that -the shirt showed beneath. For the rest, his hose and shoes were of -undyed leather, and on his head he had a broad-brimmed woollen hat of -the ancient fashion. For ornaments he had only a smooth silver buckle to -his belt, and a little silver brooch in his shirt-band; but some links -of a golden neck-chain showed against his neck. Lavrans always wore this -chain, and on it there hung a golden cross set with great rock-crystals; -it was made to open, and inside there were shreds of the hair and the -shroud of the holy Lady Elin of Skövde, for the Lagmandssons counted -their descent from one of that blessed lady’s daughters. But when -Lavrans was in the woods or out at his work he was used to thrust the -cross in next his bare breast, so that he might not lose it. - -Yet did he look in his coarse homely clothing more high-born than many a -knight of the King’s household in his finest banqueting attire. He was -stalwart of growth, tall, broad-shouldered, and small-waisted; his head -was small and sat fairly on his neck, and he had comely features, -somewhat long—cheeks of a seemly fullness, chin fairly rounded and mouth -well shaped. His skin was light and his face fresh of hue, he had grey -eyes and thick smooth silky-yellow hair. - -He stood there and talked with Isrid of her affairs; and asked about -Tordis too, a kinswoman of Isrid’s that was tending the Jörundgaard -sæter this summer. Tordis had just had a child; Isrid was only waiting -for the chance of a safe escort through the woods before taking the boy -down to have him christened. Lavrans said that she had best come with -them up to the sæter; he was coming down again the next evening, and -’twould be safer and better for her to have many men to go along with -her and the heathen child. - -Isrid thanked him: “To say truth, ’twas even this I was waiting for. We -know well, we poor folk under the uplands here, that you will ever do us -a kind turn if you can, when you come hither.” She ran up to the hut to -fetch a bundle and a cloak. - -It was indeed so that Lavrans liked well to come among these small folk -who lived on clearings and lease-holdings high up on the outskirts of -the parish; amongst them he was always glad and merry. He talked with -them of the ways of the forest beasts and the reindeer of the upland -wastes; and of all the uncanny things that are stirring in such places. -And he stood by them and helped them with word and deed; saw to their -sick cattle; helped them with their errands to the smith or to the -carpenter; nay, would sometimes take hold himself and bend his great -strength to the work, when the worst stones or roots were to be broken -out of the earth. Therefore were these people ever glad to greet Lavrans -Björgulfsön and Guldsveinen, the great red stallion that he rode upon. -’Twas a comely beast with a shining skin, white mane and tail and light -eyes—strong and fiery, so that his fame was spread through all the -country round; but with his master he was gentle as a lamb, and Lavrans -used to say that the horse was dear to him as a younger brother. - -Lavrans’ first errand was to see to the beacon on Heimhaugen. For in the -hard and troubled times a hundred years or more gone by, the yeoman of -the dales had built beacons here and there high up on the fells above -them, like the seamarks in the roadsteads upon the coast. But these -beacons in the uplands were not in the ward of the King’s levies, but -were cared for by the yeomen-guilds, and the guild-brothers took turns -at their tending. - -When they were come to the first sæter, Lavrans turned out all but the -pack-horse to graze there; and now they took a steep foot-path upwards. -Before long the trees grew thin and scattered. Great firs stood dead and -white as bones upon the marshy grounds—and now Kristin saw bare, -grey-stone peaks rising to the sky on all hands. They climbed long -stretches amid loose stones, and at times the becks ran in the track, so -that her father must carry her. The wind blew strong and fresh up here -and the ground was black with berries amidst the heather, but Lavrans -said they could not stop now to gather them. Arne sprang now in front -and now behind, plucked berries for her, and told her whose the sæters -were that they saw below them in the forest—for there was forest over -the whole of Hövringsvangen in those days. - -And now they were close below the highest round bare top and saw the -great pile of timber against the sky, with the watch-house under the lee -of a crag. - -As they came up over the brow the wind rushed against them and buffeted -their clothing—it seemed to Kristin as though something living, that -dwelt up here, met and greeted them. It blew gustily around her and Arne -as they went forward over the mosses, till they sate them down far out -on a jutting point, and Kristin gazed with great eyes—never before had -she dreamed that the world was so big and wide. - -Forest-shagged ranges lay below her on all sides; the valley was but a -cleft betwixt the huge fells, and the side-glens still lesser clefts; -there were many such, yet was there little of dale and much of fell. All -around grey peaks, flaming with golden lichen, rose above the sea of -forest, and far off, on the very brink of heaven, stood blue crests -flashing here and there with snow, and melting, before their eyes, into -the grey-blue and pure white summer-clouds. But northeastwards, nearer -by—just beyond the sæter woods—lay a cluster of mighty slate-coloured -domes with streaks of new-fallen snow down their slopes. These Kristin -guessed to be the Boar Fells she had heard tell of, for they were indeed -like naught but a herd of heavy boar wending inland that had just turned -their backs upon the parish. Yet Arne told her ’twas a half-day’s ride -to get even so far. - -Kristin had ever thought that could she but win over the top of the -home-fells she would look down upon another parish like their own, with -tilled farms and dwellings, and ’twas great wonder to her now to see how -far it was betwixt the places where folks dwelt. She saw the small -yellow and green flecks down below in the dale-bottom, and the tiny -clearings with their grey dots of houses amid the hill forests; she -began to take tale of them, but when she had reckoned three times -twelve, she could keep count of them no longer. Yet the human -dwelling-places were as nothing in that waste. - -She knew that in the wild woods wolves and bears lorded it, and that -under every stone there dwelt trolls and goblins and elfinfolk, and she -was afraid, for no one knew the number of them, but there must be many -times more of them than of Christian men and women. Then she called -aloud on her father, but he could not hear, for the blowing of the -wind—he and his men were busy rolling heavy stones up the bare mountain -top to pile round the timbers of the beacon. - -But Isrid came to the children and showed Kristin where the fell west of -Vaage lay. And Arne pointed out the Grayfell, where folk from the parish -took reindeer in pits, and where the King’s falcon-catchers lay in stone -huts. That was a trade Arne thought to take to some day—but if he did he -would learn as well to train the birds for the chase—and he held his -arms aloft as though to cast a hawk. - -Isrid shook her head. - -“’Tis a hard and evil life, that, Arne Gyrdsön—’twould be a heavy sorrow -for your mother, boy, should you ever come to be a falcon-catcher. None -may earn his bread in those wild hills except he join in fellowship with -the worst of men—aye, and with them that are worse still.” - -Lavrans had come toward them and had heard this last word: “Aye,” says -he, “there’s more than one hide of land in there that pays neither tax -nor tithe—” - -“Yes, many a thing must you have seen,” said Isrid coaxingly, “you who -fare so far afield—” - -“Aye, aye,” said Lavrans slowly. “Maybe—but methinks ’tis well not to -speak of such things overmuch. One should not, I say, grudge folks who -have lost their peace in the parish, whatever peace they can find among -the fells. Yet have I seen yellow fields and brave meadows where few -folk know that such things be, and herds have I seen of cattle and small -stock, but of these I know not whether they belonged to mankind or to -other folk—” - -“Oh! aye,” says Isrid. “Bears and wolves get the blame for the beasts -that are missed from the sæters here, but there are worse thieves among -the fells than they.” - -“Do you call them worse?” asked Lavrans thoughtfully, stroking his -daughter’s cap. “In the hills to the south under the Boar Fells I once -saw three little lads, and the greatest was even as Kristin here—yellow -hair they had, and coats of skin. They gnashed their teeth at me like -wolf-cubs before they ran to hide. ’Twere little wonder if the poor man -who owned them were fain to lift a cow or two—” - -“Oh! both wolves and bears have young,” says Isrid testily. “And you -spare not them, Lavrans, neither them nor their young. Yet they have no -lore of law nor of Christendom, as have these evil-doers you wish so -well to—” - -“Think you I wish them too well, because I wish them a little better -than the worst?” said Lavrans, smiling a little. “But come now, let us -see what cheer Ragnfrid has sent with us to-day.” He took Kristin by the -hand and led her with him. And as they went he bent and said softly: “I -thought of your three small brothers, little Kristin.” - -They peeped into the watch-house, but it was close in there and smelt of -mould. Kristin took a look around, but there were only some earthen -benches about the walls, a hearth-stone in the middle of the floor, and -some barrels of tar and faggots of pine-roots and birch-bark. Lavrans -thought ’twould be best they should eat without doors, and a little way -down among the birches they found a fine piece of green-sward. - -The pack-horse was unloaded, and they stretched themselves upon the -grass. In the wallets Ragnfrid had given them was plenty food of the -best—soft bread and bannocks, butter and cheese, pork and wind-dried -reindeer meat, lard, boiled brisket of beef, two kegs with German beer, -and of mead a little jar. The carving of the meat and portioning it -round went quickly, while Halvdan, the oldest of the men, struck fire -and made a blaze—it was safer to have a good fire out here in the woods. - -Isrid and Arne gathered heather and dwarf-birch and cast it on the -blaze. It crackled as the fire tore the fresh green from the twigs, and -small white flakes flew high upon the wisps of red flame; the smoke -whirled thick and black toward the clear sky. Kristin sat and watched; -it seemed to her the fire was glad that it was out there, and free, and -could play and frisk. ’Twas otherwise than when, at home, it sat upon -the hearth and must work at cooking food and giving light to the folks -in the room. - -She sat nestled by her father with one arm upon his knee; he gave her -all she would have of the best, and bade her drink her fill of the beer -and taste well of the mead. - -“She will be so tipsy she’ll never get down to the sæter on her feet,” -said Halvdan, laughing, but Lavrans stroked her round cheeks: - -“Then here are folk enough who can bear her—it will do her good—drink -you too, Arne—God’s gifts do good, not harm, to you that are yet -growing—make sweet, red blood, and give deep sleep, and rouse not -madness and folly—” - -The men too drank often and deep; neither was Isrid backward. And soon -their voices and the roar and crackle of the fire were but a far off -hubbub in Kristin’s ears, and she began to grow heavy of head. She was -still aware how they questioned Lavrans and would have him tell of the -strange things he had met with when out a-hunting. But much he would not -say; and this seemed to her so good and so safe—and then she had eaten -so well. - -Her father had a slice of soft barley-bread in his hands; he pinched -small bits of it between his fingers into shapes of horses, and cutting -shreds of meat, he set these astride the steeds and made them ride over -his thigh and into Kristin’s mouth. But soon she was so weary she could -neither open her mouth nor chew—and so she sank back upon the ground and -slept. - - * * * * * - -When she came to herself again, she was lying in a warm darkness within -her father’s arm—he had wrapped his cloak about them both. Kristin sat -up, wiped the moisture from her face, and unloosed her cap that the air -might dry her damp locks. - -The day was surely far spent, for the sunlight was golden, and the -shadows had lengthened and fell now toward the southeast. No breath of -wind was stirring, and gnats and flies buzzed and swarmed about the -group of sleeping men. Kristin sat stock still, scratched her -gnat-bitten hands and gazed about her—the mountain-top above them shone -white with moss and golden with lichen in the sunshine, and the pile of -weather-beaten timber stood against the sky like the skeleton of some -wondrous beast. - -She grew ill at ease—it was so strange to see them all sleeping there in -the naked daylight. At home if by hap she woke at night, she lay snug in -the dark with her mother on the one side and on the other the tapestry -stretched upon the wall. And then she knew that the chamber with its -smoke-vent was shut and barred against the night and the weather -without, and sounds of slumber came from the folk who lay soft and safe -on the pillows twixt the skins. But all these bodies, lying twisted and -bent on the hillside, about the little heap of black and white ashes, -might well be dead—some lay upon their faces, some upon their backs with -knees updrawn, and the noises that came from them scared her. Her father -snored deeply, but when Halvdan drew a breath, it piped and whistled in -his nose. And Arne lay upon his side, his face hidden on his arm, and -his glossy, light-brown hair spread out amongst the heather; he lay so -still Kristin grew afraid lest he be dead. She had to bend forward and -touch him—and on this he turned a little in his sleep. - -Kristin suddenly bethought her, maybe they had slept through the night -and this was the next day—and this frightened her so that she shook her -father; but he only grunted and slept on. Kristin herself was still -heavy of head, but she dared not lie down to sleep again. And so she -crept forward to the fire and raked in it with a stick—there were still -some embers aglow beneath. She threw upon it heather and small twigs -which she broke off round about her—she dared not pass the ring of -sleepers to find bigger branches. - -There came a rattling and crashing in the woods near by, and Kristin’s -heart sank and she went cold with fear. But then she spied a red shape -amidst the trees, and Guldsveinen broke out of the thicket. He stood -there and gazed upon her with his clear, bright eyes. She was so glad to -see him, she leapt to her feet and ran to the stallion. And there, too, -was the brown horse Arne had ridden, and the pack-horse as well. Now she -felt safe and happy again; she went and patted them all three upon their -flanks, but Guldsveinen bent his head so that she could reach up to -fondle his cheeks, and pull his yellow-white forelock, while he nosed -round her hands with his soft muzzle. - -The horses wandered, feeding, down the birch-grown slope, and Kristin -went with them—she felt there was naught to fear so long as she kept -close to Guldsveinen—he had driven off a bear before now, she knew. And -the bilberries grew so thick in here, and the child was thirsty now, -with a bad taste in her mouth; the beer was not to her liking any more, -but the sweet, juicy berries were good as wine. Away, on a scree, she -saw raspberries growing too—so she grasped Guldsveinen by the mane, and -sweetly bade him go there with her, and the stallion followed willingly -with the little maid. Thus, as she wandered further and further down the -hillside, he followed her when she called, and the other two horses -followed Guldsveinen. - -Somewhere near at hand she heard the gurgling and trickling of a beck; -she followed the sound till she found it, and then lay out upon a great -slab and washed her hot, gnat-bitten face and hands. Below the slab the -water stood, a still, black pool, for over against it there rose a wall -of rock behind some small birches and willows—it made the finest of -mirrors, and Kristin leaned over and looked at herself in the water, for -she wished to see whether ’twas true, as Isrid said, that she bore a -likeness to her father. - -She smiled and nodded and bent forward till her hair met the bright hair -about the round, great-eyed child-face she saw in the beck. - -Round about grew a great plenty of those gay, pink flower-clusters they -name valerian—redder far and finer here by the fell-beck than at home by -the river. Of these Kristin plucked and bound them about with grass, -till she had woven herself the finest, thickest wreath of rose-pink. The -child pressed it down on her head and ran to the pool to see how she -looked now she was decked out like a grown maid who goes a dancing. - -She stooped over the water and saw her own dark image rise from the -bottom and grow clearer as it came to meet her—and then in the mirror of -the pool she saw another figure standing among the birches opposite and -bending toward her. In haste she got upon her knees and gazed across. At -first she thought it was but the rock and the bushes clinging round its -foot. But all at once she was aware of a face amid the leaves—there -stood a lady, pale, with waving, flaxen hair—the great, light-grey eyes -and wide, pink nostrils were like Guldsveinen’s. She was clad in -something light, leaf-green, and branches and twigs hid her up to the -broad breasts which were covered over with brooches and sparkling -chains. - -The little girl gazed upon the figure; and as she gazed the lady raised -a hand and showed her a wreath of golden flowers;—she beckoned with it. - -Behind her Kristin heard Guldsveinen neigh loud in fear—she turned her -head—the stallion reared, screaming till the echoes rang, then flung -around and fled up the hill with a thunder of hoofs. The other horses -followed—straight up the scree, while stones came rumbling down and -boughs and roots broke and rattled. - -Then Kristin screamed aloud. “Father,” she shrieked, “father!” She -gained her feet, tore after the horses and dared not look behind. She -clambered up the scree, trod on the hem of her dress and slipped back -downwards; climbed again, catching at the stones with bleeding hands, -creeping on sore bruised knees, and crying now to Guldsveinen, now to -her father—sweat started from every pore of her body and ran like water -into her eyes, and her heart beat as though ’twould break against her -ribs; while sobs of terror choked her throat: - -“Oh father, oh father!” - -Then his voice sounded somewhere above: she saw him come with great -bounds down the scree—the bright, sunlit scree; birch and aspen stood -along it and blinked from their small silvered leaves—the hillside was -so quiet, so bright, while her father came leaping, calling her by name; -and Kristin sank down and knew that now she was saved. - -“Sancta Maria!” Lavrans knelt and clasped his daughter—he was pale and -strange about the mouth, so that Kristin grew yet more afraid; ’twas as -though only now in his face she read how great had been her peril. - -“Child, child,—” he lifted her bleeding hands, looked at them, saw the -wreath upon her bare head, and touched it. “What is it—how came you -hither, my little Kristin—?” - -“I went with Guldsveinen,” she sobbed upon his breast. “I got so afraid -seeing you all asleep, but then Guldsveinen came—and then there was -someone by the beck down yonder that beckoned me—” - -“Who beckoned—was it a man?” - -“No, ’twas a lady—she beckoned with a wreath of gold—I think ’twas the -dwarf-maiden, father—” - -“Jesus Kristus,” said Lavrans softly, and crossed himself and the child. - -He helped her up the scree till they came to a grassy slope; then he -lifted and bore her. She clung about his neck and sobbed—could not stop -for all his soothing. - -Soon they met the men and Isrid. The woman smote her hands together, -when she heard what had befallen: - -“Aye, ’twas the Elf-maiden sure enough—she would have lured the fair -child into the mountain, trust you me.” - -“Hold your peace,” bade Lavrans sternly. “Never should we have talked of -such things here in the woods as we did—one knows not what may lie -beneath the rocks and hearken to each word.” - -He drew the golden chain from out his shirt and hung it and the -relic-holding cross about Kristin’s neck and thrust them in upon her -bare body. - -“But see to it, all of you,” he said, “that you watch well your mouths, -so Ragnfrid may never know the child has been in such peril.” - -Then they caught the three horses, which had made off into the woods, -and went quickly down to the pasture where the other horses were -grazing. There they all mounted and rode to the Jörundgaard sæter; it -was no great way. - -The sun was near setting when they came thither; the cattle were in the -pens, and Tordis and the herds were busy at the milking. Within the hut, -porridge stood cooked awaiting them, for the sæter-folk had spied them -by the beacon earlier in the day, and they were looked for. - -Now, at length, was Kristin’s weeping stilled. She sat upon her father’s -knee and ate porridge and cream from out the same spoon as he. - -Lavrans was to go next day to a lake farther in the mountains, where lay -some of his herdsmen with the bulls. Kristin was to have gone with him, -but now he said she must stay in the hut while he was gone—“and you must -take heed, both Tordis and Isrid, to keep the door barred and the -smokehole closed till we come back, both for Kristin’s sake, and for the -poor unchristened babe’s here in the cradle.” - -Tordis was so frighted now that she dared no longer stay with the little -one up here, for she was still unchurched since her lying in—rather -would she go down at once and bide in the parish. Lavrans said this -seemed to him but wise; she could go down with them the next evening; he -thought he could get an older widow woman, serving at Jörundgaard, up -hither in her stead. - -Tordis had spread sweet, fresh mountain grass under the skins on the -benches; it smelt so strong and good, and Kristin was near asleep while -her father said Our Father and Ave Maria over her. - -“Aye, ’twill be a long day before I take you with me to the fells -again,” said Lavrans, patting her cheek. - -Kristin woke up with a start: - -“Father—mayn’t I go with you either when you go southwards at harvest, -as you promised—” - -“We must see about that,” said Lavrans, and straightway Kristin fell -asleep between the sheepskins. - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - 2 - -Each summer it was Lavrans Björgulfsön’s wont to ride southward and see -to his manor in Follo. These journeys of her father were landmarks of -each year in Kristin’s life—the long weeks while he was gone, and the -joy of his homecoming with brave gifts: fine outlandish stuffs for her -bride-chest, figs, raisins and honey-bread from Oslo—and many strange -things to tell her. - -But this year Kristin marked that there was something more than common -afoot toward the time of her father’s going. ’Twas put off and off; the -old men from Loptsgaard rode over at odd times and sat about the board -with her father and mother; spoke of heritage, and freehold and -redemption rights, and hindrances to working the estate from so far off, -and the bishop’s seat and the King’s palace in Oslo, which took so much -labour from the farms round about the town. They scarce ever had time to -play with her, and she was sent out to the kitchen-house to the maids. -Her mother’s brother, Trond Ivarsön of Sundbu, came over to them more -often than was his wont—but _he_ had never been used to play with -Kristin or pet her. - -Little by little she came to have some inkling of what it was all about. -Ever since he was come to Sil, Lavrans had sought to gather to himself -land here in the parish, and now had Sir Andres Gudmundsön tendered him -Formo in Sil, which was Sir Andres’ heritage from his mother, in change -for Skog, which lay more fittingly for him, since he was with the King’s -bodyguard and rarely came hither to the Dale. Lavrans was loth to part -with Skog, which was his freehold heritage, and had come to his -forebears by royal gift; and yet the bargain would be for his gain in -many ways. But Lavran’s brother, Aasmund Björgulfsön, too, would gladly -have Skog—he dwelt now in Hadeland, where he had wedded an estate—and -’twas not sure that Aasmund would waive the right his kinship gave him. - -But one day Lavrans told Ragnfrid that this year he would have Kristin -with him to Skog—she should see the manor where she was born, and which -was his fathers’ home, now that it was like to pass from their hands. -Ragnfrid deemed this but right, though she feared not a little to send -so young a child on such a long journey, where she herself could not be -by. - -For a time after Kristin had seen the Elf-maid she was so fearful that -she kept much within doors by her mother—she was afraid even when she -saw the folk who had been with them on the fells and knew what had -befallen her, and she was glad her father had forbidden all talk of that -sight of hers. - -But when some little time was gone by she began to think she would like -to speak of it. In her thoughts she told the story to someone—she knew -not whom—and, ’twas strange, the more time went by, the better it seemed -she remembered it, and the clearer and clearer grew the memory of the -fair lady. - -But, strangest of all, each time she thought of the Elf-maid there came -upon her such a longing for the journey to Skog, and more and more fear -that her father would not take her with him. - -At last she woke one morning in the loft-room and saw her mother and old -Gunhild sitting on the threshold looking over a heap of Lavrans’ -squirrel-skins. Gunhild was a widow who went the round of the farms and -sewed fur lining into cloaks and the like. And Kristin guessed from -their talk that now it was she should have a new cloak, lined with -squirrel-skin and edged with marten. And then she knew she was to go -with her father, and she sprang up in bed and shrieked with gladness. - -Her mother came over to her and stroked her cheek: - -“Are you so glad then, my daughter, you are going so far from me?” - - * * * * * - -Ragnfrid said the same that morning they were to set out. They were up -at cock-crow; it was dark without, with thick mist between the houses, -as Kristin peeped out of the door at the weather. The mist billowed like -grey smoke round the lanterns, and out by the open house-doors. Folk ran -twixt stables and outhouses, and women came from the kitchen with -steaming porridge-pots and trenchers of meat and pork—they were to have -a plenty of good, strong food before they rode out into the morning -cold. - -Indoors, saddlebags were shut and opened, and forgotten things packed -inside. Ragnfrid called to her husband’s mind all the errands he must do -for her, and spoke of kin and friends upon the way—he must greet this -one and not forget to ask for that one. - -Kristin ran out and in; she said farewell many times to all in the -house, and could not hold still a moment in any place. - -“Are you so glad then, Kristin, you are going from me so far and for so -long?” asked her mother. Kristin was abashed and uneasy, and wished her -mother had not said this. But she answered as best she could: - -“No, dear my mother, but I am glad that I am to go with father.” - -“Aye, that you are indeed,” said Ragnfrid, sighing. Then she kissed the -child and put the last touches to her dress. - -At last they were in the saddle, the whole train—Kristin rode on Morvin, -who ere now had been her father’s saddle-horse—he was old, wise and -steady. Ragnfrid held up the silver stoup with the stirrup-cup to her -husband, and laid a hand upon her daughter’s knee and bade her bear in -mind all her mother had taught her. - -And so they rode out of the courtyard in the grey light. The fog lay -white as milk upon the parish. But in a while it began to grow thinner -and the sunlight sifted through. And dripping with dew there shone -through the white haze hillsides, green with the aftermath, and pale -stubble fields, and yellow trees, and rowans bright with red berries. -Glimpses of blue mountain-sides seemed rising through the steamy -haze—then the mist broke and drove in wreaths across the slopes, and -they rode down the Dale in the most glorious sunshine, Kristin in front -of the troop at her father’s side. - - * * * * * - -They came to Hamar one dark and rainy evening, with Kristin sitting in -front on her father’s saddle-bow, for she was so weary that all things -swam before her eyes—the lake that gleamed wanly on their right, the -gloomy trees which dripped wet upon them as they rode beneath, and the -dark, leaden clusters of houses on the hueless, sodden fields by the -wayside. - -She had stopped counting the days—it seemed as though she had been an -endless time on the journey. They had visited kindred and friends all -down the Dale; she had made acquaintance with children on the great -manors and had played in strange houses and barns and courtyards, and -had worn many times her red dress with the silk sleeves. They had rested -by the roadside by day when the weather was fair; Arne had gathered nuts -for her and she had slept after meals upon the saddlebags wherein were -their clothes. At one great house they had silk-covered pillows in their -beds, but one night they lay at an inn, and in one of the other beds was -a woman who lay and wept softly and bitterly each time Kristin was -awake. But every night she had slumbered safely behind her father’s -broad, warm back. - - * * * * * - -Kristin awoke with a start—she knew not where she was, but the wondrous -ringing and booming sound she had heard in her dream went on. She was -lying alone in a bed, and on the hearth of the room a fire was burning. - -She called upon her father, and he rose from the hearth where he had -been sitting, and came to her along with a stout woman. - -“Where are we?” she asked, and Lavrans laughed and said: - -“We’re in Hamar now, and here is Margret, the wife of Fartein the -shoemaker—you must greet her prettily now, for you slept when we came -hither. But now Margret will help you to your clothes.” - -“Is it morning then?” said Kristin. “I thought you were even now coming -to bed.—Oh! do _you_ help me,” she begged; but Lavrans said, something -sternly, that she should rather be thankful to kind Margret for helping -her. - -“And see what she has for you for a gift!” - -’Twas a pair of red shoes with silken latchets. The woman smiled at -Kristin’s glad face, and drew on her shift and hose up on the bed, that -she should not need to tread barefoot upon the clay floor. - -“What is it makes such a noise,” asked Kristin, “like a church bell, but -many bells?” - -“Aye, those are our bells,” laughed Margret. “Have you heard not of the -great minster here in the town—’tis there you are going now. There goes -the great bell! And now ’tis ringing in the cloister and in the Church -of Holy Cross as well.” - -Margret spread the butter thick upon Kristin’s bread and gave her honey -in her milk, that the food she took might stand in more stead—she had -scant time to eat. - -Out of doors it was still dark and the weather had fallen frosty. The -fog was biting cold. The footprints of folk and of cattle and horses -were hard as though cast in iron, so that Kristin bruised her feet in -the thin, new shoes, and once she trod through the ice on the gutter in -the middle of the street and her legs got wet and cold. Then Lavrans -took her on his back and carried her. - -She strained her eyes in the gloom, but there was not much she could see -of the town—she caught a glimpse of black house-gables and trees through -the grey air. Then they came out upon a little meadow that shone with -rime, and upon the further side of the meadow she dimly saw a pale-grey -building, big as a fell. Great stone houses stood about, and at points -lights glimmered from window-holes in the walls. The bells, which had -been silent for a time, took to ringing again, and now it was with a -sound so strong that a cold shiver ran down his back. - -’Twas like going into the mountain-side, thought Kristin, when they -mounted into the church forehall; it struck chill and dark in there. -They went through a door, and were met by the stale, cold smell of -incense and candles. Now Kristin was in a dark and vastly lofty place. -She could not see where it ended, neither above nor to the sides, but -lights burned upon an altar far in front. There stood a priest, and the -echoes of his voice stole strangely round the great place, like -breathings and whisperings. Her father signed the cross with holy-water -upon himself and the child, and so they went forward; though he stepped -warily, his spurs rang loudly on the stone floor. They passed by giant -pillars, and betwixt the pillars it was like looking into coal-black -holes. - -Forward, nigh to the altar, the father bent his knee, and Kristin knelt -beside him. She began to be able to make things out in the gloom—gold -and silver glittered on altars in between the pillars, but upon that -before them shone tapers which stood and burned on gilt candlesticks, -while the light streamed back from the holy vessels and the big, -beautiful picture-panel behind. Kristin was brought again to think of -the mountain-folk’s hall—even so had she dreamed it must be, splendid -like this, but maybe with yet more lights. And the dwarf-maid’s face -came up before her—but then she raised her eyes and spied upon the wall -above the altar, Christ himself, great and stern, lifted high upon the -cross. Fear came upon her—he did not look mild and sorrowful as at home -in their own snug timber-brown church, where he hung heavily, with -pierced feet and hands, and bowed his blood-besprinkled head beneath the -crown of thorns. - -Here, he stood upon a footboard with stiff, outstretched arms and -upright head; his gilded hair glittered; he was crowned with a crown of -gold, and his face was upturned and harsh. - -Then she tried to follow the priest’s words as he read and chanted, but -his speech was too hurried and unclear. At home she was wont to -understand each word, for Sira Eirik had the clearest speech, and had -taught her what the holy words betokened in Norse, that she might the -better keep her thoughts with God while she was in church. - -But she could not do that here, for every moment she grew aware of -something new in the darkness. There were windows high up in the walls, -and these began to shimmer with the day. And near by where they knelt -there was raised a wondrous scaffolding of timber, but beyond lay blocks -of light-coloured stone; and there stood mortar-troughs and tools—and -she heard folks coming tiptoeing about in there. But then again her eyes -fell upon the stern Lord Christ upon the wall, and she strove to keep -her thoughts fixed upon the service. The icy cold from the stone floor -stiffened her legs right up to the thighs, and her knees gave her pain. -At length everything began to sway about her, so weary was she. - -Then her father rose; the mass was at an end. The priest came forward -and greeted her father. While they spoke, Kristin sate herself down upon -a step, for she saw the choirboy had done the like. He yawned—and so she -too fell a yawning. When he marked that she looked at him, he set his -tongue in his cheek and twisted his eyes at her. Thereupon he dug up a -pouch from under his clothing and emptied upon the flags all that was in -it—fish-hooks, lumps of lead, leather thongs and a pair of dice, and all -the while he made signs to her. Kristin wondered mightily. - -But now the priest and her father looked at the children. The priest -laughed, and bade the boy be gone back to school, but Lavrans frowned -and took Kristin by the hand. - -It began to grow lighter in the church now. Kristin clung sleepily to -Lavrans’ hand, while he and the priest walked beneath the pile of timber -and talked of Bishop Ingjald’s building-work. - -They wandered all about the church, and in the end went out into the -forehall. Thence a stone stairway led to the western tower. Kristin -tumbled wearily up the steps. The priest opened a door to a fair chapel, -and her father said that Kristin should set herself without upon the -steps and wait while he went to shrift; and thereafter she could come in -and kiss St. Thomas’s shrine. - -At that there came an old monk in an ash-brown frock from out the -chapel. He stopped a moment, smiled at the child, and drew forth some -sacks and wadmal cloths which had been stuck into a hole in the wall. -These he spread upon the landing: - -“Sit you here, and you will not be so cold,” said he, and passed down -the steps upon his naked feet. - -Kristin was sleeping when Canon Martein, as the priest was called, came -out and waked her with a touch. Up from the church sounded the sweetest -of song, and in the chapel candles burned upon the altar. The priest -made sign that she should kneel by her father’s side, and then he took -down a little golden shrine which stood above the communion-table. He -whispered to her that in it was a piece of St. Thomas of Canterbury’s -bloody garments, and he pointed at the saint’s figure on the shrine that -Kristin might press her lips to his feet. - -The lovely tones still streamed from the church as they came down the -steps; Canon Martein said ’twas the organist practising his art and the -school-boys singing; but they had not the time to stay and listen, for -her father was hungry—he had come fasting for confession—and they were -now bound for the guest-room of the canons’ close to take their food. - -The morning sun without was gilding the steep shores on the further side -of the great lake, and all the groves of yellowing leaf-trees shone like -gold-dust amid the dark-blue pinewoods. The lake ran in waves with small -dancing white caps of foam to their heads. The wind blew cold and fresh -and the many-hued leaves drifted down upon the rimy hillsides. - -A band of riders came forth from between the bishop’s palace and the -house of the Brothers of Holy Cross. Lavrans stepped aside and bowed -with a hand upon his breast, while he all but swept the sward with his -hat, so Kristin could guess the nobleman in the fur cloak must be the -bishop himself, and she curtsied to the ground. - -The bishop reined in his horse and gave back the greeting; he beckoned -Lavrans to him and spoke with him a while. In a short space Lavrans came -back to the priest and child and said: - -“Now am I bidden to eat at the bishop’s palace—think you Canon Martein, -that one of the serving-men of the canonry could go with this little -maid of mine home to Fartein the shoemaker’s and bid my men send Halvdan -to meet me here with Guldsveinen at the hour of nones.” - -The priest answered, doubtless what he asked could be done. But on this -the bare-footed monk who had spoken to Kristin on the tower stairs came -forward and saluted them: - -“There is a man here in our guest-house who has an errand of his own to -the shoemaker’s; he can bear your bidding thither, Lavrans Björgulfsön, -and your daughter can go with him or bide at the cloister with me till -you yourself are for home. I shall see to it that she has her food -there.” - -Lavrans thanked him but said, “’Twere shame you should be troubled with -the child, brother Edwin—” - -“Brother Edwin draws to himself all the children he can lay hands upon,” -said Canon Martein and laughed. “’Tis in this wise he gets someone to -preach to—” - -“Aye, before you learnéd lords here in Hamar I dare not proffer my poor -discourses,” said the monk without anger, and smiling. “All I am fit for -is to talk to children and peasants, but even so, ’tis not well, we -know, to muzzle the ox that treadeth out the corn.” - -Kristin looked up at her father beseechingly; she thought there was -nothing she would like more than to go with brother Edwin. So Lavrans -gave thanks again, and while her father and the priest went after the -bishop’s train, Kristin laid her hand in the monk’s, and they went down -towards the cloister, a cluster of wooden houses and a light-hued stone -church far down by the lake-side. - -Brother Edwin gave her hand a little squeeze, and as they looked at one -another they had both to laugh. The monk was thin and tall, but very -stoop-backed; the child thought him like an old crane in the head, for -’twas little, with a small, shining, bald pate above a shaggy, white rim -of hair, and set upon a long, thin, wrinkled neck. His nose was large -too, and pointed like a beak. But ’twas something which made her light -of heart and glad, only to look up into the long, narrow, deep-lined -face. The old, sea-blue eyes were red-rimmed and the lids brown and thin -as flakes. A thousand wrinkles spread out from them; the wizened cheeks -with the reddish network of veins were scored with furrows which ran -down towards the thin-lipped mouth, but ’twas as though Brother Edwin -had grown thus wrinkled only through smiling at mankind.—Kristin thought -she had never seen anyone so blithe and gentle; it seemed he bore some -bright and privy gladness within which she would get to know of when he -began to speak. - -They followed the fence of an apple-orchard where there still hung upon -the trees a few red and golden fruit. Two Preaching Brothers in black -and white gowns were raking together withered beanshaws in the garden. - -The cloister was not much unlike any other farm steading, and the -guest-house whither the monk led Kristin was most like a poor peasant’s -house, though there were many bedsteads in it. In one of the beds lay an -old man, and by the hearth sat a woman swathing a little child; two -bigger children, boy and girl, stood beside her. - -They murmured, both the man and the woman, that they had not been given -their breakfast yet: “None will be at the pains to bear in food to us -twice in the day, so we must e’en starve while you run about the town, -Brother Edwin!” - -“Nay, be not peevish, Steinulv,” said the monk, “—Come hither and make -your greetings, Kristin—see this bonny, sweet little maid who is to stay -and eat with us to-day.” - -He told how Steinulv had fallen sick on the way home from a fair, and -had got leave to lie here in the cloister guest-house, for he had a -kinswoman dwelling in the spital and she was so curst he could not -endure to be there with her. - -“But I see well enough, they will soon be weary of having me here,” said -the peasant. “When you set forth again, Brother Edwin, there will be -none here that has time to tend me, and they will surely have me to the -spital again.” - -“Oh! you will be well and strong long before I am done with my work in -the church,” said Brother Edwin. “Then your son will come and fetch -you—” He took up a kettle of hot water from the hearth and let Kristin -hold it while he tended Steinulv. Thereupon the old man grew somewhat -easier, and soon after there came in a monk with food and drink for -them. - -Brother Edwin said grace over the meat, and set himself on the edge of -the bed by Steinulv that he might help him to take his food. Kristin -went and sat by the woman and gave the boy to eat, for he was so little -he could not well reach up to the porridge-dish, and he spilled upon -himself when he tried to dip into the beer-bowl. The woman was from -Hadeland, and she was come hither with her man and her children to see -her brother who was a monk here in the cloister. But he was away -wandering among the country parishes, and she grumbled much that they -must lie here and waste their time. - -Brother Edwin spoke the woman fair: she must not say she wasted time -when she was here in Bishopshamar. Here were all the brave churches, and -the monks and canons held masses and sang the livelong day and night—and -the city was fine, finer than Oslo even, though ’twas somewhat less; but -here were gardens to almost every dwelling-place: “You should have seen -it when I came hither in the spring—’twas white with blossom over all -the town. And after, when the sweet-brier burst forth—” - -“Aye, and much good is that to me now,” said the woman sourly. “And here -are more of holy places than of holiness, methinks—” - -The monk laughed a little and shook his head. Then he routed amidst the -straw of his bed and brought forth a great handful of apples and pears -which he shared amongst the children. Kristin had never tasted such good -fruit. The juice ran out from the corners of her mouth every bite she -took. - -But now Brother Edwin must go to the church, he said, and Kristin should -go with him. Their path went slantwise across the close, and, by a -little side wicket, they passed into the choir. - -They were still building at this church as well, so that here too there -stood a tall scaffolding in the cross where nave and transepts met. -Bishop Ingjald was bettering and adorning the choir, said Brother -Edwin—the bishop had great wealth, and all his riches he used for the -adornment of the churches here in the town; he was a noble bishop and a -good man. The Preaching Friars in the Olav’s cloister were good men too, -clean-living, learned and humble; ’twas a poor cloister, but they had -made him most welcome—Brother Edwin had his home in the Minorite -cloister at Oslo, but he had leave to spend a term here in Hamar -diocese. - -“But now come hither,” said he, and led Kristin forward to the foot of -the scaffolding. First he climbed up a ladder and laid some boards -straight up there, and then he came down again and helped the child up -with him. - -Upon the grey-stone wall above her Kristin saw wondrous fluttering -flecks of light; red as blood and yellow as beer, blue and brown and -green. She would have turned to look behind her, but the monk whispered: -“Turn not about.” But when they stood together high upon the planking, -he turned her gently round, and Kristin saw a sight so fair she almost -lost her breath. - -Right over against her on the nave’s south wall stood a picture and -shone as if it were made of naught but gleaming precious stones. The -many-hued flecks of light upon the wall came from rays which stood out -from that picture; she herself and the monk stood in the midst of the -glory; her hands were red as though dipped in wine; the monk’s visage -seemed all golden, and his dark frock threw the picture’s colours softly -back. She looked up at him questioningly, but he only nodded and smiled. - -’Twas like standing far off and looking into the heavenly kingdom. -Behind a network of black streaks, she made out little by little the -Lord Christ himself in the most precious of red robes, the Virgin Mary -in raiment blue as heaven, holy men and maidens in shining yellow and -green and violet array. They stood below arches and pillars of -glimmering houses, wound about with branches and twigs of strange bright -leafage— - -The monk drew her a little further out upon the staging: - -“Stand here,” he whispered, “and ’twill shine right upon you from -Christ’s own robe.” - -From the church beneath there rose to them a faint odour of incense and -the smell of cold stone. It was dim below, but the sun’s rays slanted in -through a row of window-bays in the nave’s south wall. Kristin began to -understand that the heavenly picture must be a sort of windowpane, for -it filled just such an opening. The others were empty or filled with -panes of horn set in wooden frames. A bird came, set itself upon a -windowsill, twittered a little and flew away, and outside the wall of -the choir they heard the clank of metal on stone. All else was still; -only the wind came in small puffs, sighed a little round about the -church walls and died away. - -“Aye, aye,” said Brother Edwin and sighed. “No one here in the land can -make the like—they paint on glass, ’tis true, in Nidaros, but not like -this—But away in the lands of the south, Kristin, in the great minsters, -there they have such picture-panes, big as the doors of the church -here—” - -Kristin thought of the pictures in the church at home. There was St. -Olav’s altar and St. Thomas of Canterbury’s altar with pictures on their -front panels and on the tabernacles behind—but those pictures seemed to -her dull and lustreless as she thought of them now. - -They went down the ladder and up into the choir. There stood the altar -table, naked and bare, and on the stone slab were set many small boxes -and cups of metal and wood and earthenware; strange little knives and -irons, pens and brushes lay about. Brother Edwin said these were his -gear; he plied the crafts of painting pictures and carving -altar-tabernacles, and the fine panels which stood yonder by the -choir-stalls were his work. They were for the altarpieces here in the -Preaching Friars’ church. - -Kristin watched how he mixed up coloured powders and stirred them into -little cups of stoneware, and he let her help him bear the things away -to a bench by the wall. While the monk went from one panel to another -and painted fine red lines in the bright hair of the holy men and women -so that one could see it curl and crinkle, Kristin kept close at his -heels and gazed and questioned, and he explained to her what it was that -he had limned. - -On the one panel sat Christ in a chair of gold, and St. Nicholas and St. -Clement stood beneath a roof by his side. And at the sides was painted -St. Nicholas’ life and works. In one place he sat as a suckling child -upon his mother’s knee; he turned away from the breast she reached him, -for he was so holy that from the very cradle he would not suck more than -once on Fridays. Alongside of that was a picture of him as he laid the -money-purses before the door of the house where dwelt the three maids -who were so poor they could not find husbands. She saw how he healed the -Roman knight’s child, and saw the knight sailing in a boat with the -false chalice in his hands. He had vowed the holy bishop a chalice of -gold which had been in his house a thousand years, as guerdon for -bringing his son back to health again. But he was minded to trick St. -Nicholas and give him a false chalice instead; therefore the boy fell -into the sea with the true beaker in his hands. But St. Nicholas led the -child unhurt underneath the water and up on to the shore just as his -father stood in St. Nicholas’ church and offered the false vessel. It -all stood painted upon the panels in gold and the fairest colours. - -On another panel sat the Virgin Mary with the Christ-child on her knee; -he pressed his mother’s chin with the one hand and held an apple in the -other. Beside them stood St. Sunniva and St. Christina. They bowed in -lovely wise from their waists, their faces were the fairest red and -white and they had golden hair and golden crowns. - -Brother Edwin steadied himself with the left hand on the right wrist, -and painted leaves and roses on the crowns. - -“The dragon is all too small, methinks,” said Kristin, looking at her -holy namesake’s picture. “It looks not as though it could swallow up the -maiden.” - -“And that it could not either,” said Brother Edwin. “It was not bigger. -Dragons and all such-like that serve the devil, seem great only so long -as fear is in ourselves. But if a man seek God fervently and with all -his soul so that his longing wins into his strength, then does the -devil’s power suffer at once such great downfall that his tools become -small and powerless—dragons and evil spirits sink down and become no -bigger than sprites and cats and crows. You see that the whole mountain -St. Sunniva was in is no larger than that she can wrap it within the -skirt of her gown.” - -“But were they not in the caves then,” asked Kristin, “St. Sunniva and -the Selje-men? Is not that true?” - -The monk twinkled at her and smiled again: - -“’Tis both true and untrue. It seemed so to the folk who found the holy -bodies. And true it is that it seemed so to Sunniva and the Selje-men, -for they were humble and thought only that the world is stronger than -all sinful mankind, and they thought not that they themselves were -stronger than the world, because they loved it not. But had they but -known it, they could have taken all the hills and slung them forth into -the sea like so many pebbles. No one, nor anything, can harm us child, -save what we fear or love.” - -“But if a body doth not fear nor love God?” asked Kristin, affrighted. - -The monk took her yellow hair in his hand, bent Kristin’s head back -gently and looked down into her face; his eyes were wide open and blue. - -“There is no man nor woman, Kristin, who does not love and fear God, but -’tis because our hearts are divided twixt love of God and fear of the -devil and fondness for the world and the flesh, that we are unhappy in -life and death. For if a man had not any yearning after God and God’s -being, then should he thrive in hell, and ’twould be we alone who would -not understand that there he had gotten what his heart desired. For -there the fire would not burn him if he did not long for coolness, nor -would he feel the torment of the serpents’ bite, if he knew not the -yearning after peace.” - -Kristin looked up in his face; she understood none of all this. Brother -Edwin went on: - -“’Twas God’s loving-kindness towards us that, seeing how our hearts are -drawn asunder, He came down and dwelt among us, that He might taste in -the flesh the lures of the devil when he decoys us with power and -splendour, as well as the menace of the world when it offers us blows -and scorn and sharp nails in hands and feet. In such wise did He show us -the way and make manifest His love—” - -He looked down upon the child’s grave, set face—then he laughed a little -and said with quite another voice: - -“Do you know who ’twas that first knew our Lord had caused himself to be -born? ’Twas the cock; he saw the star and so he said—all the beasts -could talk Latin in those days; he cried: ‘Christus natus est!’” - -He crowed these last words so like a cock that Kristin fell to laughing -heartily. And it did her good to laugh, for all the strange things -Brother Edwin had just been saying had laid a burden of awe on her -heart. - -The monk laughed himself: - -“Aye, and when the ox heard that, he began to low: ‘Ubi, ubi, ubi.’ - -“But the goat bleated and said: ‘Betlem, Betlem, Betlem!’ - -“And the sheep longed so to see Our Lady and her Son that she baa-ed out -at once: ‘Eamus, eamus!’ - -“And the new-born calf that lay in the straw, raised itself and stood -upon its feet. ‘Volo, volo, volo!’ it said. - -“You never heard that before? No, I can believe it; I know that he is a -worthy priest, that Sira Eirik that you have up in your parts, and -learned; but he knows not this, I warrant; for a man does not learn it -except he journey to Paris—” - -“Have _you_ been to Paris then?” asked the child. - -“God bless you, little Kristin, I have been in Paris and have travelled -round elsewhere in the world as well; and you must not believe aught -else than that I am afraid of the devil, and love and covet like any -other fool. But I hold fast to the Cross with all my might—one must -cling to it like a kitten to a lath when it has fallen in the sea— - -“And you, Kristin—how would you like to offer up this bonny hair and -serve Our Lady like these brides I have figured here?” - -“We have no child at home but me,” answered Kristin. “So ’tis like that -I must marry. And I trow mother has chests and lockers with my bridal -gear standing ready even now.” - -“Aye, aye,” said Brother Edwin, and stroked her forehead. “’Tis thus -that folk deal with their children now. To God they give the daughters -who are lame or purblind or ugly or blemished, or they let Him have back -the children when they deem Him to have given them more than they need. -And then they wonder that all who dwell in the cloisters are not holy -men and maids—” - - * * * * * - -Brother Edwin took her into the sacristy and showed her the cloister -books which stood there in a book-case; there were the fairest pictures -in them. But when one of the monks came in, Brother Edwin made as though -he were but seeking an ass’s head to copy. Afterward he shook his head -at himself: - -“Aye, there you see what fear does, Kristin—but they’re so fearful about -their books in the house here. Had I the true faith and love, I would -not stand here as I do and lie to Brother Aasulv—But then I could take -these old fur mittens here and hang them upon yonder sunbeam—” - -She was with the monk to dinner over in the guest-house, but for the -rest she sat in the church the whole day and watched his work and -chatted with him. And first when Lavrans came to fetch her, did either -she or the monk remember the message that should have been sent to the -shoemaker. - - * * * * * - -Afterwards Kristin remembered these days in Hamar better than all else -that befell her on the long journey. Oslo, indeed, was a greater town -than Hamar, but now that she had seen a market town, it did not seem to -her so notable. Nor did she deem it as fair at Skog as at Jörundgaard, -though the houses were grander—but she was glad she was not to dwell -there. The manor lay upon a hillside; below was the Botnfjord, grey, and -sad with dark forest, and on the further shore and behind the houses the -forest stood with the sky right down upon the tree-tops. There were no -high, steep fells as at home, to hold the heavens high above one and to -keep the sight sheltered and in bounds so that the world might seem -neither too big nor too little. - -The journey home was cold; it was nigh upon Advent; but, when they were -come a little way up the Dale, snow was lying, and so they borrowed -sleighs and drove most of the way. - -With the affair of the estates it fell out so that Lavrans made Skog -over to his brother Aasmund, keeping the right of redemption for himself -and his heirs. - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - 3 - -THE spring after Kristin’s long journey, Ragnfrid bore her husband -another daughter. Both father and mother had wished indeed that it might -be a son, but they soon took comfort, and were filled with the tenderest -love for little Ulvhild. She was a most fair child, healthy, good, happy -and quiet. Ragnfrid doted so on this new baby that she went on suckling -it during the second year of its life; wherefore, on Sira Eirik’s -counsel, she left off somewhat her strict fasts and religious exercises -while she had the child at the breast. On this account and by reason of -her joy in Ulvhild, her bloom came back to her, and Lavrans thought he -had never seen his wife so happy or so fair and kindly in all the years -he had been wed. - -Kristin, too, felt that great happiness had come to them with this -tender little sister. That her mother’s heavy mood made a stillness -about her home, had never come into her thought; she had deemed it was -but as it should be that her mother should correct and chide her, while -her father played and jested with her. But Ragnfrid was much gentler -with her now and gave her more freedom; petted her more too; and so -Kristin little heeded that her mother had much less time to tend her. -She loved Ulvhild as much as the others, and was joyful when they let -her carry or rock her sister, and in time there was still more sport -with the little one when she began to creep and walk and talk and -Kristin could play with her. - -Thus there went by three good years for the Jörundgaard folk. They had -fortune with them in many ways, and Lavrans built and bettered round -about on the manor, for the buildings and cattlesheds were old and small -when he came thither—the Gjeslings had had the place leased out for more -lifetimes than one. - -Now it fell out at Whitsuntide in the third year that Trond Ivarsön from -Sundbu, with his wife Gudrid and his three small sons, were come to -Jörundgaard to visit them. One morning the older folk were sitting -talking in the balcony of the loft-room while the children played about -in the courtyard below. In the yard Lavrans had begun a new -dwelling-house, and the children were climbing and creeping about on the -timber brought together for the building. One of the Gjesling boys had -struck at Ulvhild and made her weep; and at that Trond came down and -gave his son a buffet, and took Ulvhild up into his arms. She was the -fairest and sweetest child a man’s eyes could see, and her uncle had -much love for her, though else he cared not for children. - -Just then there came a man across the court from the cattleyard, -dragging at a great, black bull; but the bull was savage and -unmanageable and broke away from the man. Trond sprang up upon the pile -of timber, driving the bigger children up before him, but he had Ulvhild -in his arms and his youngest son by the hand. Then a beam turned under -his feet and Ulvhild slipped from his grasp and fell to the ground. The -beam slipped after, rolled over on the child and lay across her back. - -Lavrans was down from the balcony in the same instant; he ran up and was -in act to lift the beam when the bull rushed at him. He tried to seize -it by the horns, but was flung down and gored. But getting then a grip -of its nostrils, he half raised himself from the ground and managed to -hold the brute till Trond came to himself from his bewilderment and the -farm servants, running from the houses, cast thongs about the beast and -held it fast. - -Ragnfrid was on her knees trying to lift the beam; and now Lavrans was -able to ease it so far that she could draw the child from under and into -her lap. The little one wailed piteously when they touched her, but her -mother sobbed aloud: - -“She lives, thank God, she lives!—” - -It was great wonder the child had not been quite crushed; but the log -had chanced to fall so that it rested with one end upon a stone in the -grass. When Lavrans stood up again, blood was running from the corners -of his mouth, and his clothes were all torn at the breast by the bull’s -horns. - -Tordis came running with a skin coverlet; warily she and Ragnfrid moved -the child on to it, but it seemed as though she suffered unbearable pain -at the lightest touch. Her mother and Tordis bore her into the -winter-room. - -Kristin stood upon the timber pile white and stock still, while the -little boys clung round her weeping. All the house and farm folk were -now huddled together in the courtyard, the women weeping and wailing. -Lavrans bade them saddle Guldsveinen and another horse as well; but when -Arne came with the horses, Lavrans fell to the ground when he tried to -climb to the saddle. So he bade Arne ride for the priest, while Halvdan -went southward for a leech-woman who dwelt by the meeting of the rivers. - -Kristin saw that her father was ashy white in the face, and that he had -bled till his light-blue garments were covered all over with red-brown -stains. All at once he stood upright, snatched an axe from one of the -men and went forward where some of the folk stood holding on to the -bull. He smote the beast between the horns with the back of the axe—it -dropped forward on its knees; but Lavrans ceased not striking till its -blood and brains were scattered all about. Then a fit of coughing took -him and he sank backwards on the ground. Trond and another man came to -him and bore him within the house. - -At that, Kristin thought her father was surely dead; she screamed loudly -and ran after, calling to him as if her heart were breaking. - -In the winter-room Ulvhild had been laid on the great bed—all the -pillows were thrown out upon the floor, so that the child lay flat. -’Twas as though already she lay stretched on the dead-straw. But she -wailed loudly and without cease, and her mother lay bent over her, -soothing and patting the child, wild with grief that she could do naught -to help her. - -Lavrans lay upon the other bed: he rose and staggered across the floor -that he might comfort his wife. At that she started up and shrieked: - -“Touch me not, touch me not! Jesus, Jesus,—’twere liker you should -strike me dead—never will it end, the ill-fortune I bring upon you—” - -“You?—Dear my wife, ’tis not you that have brought this on us,” said -Lavrans, and laid a hand upon her shoulder. She shuddered at that, and -her light-grey eyes shone in her lean, sallow face. - -“Doubtless she means that ’twas my doing,” said Trond Ivarsön roughly. -His sister looked at him with hate in her eyes, and answered: - -“Trond knows what I mean.” - -Kristin ran forward to her parents, but both thrust her away from them, -and Tordis, coming in with a kettle of hot water, took her gently by the -shoulder and said, “Go—go over to our house, Kristin; you are in the way -here.” - -Tordis was for seeing to Lavrans’ hurt—he had set himself down on the -step before the bed—but he said there was little amiss with him: - -“But is there naught you can do to ease Ulvhild’s pain a little—God help -us! her crying would move the very stones in the mountain-side!” - -“Nay; we dare not touch her ere the priest or Ingegjerd the leech-wife -comes,” said Tordis. - -Arne came just then with word that Sira Eirik was not at home. Ragnfrid -stood a while wringing her hands. Then she said: - -“Send to Lady Aashild of Haugen! Naught matters now, if only Ulvhild may -be saved—” - -No one gave heed to Kristin. She crept on to the bench behind the bed’s -head, crouched down and laid her head upon her knees. - -It seemed to her now as if stony hands were pressing on her heart. Lady -Aashild was to be fetched! Her mother would not have them send for Lady -Aashild, even when she herself was near death’s door at Ulvhild’s birth, -nor yet when Kristin was so sick of the fever. She was a witch-wife, -folk said—the bishop of Oslo and the chapter had held session on her; -and she must have been put to death or even burned, had it not been that -she was of such high birth and had been like a sister to Queen -Ingebjörg—but folk said she had given her first husband poison, and him -she now had, Sir Björn, she had drawn to her by witchcraft; he was young -enough to be her son. She had children too, but they came never to see -their mother, and these two highborn folk, Björn and Aashild, lived upon -a petty farm in Dovre, and had lost all their wealth. None of the great -folk in the Dale would have to do with them, but, privily, folk sought -her counsel—nay, poor folk went openly to her with their troubles and -hurts; they said she was kind, but they feared her too. - -Kristin thought her mother, who else was wont to pray so much, should -rather have called on God and the Virgin now. She tried to pray -herself—to St. Olav most of all, for she knew he was so good and helped -so many who suffered from sickness and wounds or broken bones. But she -could not keep her thoughts together. - -Her father and mother were alone in the room now. Lavrans had laid -himself upon his bed again, and Ragnfrid sat bent over the sick child, -passing, from time to time, a damp cloth over her forehead and hands, -and wetting her lips with wine. - -A long time went by. Tordis looked in between whiles, and would fain -have helped, but Ragnfrid sent her out each time. Kristin wept silently -and prayed to herself, but all the while she thought of the witch-wife -and waited eagerly to see her come in. - -Suddenly Ragnfrid asked in the silence: - -“Are you sleeping, Lavrans?” - -“No,” answered her husband. “I am listening to Ulvhild. God will surely -help His innocent lamb, wife—we dare not doubt it. But ’tis weary lying -here waiting—” - -“God,” said Ragnfrid, hopelessly, “hates me for my sins. ’Tis well with -my children, where they are, I doubt not that, and now ’tis like -Ulvhild’s hour has come, too—but me he has cast off, for my heart is a -viper’s nest, full of sin and sorrow—” - -Then someone lifted the latch—Sira Eirik stepped in, straightened his -huge frame where he stood and said in his clear, deep voice: “God help -all in this house!” - -The priest put the box with his medicines on the step before the bed and -went to the open hearth and poured warm water over his hands. Then he -took a cross from his bosom, struck out with it to all four corners of -the room and mumbled something in Latin. Thereupon he opened the -smoke-vent so that the light might stream into the room, and went and -looked at Ulvhild. - -Kristin grew afraid he might find her and send her out—not often did -Sira Eirik’s eyes let much escape them. But the priest did not look -round. He took a flask from the box, poured somewhat upon a wad of -finely carded wool and laid it over Ulvhild’s mouth and nose. - -“Now she will soon suffer less,” said the priest. He went to Lavrans and -tended his wounds, while they told him how the mishap had come to pass. -Lavrans had two ribs broken and had a wound in the lungs; but the priest -thought that for him there was no great fear. - -“And Ulvhild?” asked the father fearfully. - -“I will tell you when I have looked at her more nearly,” answered the -priest; “but you must lie in the loft-room, so that there may be more -quiet and room here for those who must tend her.” He laid Lavrans’ arm -about his own shoulder, took firm hold under the man, and bore him out. -Kristin would fain have gone with her father now, but she dared not show -herself. - -When Sira Eirik came back, he did not speak to Ragnfrid, but first cut -the clothes off Ulvhild, who now moaned less and seemed half asleep. -Then carefully he felt with his hands over the child’s body and limbs. - -“Is it so ill with my child, Eirik, that you know not how to save her, -since you say naught,” asked Ragnfrid under her breath. - -The priest answered low: - -“It seems as though her back were badly hurt, Ragnfrid; I see no better -way than to leave all in God’s hands and St. Olav’s—much there is not -that I can do.” - -“Then must we pray,” cried the mother passionately: “—you know well that -Lavrans and I will give you all you ask, and spare nothing if so be your -prayers can win God to grant that Ulvhild may live.” - -“’Twould seem to me a miracle,” said the priest, “were she to live and -have her health again.” - -“And is’t not of miracles that you preach late and early—believe you not -that a miracle can happen with my child,” she said, as wildly as before. - -“’Tis true,” replied the priest, “that miracles happen; but God does not -grant the prayers of all—we know not His secret counsel. And think you -not, it would be worst of all should this fair little maid grow up -marred or crippled?” - -Ragnfrid shook her head. She wailed softly: - -“I have lost so many, priest: I cannot lose her too!” - -“I will do all that I may,” answered the priest, “and pray with all my -power. But you must strive, Ragnfrid, to bear the cross God lays upon -you.” - -The mother moaned low: - -“None of my children have I loved like this little one—if she too be -taken from me, full sure I am my heart will break.” - -“God help you, Ragnfrid Ivarsdatter,” said Sira Eirik, and shook his -head. “In all your praying and fasting, you have thought only to force -your will upon God. Can you wonder that it has helped but little?” - -Ragnfrid looked defiantly at the priest, and spoke: - -“I have sent for the Lady Aashild even now.” - -“Aye, you know her; I know her not,” replied the priest. - -“I cannot live without Ulvhild,” said Ragnfrid as before. “If so be God -will not help her, I will seek counsel of Lady Aashild, or e’en give -myself to the devil if he will help!” - -The priest looked as though he would answer sharply, but checked himself -again. He bent and felt the limbs of the little sick girl once more: - -“Her hands and feet are cold,” he said. “We must lay jars of hot water -about her—and then you must touch her no more till Lady Aashild comes.” - -Kristin let herself sink back noiselessly on the bench and lay as if -asleep. Her heart beat hard with fear—she had understood but little of -the talk between Sira Eirik and her mother, but it had frightened her -terribly, and the child knew well that it had not been for her ears. - -Her mother rose up to go for the hot water jars; and suddenly she burst -out sobbing: “But yet pray for us, Sira Eirik.” - -Soon after she came back with Tordis. Then the priest and the women -busied themselves with Ulvhild, and soon Kristin was found and sent -away. - -The light dazzled the child as she stood without in the courtyard. She -had thought that most of the day must have gone by while she sat in the -dark winter-room, and yet the houses stood there light-grey, and the -grass was shining like silk in the white midday sunshine. The river -gleamed behind the dun and golden trellis-work of the alder-brakes—it -filled the air with its gladsome rushing sound, for here by Jörundgaard -it ran swiftly over a flat bed strewn with boulders. The mountain-walls -rose into the thin blue haze, and the becks sprang down their sides -through the melting snows. The sweet, strong springtide out of doors -brought tears to her eyes, for sorrow at the helplessness she felt all -about her. - -There was no one in the courtyard, but she heard voices in the -housecarls’ cottage. Fresh earth had been strewn over the spot where her -father had killed the bull. She knew not what to do with herself—so she -crept behind the wall of the new house—two log-courses had already been -laid. Inside lay Ulvhild’s playthings and her own; she put them all -together and laid them in a hole between the lowest log and the -foundation wall. Of late Ulvhild had wanted all her toys; this had vexed -her sometimes. Now she thought, if her sister got well, she would give -her all she had. And this thought comforted her a little. - -She thought of the monk in Hamar—_he_ was sure that miracles could -happen for every one. But Sira Eirik was not so sure about it, nor her -parents either—and she was used to think as they did. A heavy weight -fell upon her as it came to her for the first time that folk could think -so unlike about so many things—not only bad, ungodly men and good men, -but such men as Brother Edwin and Sira Eirik,—even her mother and her -father: she felt all at once that they too thought not alike about many -things— - -Tordis found her there in the corner, asleep, late in the day, and took -her to her own house; the child had eaten nothing since the morning. -Tordis watched with Ragnfrid over Ulvhild through the night, and Kristin -lay in Tordis’ bed with Jon, Tordis’ husband, and Eivind and Orm, their -little boys. The smell of their bodies, the man’s snoring and the -children’s even breathing made Kristin weep silently. It was no longer -ago than last evening that she had lain down, as each night of her life -before, by her own father and mother and little Ulvhild—it was as though -a nest had been riven asunder and scattered and she herself lay cast out -from the shelter of the wings which had always kept her warm. At last -she cried herself to sleep, alone and unhappy among these strange folk. - - * * * * * - -Next morning as soon as she was up, she heard that her mother’s brother -and all his party had left the place—in anger; Trond had called his -sister a foolish, crazy woman, and his brother-in-law a soft simpleton -who had never known how to rule his wife. Kristin grew hot with wrath, -but she was ashamed too—she understood well enough that a most unseemly -thing had befallen in that her mother had driven her nearest kin from -the house. And for the first time she dimly felt that there was -something about her mother that was not as it should be—that she was not -the same as other women. - -While she stood brooding on this, a serving-maid came and said she was -to go up to the loft-room to her father. - -But when she was come into the room Kristin forgot to look at him, for -right opposite the open door, with the light full upon her face, sat a -little woman who she guessed must be the witch-wife. And yet Kristin had -never thought that she would look like this. - -She seemed small as a child and slightly made, as she sat in the great -high-backed arm-chair which had been brought up thither. A table had -been set before her too, covered with Ragnfrid’s finest, fringed, linen -tablecloth. Bacon and fowl were set out upon the silver platter; there -was wine in a mazer bowl, and she had Lavrans’ own silver goblet to -drink from. She had finished eating and was busy drying her small and -slender hands on one of Ragnfrid’s best hand-towels. Ragnfrid herself -stood in front of her and held for her a brass basin with water. - -Lady Aashild let the hand-towel sink into her lap; she smiled to the -child, and said in a clear and lovely voice: - -“Come hither to me, child!” Then to the mother: “Fair children are these -you have, Ragnfrid.” - -Her face was greatly wrinkled, but as clear white and pink as a child’s, -and it looked as though her skin must be just as soft and fine to the -touch. Her mouth was as red and fresh as a young woman’s, and her large, -hazel eyes shone bright. A fine, white, linen headdress lay close about -her face and was fastened under her chin with a golden clasp; over it -she had a veil of soft, dark-blue wool; it fell over her shoulders and -far down upon her dark, well-fitting dress. She was upright as a wand, -and Kristin felt more than thought that she had never seen a woman so -fair and so mannerly as was this old witch-wife, with whom the great -folk of the valley would have naught to do. - -Lady Aashild held Kristin’s hand in her old, soft one; and spoke to her -with kindly jesting; but Kristin could not answer a word. Then said Lady -Aashild with a little laugh: - -“Is she afraid of me, think you?” - -“Nay, nay,” Kristin all but shouted. And then Lady Aashild laughed still -more, and said to the mother: - -“She has wise eyes, this daughter of yours, and good strong hands, nor -is she used to be idle, I can see. You will need one by-and-by to help -you tend Ulvhild, when I am gone. ’Twere well, therefore, you let -Kristin be by me and help while yet I am here—she is old enough for -that; eleven years is she not?” - -Thereupon the Lady Aashild went out, and Kristin would have followed -her, but Lavrans called to her from his bed. He lay flat upon his back -with the pillows stuffed beneath his updrawn knees; Lady Aashild had -bidden that he should lie so, that the hurt in his breast might the -sooner heal. - -“Now surely you will soon be well, sir father, will you not?” asked -Kristin. - -Lavrans looked up at her—the child had never said “sir” to him before. -Then he said gravely: - -“For me there is naught to fear;—’tis worse with your sister.” - -“Aye,” said Kristin, and sighed. - -She stood yet a little while by his bed. Her father said no more, and -Kristin found naught to say. And when Lavrans after a while said she -should go down to her mother and Lady Aashild, Kristin hastened out and -ran across the courtyard down into the winter-room. - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - 4 - -Lady Aashild stayed on at Jörundgaard most of the summer. Thus it fell -out that folk came thither seeking her counsel.—Kristin heard Sira Eirik -fling at this now and then, and it came into her mind that her father -and mother, too, were not pleased. But she put all thoughts of such -things from her, nor did she ponder over what she thought of Lady -Aashild, but was with her ever, and tired not of listening to the lady -and of watching her. - -Ulvhild still lay stretched upon her back in the great bed. Her little -face was white to the lips, and dark rings had come about her eyes. Her -lovely yellow hair had a stale smell, it had been unwashed for so long, -and it had grown dark and lost all gloss and curl, so that it looked -like old, burnt-up hay. She looked tired and suffering and patient; but -she smiled faintly and wanly at her sister when Kristin sat down on the -bed-side by her and chattered and showed the child all the fine gifts -there were for her from her father and mother and from their friends and -kinsfolk from far around. There were dolls and wooden birds and beasts, -and a little draught-board, trinkets and velvet caps and coloured -ribbons; Kristin kept them all together in a box for her—and Ulvhild -looked at them all with her grave eyes, and, sighing, dropped the -treasures from her weary hands. - -But when Lady Aashild came nigh, Ulvhild’s face lit up with gladness. -Eagerly she drank the quenching and sleepy drinks Lady Aashild brewed -for her; when Lady Aashild tended her hurts she made no plaint, and lay -happy listening when the Lady played on Lavrans’ harp and sang—she had -great store of ballads strange to the folk of the Dale. - -Often she sang to Kristin when Ulvhild lay asleep. And then at times she -would tell of her youth, when she dwelt in the South at the courts of -King Magnus and King Eirik and their Queens. - -Once as they sat thus and Lady Aashild told of these things, there -slipped from Kristin’s lips a thought she had often had in mind: - -“Methinks it is strange you can be so glad at all times, you who have -been used to—” she broke off and grew red. - -Lady Aashild looked down at the child with a smile: - -“Mean you because I am parted from all that now?” She laughed quietly, -and said: “I have had my happy time, Kristin, and I am not so foolish as -to murmur, if now, since I have drunk up my wine and beer, I have to put -up with skimmed milk and sour. Good days may last long if one lives -wisely and deals warily with what one has; all wise folk know that, and -’tis therefore, I trow, that wise folk must rest content with good -days—for the best days of all cost very dear. In this world they call -him a fool who wastes his heritage that he may make merry in the days of -his youth. As to that each man may deem as he lists. But that man only -do I call a fool and a very dolt who rues his bargain after it is made; -and twice a simpleton and a fool of fools is he who thinks to see more -of his boon-companions after his heritage is gone—” - -“—Is there aught amiss with Ulvhild?” she called gently across to -Ragnfrid, who had made a sharp movement where she sat by the child’s -bed. - -“Nay, she sleeps well,” said the child’s mother and came over to Lady -Aashild and Kristin at the hearth. Her hands on the pole of the -smoke-vent, she stood and looked down into Lady Aashild’s face. - -“Kristin doth not understand such things,” she said. - -“No,” answered the Lady. “But she learned her prayers, too, I doubt not, -before she understood them. The times when we need prayers or counsel, -we are little like to be in a mood to learn, nor yet to understand.” - -Ragnfrid drew her dark eyebrows together thoughtfully. At such times her -bright, deep-set eyes looked like barns below a dark-wooded hillside, so -Kristin had often thought when she was little—or so she had heard others -say. Lady Aashild looked at Ragnfrid with her little half-smile, and the -mother seated herself upon the edge of the hearth, and taking a twig, -stuck it into the embers. - -“But he who has wasted his heritage upon the sorriest goods—and -thereafter beholds a treasure he would gladly give his life to own—think -you not he must rue bitterly his own folly?” - -“No doing without some rueing, Ragnfrid,” said Lady Aashild. “And he who -is willing to give his life, should make the venture and see what he can -win—” - -Ragnfrid plucked the burning twig from the fire, blew out the flame and -bent her hand about the glowing end, so that it shone out blood-red from -between her fingers. - -“Oh! these are words, words, and only words, Lady Aashild.” - -“Well,” said the other, “truly, Ragnfrid, there is not much that’s worth -buying so dear as with one’s life.” - -“Nay, but there is,” said Ragnfrid passionately, and she whispered so it -could scarce be heard: “My husband.” - -“Ragnfrid,” said Lady Aashild in a low voice: “So hath many a maid -thought when she strove to bind a man to her and gave her maidenhood to -do it. But have you not read of men and maids who gave to God all they -owned, went into a cloister or naked into the wilds, and repented after. -Aye, they are called fools in the godly books. And ’twould sure be -sinful to think God cheated _them_ over their bargain.” - -Ragnfrid sat quite still a while. Then Lady Aashild said: - -“You must come now, Kristin; ’tis time we went and gathered dew for -Ulvhild’s morning wash.” - - * * * * * - -Outside the courtyard lay all black and white in the moonlight. Ragnfrid -went with them, through the farm-yard, down to the gate of the cabbage -garden. Kristin saw her mother’s thin, dark figure leaning there, while -she was shaking the dew from the big, icy-cold cabbage leaves, and the -folds of the lady’s-mantles, into her father’s silver goblet. - -Lady Aashild walked silent at Kristin’s side. She was there only to -watch over her, for it was not well to let a child go out alone on such -a night. But the dew had more virtue if gathered by an innocent maid. - -When they came back to the gate Ragnfrid was gone. Kristin was shaking -with the cold as she gave the icy silver cup into Lady Aashild’s hands. -She ran in her wet shoes over toward the loft-room, where she slept now -with her father. She had her foot upon the first step when Ragnfrid -stepped out of the shadow of the balcony. In her hands she bore a -steaming bowl. - -“Here, I have warmed some beer for you, daughter,” said the mother. - -Kristin thanked her mother gladly, and put the bowl to her lips. Then -Ragnfrid asked: - -“Kristin—the prayers and all the other things that Lady Aashild teaches -you—you are sure there is naught sinful or ungodly in them?” - -“That I can never believe,” answered the child. “There is Jesus’ name -and the Virgin Mary’s, and the names of the Saints in them all—” - -“What is it she teaches you,” asked her mother again. - -“Oh!—about herbs—and charms to stop running blood and cure warts and -sore eyes—and moth in clothes and mice in the store-room. And what herbs -one should pluck in sunshine, and which have virtue in the rain—But the -prayers I must not tell to anyone, for then they lose their power,” said -she quickly. - -Her mother took the empty bowl and put it upon the step. Then suddenly -she threw her arms around her daughter, and pressed her tightly to her -and kissed her.—Kristin felt that her mother’s cheeks were wet and hot: - -“May God and Our Lady guard and shield you from all evil—we have naught -else but you, your father and I, that has not been touched by our -ill-fortune. Darling, darling—never forget that you are your father’s -dearest joy—” - -Ragnfrid went back to the winter-room, undressed and crept into bed -beside Ulvhild. She put an arm about the child and laid her cheek close -to the little one’s so that she felt the warmth of Ulvhild’s body and -smelt the keen odour of her damp hair. Ulvhild slept heavily and -soundly, as she ever did after Lady Aashild’s evening draught. The -lady’s bedstraw, spread beneath the bedding, gave out a drowsy scent. -None the less did Ragnfrid lie long sleepless, gazing at the little spot -of light in the roof where the moon shone upon the smoke-hole’s pane of -horn. - -Over in the other bed lay Lady Aashild, but Ragnfrid never knew whether -she slept or waked. The Lady never spoke of their having known each -other in former days—this frightened Ragnfrid. And it seemed to her she -had never known such bitter sorrow and such haunting dread as now—even -though she knew that Lavrans would have his full health again—and that -Ulvhild would live. - - * * * * * - -It seemed as though Lady Aashild took pleasure in talking to Kristin, -and with each day that passed the maid became better friends with her. -One day, when they had gone to gather herbs, they sat together high up -the hillside on a little green, close under the tree. They could look -down into the farm-place at Formo and see Arne Gyrdson’s red jerkin: he -had ridden down the valley with them and was to look after their horses -while they were up the hillside seeking herbs. - -As they sat, Kristin told Lady Aashild of her meeting with the -dwarf-maiden. She had not thought of it for many years, but now it rose -before her. And while she spoke, the thought came to her strangely that -there was some likeness betwixt Lady Aashild and the dwarf-lady—though -she knew well all the time they were not really like. But when she had -told all, Lady Aashild sat still a while and looked out down the Dale; -at length she said: - -“You were wise to fly, since you were only a child then. But have you -never heard of folk who took the gold the dwarfs offered, and after -bound the troll in stone?” - -“I have heard such tales,” said Kristin, “but I would never dare to do -it. And methinks it is not a fair deed.” - -“’Tis well when one dares not do what one doth not think a fair deed,” -said Lady Aashild, laughing a little. “But it is not so well when one -thinks a thing to be no fair deed because one dares not do it.—You have -grown much this summer,” the Lady said of a sudden. “Do you know -yourself, I wonder, that you are like to be fair?” - -“Aye,” said Kristin. “They say I am like my father.” - -Lady Aashild laughed quietly. - -“Aye ’twould be best for you if you took after Lavrans both in mind and -body, too. Yet ’twould be pity were they to wed you up here in the Dale. -Plainness and country ways let no man scorn, but they think, themselves, -these big folk up here, they are so fine that their like is not to be -found in Norway’s land. They wonder much, belike, that I can live and -thrive though they bar their doors against me. But they are lazy and -proud and will not learn new ways—and they put the blame on the old -strife with the King in Sverre’s days. ’Tis all lies; your mother’s -forefather made friends with King Sverre and received gifts from him; -but were your mother’s brother to become one of our King’s men and wait -upon his Court, he would have to trim himself up both without and -within, and that Trond would not be at pains to do. But you, -Kristin,—you should be wedded to a man bred in knightly ways and -_courteisie_—” - -Kristin sat looking down into the Formo yard, at Arne’s red back. She -scarce knew it herself, but when Lady Aashild talked of the world she -had once moved in, Kristin ever thought of the knights and earls in -Arne’s likeness. Before, when she was little, she had always seen them -in her father’s shape. - -“My sister’s son, Erlend Nikulaussön of Husaby, _he_ might have been a -fitting bridegroom for you—he has grown comely, has the boy. My sister -Magnhild looked in on me last year as she passed through the Dale, and -he with her. Aye ’tis not like you could get him, but I had gladly -spread the coverlid over you two in the bridal bed—he is as dark-haired -as you are fair, and he has goodly eyes.—But if I know my brother-in-law -aright, he has bethought him already for sure of a better match for -Erlend than you.” - -“Am I not a good match then?” asked Kristin wondering. She had never -thought of being hurt by anything Lady Aashild said, but she felt -humbled and sad that the Lady should be in some way better than her own -folks. - -“Aye, you are a good match,” said the other. “Yet you could scarce look -to come into my kindred. Your forefather in this land was an outlaw and -a stranger, and the Gjeslings have sat and grown moulded on their farms -so long that soon they’ll be forgotten outside the Dale. But I and my -sister had for husbands the nephews of Queen Margret Skulesdatter.” - -Kristin could not even pluck up heart to say it was not her forefather, -but his brother, who had come to the land an outlaw. She sat and gazed -at the dark hillsides across the dale, and she thought of the day many -years gone by, when she had been up on the upland wastes and seen how -many fells there were twixt her own valley and the outer world. Then -Lady Aashild said they must go home now, and bade her call on Arne. So -Kristin put her hands to her mouth, and hallooed and waved her kerchief, -till she saw the red spot in the farm-place move and wave back. - - * * * * * - -Not long after this Lady Aashild went home, but through the autumn and -the first part of the winter, she came often to Jörundgaard to spend -some days with Ulvhild. The child was taken out of bed in the daytime -now, and they tried to get her to stand, but her legs gave way beneath -her when she put her feet to the ground. She was fretful, white and -weary, and the laced jacket of horsehide and thin withes, which Lady -Aashild had made for her, plagued her sorely, so that she would rather -lie still in her mother’s lap. Ragnfrid had her sick daughter for ever -in her arms, so that Tordis had the whole care of the house now, and at -her mother’s bidding, Kristin went with Tordis to learn and to help. - -Kristin longed for Lady Aashild between whiles, and sometimes the Lady -would chat much with her, but at other times the child would wait in -vain for a word beyond the other’s greeting when she came and when she -went—Lady Aashild sat and talked with the grown-up folk only. That was -always the way when she had her husband with her, for it happened now at -times that Björn Gunnarsön came with his wife. Lavrans had ridden to -Haugen one day in the autumn to take the Lady her leech’s fee—it was the -very best silver tankard they had in the house, with a plate to match. -He had slept there the night, and ever since he praised the farm -mightily; it was fair and well ordered, and not so small as folks would -have it, he said. And within the house all spoke of well-being and the -customs of the house were seemly, following the ways of great folks’ -houses in the South. What he thought of Björn, Lavrans said not, but he -welcomed him fairly at all times when he came with his wife to -Jörundgaard. But the Lady Aashild, Lavrans liked exceeding well, and he -said he deemed most of the tales that had been told of her were lies. He -said, too, ’twas most sure that twenty years since she could have had -small need of witchcraft to bind a man to her—she was near the sixties -now, yet she still looked young and had a most fair and winning bearing. - -Kristin saw well that her mother liked all this but little. Of Lady -Aashild, it is true, Ragnfrid said naught, but once she likened Björn to -the yellow, flattened grass one sometimes finds growing under big -stones, and Kristin thought this fitted him well. Björn looked strangely -faded; he was somewhat fat, pale and sluggish, and a little bald, -although he was not much older than Lavrans. Yet one saw he had once -been a very comely man. Kristin never came to speech with him—he spoke -little, and was wont to sit in the same place where he first settled -down, from the time he stepped into the room till he went to bed. He -drank hugely, but one marked it but little on him; he ate scarce any -food, but gazed now and again at one or another in the room with a -fixed, brooding look in his strange, pale eyes. - -They had seen naught of their kinsfolk at Sundbu since the mishap -befell, though Lavrans had been over at Vaage more times than one. But -Sira Eirik came to Jörundgaard as before; and there he often met Lady -Aashild, and they were good friends. Folk thought this was good of the -priest, for he was himself a very skilful leech. That, too, was -doubtless one cause why the folk of the great estates had not sought -Lady Aashild’s counsel, at least not openly, as they held the priest to -be skilful enough, nor was it easy for them to know how they should bear -themselves toward two folks who had been cast off, in a manner, by their -own kin and fellows. Sira Eirik said himself, they did not graze on one -another’s meadows; and as to her witchcraft, he was not her parish -priest—it might well be the lady knew more than was good for her soul’s -health—yet one must not forget ignorant folk were all too ready to talk -of witchcraft as soon as a woman was a bit wiser than her neighbours. -Lady Aashild, on her side, praised the priest much and was diligent at -church if it chanced she was at Jörundgaard on a holy day. - - * * * * * - -Yule-tide was sorrowful that year; Ulvhild could not yet put her feet to -the ground, and they neither heard nor saw aught of the Sundbu folk. -Kristin knew that it was talked of in the parish and that her father -took it to heart. But her mother seemed to care naught; and Kristin -thought this wrong of her. - -But one evening, toward the end of Yule-tide, came Sira Sigurd, Trond -Gjesling’s house-priest, driving in a great sledge, and his chief errand -was to bid them all to a feast at Sundbu. - -Sira Sigurd was ill-liked in the parishes about, for it was he who -really managed Trond’s estates—or at the least, he got the blame for -Trond’s hard and unjust dealings, and there was no denying Trond was -something of a plague to his tenants. His priest was most learned in -writing and reckoning, versed in the law, and a skilful leech—if not -quite so skilful as he deemed himself. But from his ways, no one would -have thought him over-wise; he often said foolish things. Ragnfrid and -Lavrans had never liked him, but the Sundbu folk, as was but reason, set -great store by their priest, and both they and he felt very bitter that -he had not been called in to Ulvhild. - -Now by ill-fortune it fell out that when Sira Sigurd came to -Jörundgaard, Lady Aashild and Sir Björn were there already, besides Sira -Eirik, Gyrd and Inga of Finsbrekken, Arne’s parents, old Jon from -Loptsgaard, and a Preaching Friar from Hamar, Brother Aasgaut. - -While Ragnfrid had the tables spread anew with Christmas fare, and -Lavrans looked into the letters brought by Sira Sigurd, the priest -wished to look at Ulvhild. She was already abed for the night and -sleeping, but Sira Sigurd woke her, felt her back and limbs, and asked -her many questions, at first gently enough, but then roughly and -impatiently as the child grew frightened—Sigurd was a little man, all -but a dwarf, with a great, flaming, red face. As he made to lift her out -upon the floor to test her feet, she began screaming loudly. On this -Lady Aashild rose, went to the bed, and covered Ulvhild with the skins, -saying the child was so sleepy she could not have stood upon the floor -even had her legs been strong. - -The priest began then to speak loudly; he too was reckoned to know -somewhat of leech-craft. But Lady Aashild took him by the hand, brought -him forward to the high-seat and fell to telling him what she had done -for Ulvhild, and asking his judgment on each and every matter. On this -he grew somewhat milder of mood, and ate and drank of Ragnfrid’s good -cheer. - -But as the beer and wine began to mount to his head, Sira Sigurd’s -humour changed again and he grew quarrelsome and hotheaded—he knew well -enough there was no one in the room who liked him. First he turned on -Gyrd—he was the bishop of Hamar’s bailiff in Vaage and Sil, and there -had been many quarrels twixt the bishop’s see and Trond Ivarsön. Gyrd -said not much, but Inga was a fiery woman, and then Brother Aasgaut -joined in and spoke: - -“You should not forget, Sira Sigurd, our reverend Father Ingjald is your -overlord, too—we know enough of you in Hamar. You wallow in all good -things at Sundbu, never thinking that you are vowed to other work than -to do Trond eyeservice, helping him in all wrong and injustice, to the -peril of his soul and the minishing of the rights of Holy Church. Have -you never heard how it fares with the false and unruly priests who hatch -out devices against their spiritual fathers and those in authority? Wot -you not of that time when the angels took St. Thomas of Canterbury to -the door of Hell and let him peep in? He wondered much that he saw none -of the priests who had set themselves up against him, as you have set -yourself against your bishop. He was about to praise God’s mercy, for -the holy man begrudged not salvation to all sinners—but at that the -angel bade the devil lift his tail a little, and out there came, with a -great bang and a foul smell of sulphur, all the priests and learned men -who had wrought against the good of the church. Thus did he come to know -whither _they_ had gone.” - -“_There_ you lie, monk,” said the priest. “I have heard that tale too; -only they were not priests, but beggar-monks, who came from the rear of -the devil like wasps out of a wasp-nest.” - -Old Jon laughed louder than all the serving-folk, and roared: - -“There were both sorts, I’ll be bound—” - -“Then the devil must have a fine broad tail,” said Björn Gunnarsön, and -Lady Aashild smiled and said: - -“Aye, have you not heard that all evil drags a long tail behind it?” - -“Be still, Lady Aashild,” cried Sira Sigurd, “do not you talk of the -long tail evil drags after it. You sit here as though _you_ were -mistress in the house, and not Ragnfrid. But ’tis strange you could not -help her child—have you no more of that strong water you dealt in once, -which could make whole the sheep already boiling in the pot, and turn -women to maids in the bridal bed? Think you I know not of the wedding in -this very parish where you made a bath for the bride that was no maid—” - -Sira Eirik sprang up, gripped the other priest by the shoulder and -thigh, and flung him right over the table, so that the jugs and tankards -were overturned and food and drink ran upon the cloths and floor, while -Sira Sigurd lay his length upon the ground with torn garments. Eirik -leaped over the board, and would have struck him again, roaring above -the tumult: - -“Hold your filthy mouth, priest of Hell that you are—” Lavrans strove to -part them, but Ragnfrid stood, white as death, by the board, and wrung -her hands. Then Lady Aashild ran and helped Sira Sigurd to his feet, and -wiped the blood from his face. She poured a beaker of mead down his -throat, saying: - -“You must not be so strict, Sira Eirik, that you cannot bear to listen -to jesting so far on in a drinking bout. Seat yourselves now and you -shall hear of that wedding. ’Twas not here in the Dale at all, nor had I -the good fortune to be the one that knew of that water—could I have -brewed it I trow we would not be sitting now on a hill-croft in the -wilds. I might have been a rich woman and had lands in the great, rich -parishes—nigh to town and cloisters and bishop and chapter,” and she -smiled at the three churchmen. “But ’tis said sure enough, that the art -was known in the olden days.” - -And the Lady told a merry tale of a misadventure that befell in King -Inga’s time when the magic wash was used by mistake by the wrong woman -and of what followed thereon. - -Great was the laughter in the room, and both Gyrd and Jon shouted for -more such tales from Lady Aashild. But the Lady said no: “Here sit two -priests and Brother Aasgaut and young lads and serving maids; ’tis best -we cease before the talk grows unseemly and gross; let us bear in mind -’tis a holy day.” - -The men made an outcry, but the women held with Lady Aashild. No one saw -that Ragnfrid had left the room. Soon after it was time that Kristin, -who sat lowest on the women’s bench among the serving maids, should go -to bed—she was sleeping in Tordis’ house, there were so many guests at -the manor. - -It was biting cold, and the northern-lights flamed and flickered over -the brows of the fells to the north. The snow crackled under Kristin’s -feet as she ran over the courtyard shivering, her arms crossed on her -breast. - -Then she was aware of a woman in the shadow of the old loft walking -hurriedly to and fro in the snow, throwing her arms about, wringing her -hands, and wailing aloud. Kristin saw it was her mother, and ran to her -affrighted, asking if she were ill. - -“No, no,” burst out Ragnfrid. “But I could not stay within—go you to -bed, child.” - -As Kristin turned away her mother called her softly: - -“Go back to the room and lie beside your father and Ulvhild—take her in -your arms so that he may not roll upon her by mischance; he sleeps so -heavily when he has drunk deep. I am going up to sleep in the old -loft-room to-night.” - -“Jesus, mother,” said Kristin, “you will freeze to death if you lie -there—alone, too. And what think you father will say if you come not to -bed to-night?” - -“He will not mark it,” answered her mother, “he was all but asleep when -I left, and to-morrow he will waken late. Go and do as I have said.” - -“’Twill be so cold for you,” said Kristin, whimpering, but her mother -sent her away, a little more kindly, and shut herself into the -loft-room. - -Within it was as cold as without, and it was pitch-dark. Ragnfrid groped -her way to the bed, pulled off her headdress, undid her shoes, and crept -in among the skins. They chilled her to the bone; it was like sinking -into a snowdrift. She pulled the skins over her head, and drew her knees -up to her chin, and thrust her hands into her bosom—so she lay and wept; -now quite low, with flowing tears; now crying aloud and grinding her -teeth. But in time she had warmed the bed around her so much that she -grew drowsy, and at last wept herself to sleep. - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - 5 - -The year that Kristin was fifteen in the spring, Lavrans Björgulfsön and -Sir Andres Gudmundsön of Dyfrin made tryst at the Holledis Thing. There -’twas agreed between them that Andres’ second son, Simon, should wed -Kristin Lavransdatter and should have Formo, Sir Andres’ mother’s udal -estate. This the two men shook hands upon; yet it was not put in -writing, for Sir Andres had first to settle with his other children -about their heritage. And for this reason no betrothal feast was held; -but Sir Andres and Simon came to Jörundgaard to see the bride, and -Lavrans gave them a great banquet. - -By this time Lavrans had ready his new dwelling-house of two storeys, -with corner fire-places of masonry both in the living room and the -loft-room above richly furnished and adorned with fair wood-carvings. He -had rebuilt the old loft-room too, and bettered the other houses in many -ways, so that he was now housed as befitted an esquire bearing arms. He -was very wealthy now, for he had had good fortune in his undertakings -and was a shrewd and careful husband of his goods; above all was he -known as a breeder of the finest horses and the goodliest cattle of all -kinds. And now he had been able so to order things that his daughter was -to wed into the Dyfrin kindred and the Formo estate, all folks deemed he -had brought to a happy end his purpose to be the foremost man in the -country-side. He, and Ragnfrid too, were well pleased with the -betrothal, as were Sir Andres and Simon. - -Kristin was a little cast down when she first saw Simon Andressön; for -she had heard great talk of his good looks and seemly bearing, so that -she had outrun all measure in her hopes of what her bridegroom would be. - -Truly Simon was well-favoured, but he was something fat to be only -twenty years of age; he was short of neck and had a face as round and -shining as the moon. He had goodly hair, brown and curly, and his eyes -were grey and clear, but lay deep and as it were shut in, the lids were -so fat; his nose was over small and his mouth was small too, and -pouting, but not unsightly. In spite of his stoutness, he was light, and -quick, and nimble in all his ways, and was skilled in all sports. He was -something too brisk and forward in his speech, but Lavrans held he -showed both good wit and learning when he talked with older men. - -Ragnfrid soon came to like him, and Ulvhild was taken at once with the -greatest love for him—he was more gentle and kind with the little sick -maid than with any other. And when Kristin had grown used a little to -his round face and his way of speech, she grew to be well content with -her betrothed, and happy in the way her father had ordered things for -her. - -Lady Aashild was at the feast. Since Jörundgaard had opened its doors to -her, the great folk in the parishes round about had begun to call to -mind her high birth and to think less of her doubtful fame, so that the -Lady came much out among people. She said when she had seen Simon: - -“’Tis a good match, Kristin; this Simon will go forward in the world—you -will be spared many cares, and he will be good to live with. But to my -mind he seems something too fat and too cheerful—Were it now in Norway -as it was in days gone by, and as it is still in other lands—that folk -were not more hard to sinners than is God himself, I would say you -should find yourself a friend who is lean and sorrowful—one you could -have to sit and hold converse with. Then would I say, you could not fare -better than you would with Simon.” - -Kristin grew red, though she understood not well what the Lady’s words -might mean. But as time went on and her bridal chests filled and she -evermore heard talk of her wedding and of what she was to take in to the -new household, she began to long that the betrothal-knot should be tied -once for all, and that Simon should come north; thus she thought much -about him in the end and was glad at the thought of meeting him again. - - * * * * * - -Kristin was full-grown now and very fair to look upon. She was most like -her father and had grown tall; she was small waisted, with slender, fine -limbs and joints, yet round and plump withal. Her face was somewhat -short and round, her forehead low and broad and white as milk; her eyes -large, grey and soft, under fairly drawn eyebrows. Her mouth was -something large, but it had full bright, red lips, and her chin was -round as an apple and well shaped. She had goodly long, thick hair; but -’twas something dark in hue, almost as much brown as yellow, and quite -straight. Lavrans liked nothing better than to hear Sira Eirik boast of -Kristin—the priest had seen the maid grow up, had taught her her books -and writing, and loved her much. But the father was not so pleased when -the priest sometimes likened his daughter to an unblemished, -silken-coated filly. - -Yet all men said that had not that sorrowful mishap befallen, Ulvhild -had been many times more comely than her sister. She had the fairest and -sweetest face, white and red as lilies and roses; and light-yellow hair, -soft as silk, which waved and clung about her slender throat and small -shoulders. Her eyes were like those of her Gjesling kin; they were deep -set, under straight, dark brows, and were clear as water and grey-blue; -but her glance was mild, not sharp like theirs. Then too, the child’s -voice was so clear and lovely that it was a joy to hearken to her, -whether she spoke or sang. She was most apt at book-learning and all -kinds of string-instruments and draughts, but had little mind to work -with her hands, for her back soon grew weary. - -There seemed little hope, indeed, this fair child should ever have full -use of her limbs. It is true she had mended a little after her father -and mother had been to Nidaros with her to St. Olav’s shrine. Lavrans -and Ragnfrid had gone thither on foot, without man or serving-maid to -attend them; they bore the child between them on a litter the whole way. -After the journey Ulvhild grew so far well that she could walk a little -with a crutch. But they could not hope that she should grow well enough -to be wedded, and so it was like that, when the time came, she must be -given to a cloister with all the wealth that should fall to her. - -They never spoke of this, and Ulvhild herself scarce knew how much -unlike she was to other children. She was very fond of finery and pretty -clothes, and her father and mother had not the heart to deny her -anything; so Ragnfrid stitched and sewed for her and decked her out like -any king’s child. Once some pedlars passing through the parish lay -overnight at Laugarbru; and Ulvhild got a sight of their wares there. -They had some amber coloured silk-stuff, and she set her heart on having -a shift of it. Lavrans was not wont to deal with such folk, who went -around against the law, selling wares from the market-towns in the -country parishes; but now he bought the whole bale at once. He gave -Kristin some of the stuff, too, for a bridal shift, and she was sewing -on it this summer. Until now all the shifts she owned had been of wool, -or of linen for best wear. But now Ulvhild had a shift of silk for feast -days and a Sunday shift of linen with silk let in above. - -Lavrans Björgulfsön owned Laugarbru too now, and Tordis and Jon were in -charge there. With them was Lavrans’ and Ragnfrid’s youngest daughter, -Ramborg, whom Tordis had nursed. Ragnfrid would scarce look at the child -for some time after it was born, for she said she brought her children -ill-fortune. Yet she loved the little maid much and was ever sending -gifts to her and Tordis; and later she went often over to Laugarbru and -saw Ramborg, but she liked best to come after the child was asleep, and -sit by her. Lavrans and the two older daughters were often at Laugarbru -to play with the little one; she was a strong and healthy child, but not -so fair as her sisters. - - * * * * * - -This was the last summer Arne Gyrdsön was on Jörundgaard. The bishop had -promised Gyrd to help the youth on in the world, and in the autumn Arne -was to set out for Hamar. - -Kristin knew well enough that she was dear to Arne, but she was in many -ways still a child in mind and she thought little about it, but bore -herself to him as she had always done from the time they were children; -was with him as often as she could, and always stood up with him when -there was dancing at home or upon the church-green. That her mother did -not like this, seemed to her something of a jest. But she never spoke to -Arne of Simon or of her wedding, for she marked that he grew -heavy-hearted when there was talk of it. - -Arne was a very handy man and was now making Kristin a sewing-chair as a -keepsake. He had covered both the box and the frame of the chair with -fair, rich carving, and was now busy in the smithy on iron bands and -lock for it. On a fine evening well on in summer Kristin had gone down -to him. She had taken with her a jacket of her father’s she had to mend, -and sat upon the stone threshold sewing while she chatted with the youth -in the smithy. Ulvhild was with her; she hopped about upon her crutch, -eating the raspberries which grew among the heaps of stone around the -field. - -After a while Arne came to the smithy door to cool himself. He made as -though to seat himself beside Kristin, but she moved a little away and -bade him have a care not to dirty the sewing she had upon her knee. - -“Is it come to this between us,” said Arne, “that you dare not let me -sit by you for fear the peasant boy should soil you?” - -Kristin looked at him in wonder, and answered: - -“You know well enough what I meant. But take your apron off, wash the -charcoal from your hands and sit down a little and rest you here by me—” -and she made room for him. - -But Arne laid himself in the grass in front of her; then she said again: - -“Nay, be not angry, my Arne. Can you think I could be unthankful for the -brave gift you are making me, or ever forget you have been my best -friend at home here all my days?” - -“Have I been that?” he asked. - -“You know it well,” said Kristin. “And never will I forget you. But you, -who are to go out into the world—maybe you will gain wealth and honor or -ever you think—you will like enough forget me, long before I forget -you—” - -“You will never forget me?” said Arne, smiling. “And I will forget you -ere you forget me?—you are naught but a child, Kristin.” - -“_You_ are not so old either,” she replied. - -“I am as old as Simon Darre,” said he again. “And we bear helm and -shield as well as the Dyfrin folk, but my folks have not had fortune -with them—” - -He had dried his hands on the grass tufts; and now he took Kristin’s -ankle and pressed his cheek to the foot which showed from under her -dress. She would have drawn away her foot, but Arne said: - -“Your mother is at Laugarbru, and Lavrans has ridden forth—from the -houses none can see us where we sit. Surely you can let me speak this -once of what is in my heart.” - -Kristin answered: - -“We have known all our days, both you and I, that ’twas bootless for us -to set our hearts on each other.” - -“May I lay my head in your lap,” said Arne, and as she did not answer, -he laid his head down and twined an arm about her waist. With his other -hand he pulled at the plaits of her hair. - -“How will you like it,” he asked in a little, “when Simon lies in your -lap thus, and plays with your hair?” - -Kristin did not answer. It seemed as though a heaviness fell upon her of -a sudden—Arne’s words and Arne’s head on her knee—it seemed to her as -though a door opened into a room, where many dark passages led into a -greater darkness; sad, and heavy at heart, she faltered and would not -look inside. - -“Wedded folk do not use to do so,” said she of a sudden, quickly, as if -eased of a weight. She tried to see Simon’s fat round face looking up -into hers as Arne was looking now; she heard his voice—and she could not -keep from laughing: - -“I trow Simon will never lie on the ground to play with my shoes—not -he!” - -“No, for he can play with you in his bed,” said Arne. His voice made her -feel sick and powerless all at once. She tried to push his head from off -her lap, but he pressed it against her knee and said softly: - -“But _I_ would play with your shoes and your hair and your fingers, and -follow you out and in the livelong day, Kristin, were you ever so much -my wife and slept in my arms each single night.” - -He half sat up, put his arm round her shoulder and gazed into her eyes. - -“’Tis not well done of you to talk thus to me,” said Kristin bashfully, -in a low voice. - -“No,” said Arne. He rose and stood before her. “But tell me one -thing—would you not rather it were I—?” - -“Oh! I would rather—,” she sat still a while. “I would rather not have -any man—not yet—” - -Arne did not move, but said: - -“Would you rather be given to the cloister then, as ’tis to be with -Ulvhild, and be a maid all your days?” - -Kristin pressed her folded hands down into her lap. A strange, sweet -trembling seized her—and with a sudden shudder she seemed to understand -how much her little sister was to be pitied—her eyes filled with tears -of sorrow for Ulvhild’s sake. - -“Kristin,” said Arne in a low voice. - -At that moment a loud scream came from Ulvhild. Her crutch had caught -between the stones, and she had fallen. Arne and Kristin ran to her, and -Arne lifted her up into her sister’s arms. She had cut her mouth and -much blood was flowing from the hurt. - -Kristin sat down with her in the smithy door, and Arne fetched water in -a wooden bowl. Together they set to washing and wiping her face. She had -rubbed the skin off her knees, too. Kristin bent tenderly over the -small, thin legs. - -Ulvhild’s wailing soon grew less, but she wept silently and bitterly as -children do who are used to suffering pain. Kristin held her head to her -bosom and rocked her gently. - -Then the bell began to ring for Vespers up at Olav’s-Church. - -Arne spoke to Kristin, but she sat bent over her sister as though she -neither heard nor marked him, so that at last he grew afraid and asked -if she thought there was danger in the hurt. Kristin shook her head, but -looked not at him. - -Soon after she got up and went towards the farmstead, bearing Ulvhild in -her arms. Arne followed, silent and troubled—Kristin seemed so deep in -thought, and her face was set and hard. As she walked, the bell went on -ringing out over the meadows and the dale; it was still ringing as she -went into the house. - -She laid Ulvhild in the bed which the sisters had shared ever since -Kristin had grown too big to sleep by her father and mother. She slipped -her shoes off and lay down beside the little one,—lay and listened for -the ringing of the bell long after it was hushed and the child slept. - -It had come to her as the bell began to ring, while she sat with -Ulvhild’s little bleeding face in her hands, that maybe it was a sign to -her. If she should go to convent in her sister’s stead—if she should vow -herself to the service of God and the Virgin Mary—might not God give the -child health and strength again? - -She thought of Brother Edwin’s word: that nowadays ’twas only marred and -crippled children and those for whom good husbands could not be found -that their fathers and mothers gave to God. She knew her father and -mother were godly folks—yet had she never heard aught else but that she -should wed—but when they understood that Ulvhild would be sickly all her -days they planned for her straightway that she should go to the -cloister— - -And she had no mind to go herself—she strove against the thought that -God would do a miracle for Ulvhild if she herself turned nun. She hung -on Sira Eirik’s word that in these days not many miracles come to pass. -And yet she felt this evening it was as Brother Edwin said; had a man -but faith enough, his faith might work miracles. But she had no mind to -have that faith herself, she did not love God and his Mother and the -Saints _so_ much, did not even wish to love them so—she loved the world -and longed for the world— - -Kristin pressed her lips down into Ulvhild’s soft, silken hair. The -child slept soundly, and the elder sister sat up restlessly, but lay -down again. Her heart bled with sorrow and shame, but she knew she did -not wish to believe in signs and wonders, for she would not give up her -heritage of health and beauty and love. - -So she tried to comfort herself with the thought, that her father and -mother would not be willing she should do such a thing. Nor would they -think it could avail. Then, too, she was promised already, and she was -sure they would not give up Simon of whom they were so fond. She felt it -a betrayal of herself that they were so proud of this son-in-law; of a -sudden she thought with dislike of Simon’s round, red face and small -laughing eyes—of his jaunty gait—he bounced like a ball, it came to her -all at once—; of his bantering talk, that made her feel awkward and -foolish. ’Twas no such glory either to get him, and move with him just -down to Formo—Still she would rather have him than be sent to -convent—But, ah! the world beyond the hills, the King’s palace and the -earls and knights Lady Aashild talked of—and a comely man with sorrowful -eyes who would follow her in and out and never grow weary. She thought -of Arne that summer day when he lay on his side and slept with his -brown, glossy hair outspread among the heather—she had loved him then as -though he were her brother. It was not well done of him to have spoken -to her so, when he knew they could never belong to one another— - - * * * * * - -Word came from Laugarbru that her mother would stay there overnight. -Kristin got up to undress and go to rest. She began to unlace her -dress—then she put her shoes on again, threw her cloak about her and -went out. - -The night sky stretched clear and green above the hillcrests. It was -near time for the moon to rise, and where it was yet hid behind the -fell, sailed some small clouds, their lower edges shining like silver; -the sky grew brighter and brighter, like metal under gathering drops of -dew. - -She ran up between the fences, over the road, and up the slope toward -the church. It stood there, as though asleep, dark and shut, but she -went up to the cross which stood near by to mark the place where St. -Olav once rested as he fled before his enemies. - -Kristin knelt down upon the stone and laid her folded hands upon the -base of the cross: “Holy Cross, strongest of masts, fairest of trees, -bridge for the sick to the fair shores of health—” - -At the words of the prayer, it was as if her longing widened out and -faded little by little like rings on a pool. The single thoughts that -troubled her smoothed themselves out one after the other, her mind grew -calmer, more tender, and there came upon her a gentle, vague sadness in -place of her distress. - -She lay kneeling there and drank in all the sounds of the night. The -wind sighed strangely, the rushing sound of the river came from beyond -the wood by the church, the beck ran near by right across the road—and -all about, far and near, in the dark, she half saw and heard small rills -of running and dripping water. The river gleamed white down below in the -valley. The moon crept up in a little nick in the hills—the dewy leaves -and stones sparkled faintly, and the newly tarred timber of the belfry -shone dull and dark by the churchyard gate. Then the moon was hid once -more where the mountain ridge rose higher, and now many more white and -shining clouds floated in the sky. - -She heard a horse coming at a slow pace from higher up the road, and the -sound of men’s voices speaking low and even. She had no fear of folk -here close at home where she knew everyone—so she felt quite safe. - -Her father’s dogs rushed at her, turned and dashed back into the wood, -then turned back and leaped upon her again. Her father shouted a -greeting as he came out from among the birches. He was leading -Guldsveinen by the bridle; a brace or two of birds hung dangling from -the saddle, and Lavrans bore a hooded hawk upon his left wrist. He had -with him a tall, bent man in a monk’s frock, and even before Kristin had -seen his face she knew it was Brother Edwin. She went to meet them, -wondering no more than if it had been a dream—she only smiled when -Lavrans asked whether she knew their guest again. - -Lavrans had chanced upon him up by the Rost bridge, and had coaxed him -home with him to spend the night. But Brother Edwin would have it they -must let him lie in an outhouse: “For I’m grown so lousy,” said he, “you -cannot put me in the good beds.” - -And for all Lavrans talked and begged, the monk held out; nay, at first -he would have it they should give him his food out in the courtyard. But -at last they got him into the hall with them, and Kristin made up the -fire in the fireplace in the corner and set candles on the board, while -a serving-maid brought in meat and drink. - -The monk seated himself on the beggars’ bench by the door, and would -have naught but cold porridge and water for his supper. Neither would he -have aught of Lavrans’ proffer to have a bath made ready for him and -have his clothes well washed. - -Brother Edwin fidgeted and scratched himself, and laughed all over his -lean, old face. - -“Nay, nay,” said he, “these things bite into my proud hide better than -either whips or the Gardian’s words. I have been sitting under a rock up -here among the fells all summer—they gave me leave to go out into the -wilderness to fast and pray, and there I sat and thought: now was I like -a holy hermit indeed; and the poor folk away in Setnadal came up with -food for me, and thought here they saw, in very truth, a godly and -clean-living monk. Brother Edwin, they said, were there many such monks -as you, we would be better men fast enough; but when we see priests and -bishops and monks biting and fighting like young swine in a trough—Aye, -I told them it was unchristian-like to talk so—but I liked to hear it -well enough, and I sang and I prayed till the mountain rang again. Now -will it be wholesome for me to feel the lice biting and fighting upon my -skin, and to hear the good housewives, who would have all clean and -seemly in their houses, cry out: that dirty pig of a monk can lie out in -the barn well enough now ’tis summer. I am for northwards now to Nidaros -for St. Olav’s Vigil, and ’twill be well for me to mark that folk are -none too fain to come nigh me—” - -Ulvhild woke, and Lavrans went and lifted her up and wrapped her in his -cloak: - -“Here is the child I spoke of, dear Father. Lay your hands upon her and -pray to God for her as you prayed for the boy away north in Meldal, who -we heard got his health again—” - -The monk lifted Ulvhild’s chin gently and looked into her face. And then -he raised one of her hands and kissed it. - -“Pray rather, you and your wife, Lavrans Björgulfsön, that you be not -tempted to try and bend God’s will concerning this child. Our Lord Jesus -himself has set these small feet upon the path which will lead her most -surely to the home of peace—I see it by your eyes, you blessed Ulvhild, -you have your intercessors in our second home.” - -“The boy in Meldal got well, I have heard,” said Lavrans, in a low -voice. - -“He was a poor widow’s only child, and there was none but the parish to -feed or clothe him when his mother should be gone. And yet the woman -prayed only that God might give her a fearless heart so that she might -have faith. He would bring that to pass which would be best for the lad. -Naught else did I do but join in that prayer of hers.” - -“’Tis hard for her mother and for me to rest content with this,” -answered Lavrans heavily. “The more that she is so fair and so good.” - -“Have you seen the child at Lidstad, south in the Dale,” asked the monk. -“Would you rather your daughter had been like that?” - -Lavrans shuddered and pressed the child close to him. - -“Think you not,” said Brother Edwin again, “that in God’s eyes we are -all children he has cause to grieve for, crippled as we are with sin? -And yet we deem not we are so badly off in this world.” - -He went to the picture of the Virgin Mary upon the wall, and all knelt -down while he said the evening prayer. It seemed to them that Brother -Edwin had given them good comfort. - -But, none the less, after he had gone from the room to seek his place of -rest, Astrid, the head serving-wench, swept with care all parts of the -floor where the monk had stood, and cast the sweepings at once into the -fire. - - * * * * * - -Next morning Kristin rose early, took milk-porridge and wheat-cakes in a -goodly dish of flame-grained birchwood—for she knew that the monk never -touched meat—and herself bore the food out to him. But few of the folk -were yet about in the houses. - -Brother Edwin stood upon the bridge of the cow-house, ready for the road -with staff and scrip; with a smile he thanked Kristin for her pains, and -sat himself down on the grass and ate, while Kristin sat at his feet. - -Her little white dog came running up, the little bells on his collar -tinkling. She took him into her lap, and Brother Edwin snapped his -fingers at him, threw small bits of wheat-cake into his mouth, and -praised him mightily the while. - -“’Tis a breed Queen Euphemia brought to the country,” said he. “You are -passing fine here on Jörundgaard now; both in great things and small.” - -Kristin flushed with pleasure. She knew already the dog was of a fine -breed, and she was proud of having it; no one else in the parish had a -lapdog. But she had not known it was of the same kind as the Queen’s pet -dogs. - -“Simon Andressön sent him to me,” said she, and pressed it to her, while -it licked her face. “His name is Kortelin.” - -She had thought to speak to the monk about her trouble and to pray for -his counsel. But she had no longer any wish to let her mind dwell on the -thoughts of the past evening. Brother Edwin was sure God would turn all -things to the best for Ulvhild. And it was good of Simon to send her -such a gift before even their betrothal was fixed. Arne she would not -think of—he had not borne himself as he should towards her, she thought. - -Brother Edwin took his staff and scrip, and bade Kristin greet those -within the house—he would not stay till folk were up, but go while the -day was yet cool. She went with him up past the church and a little way -into the wood. - -When they parted he wished her God’s peace, and blessed her. - -“Give me a word, like the word you gave to Ulvhild, dear Father,” begged -Kristin, as she stood with his hand in hers. The monk rubbed his naked -foot, knotted with gout, in the wet grass: - -“Then would I bid you, daughter, that you lay to heart how God cares for -folks’ good here in the Dale. Little rain falls here, but he has given -you water from the fells, and the dew freshens meadow and field each -night. Thank God for the good gifts he has given you, and murmur not if -you seem to miss aught you think might well be added to you. You have -bonny yellow hair; see you fret not because it does not curl. Have you -not heard of the old wife who sat and wept for that she had only a small -bite of swine’s flesh to give to her seven little ones for Christmas -cheer. Pat at the moment St. Olav came riding by, and he stretched out -his hand over the meat and prayed that God might give the poor little -ravens their fill. But when the woman saw a whole pig’s carcase lying -upon the board, she wept that she had not pots and platters enow!” - -Kristin ran homewards with Kortelin dancing at her heels, snapping at -the hem of her dress, and barking and ringing all his little silver -bells. - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - 6 - -ARNE stayed at home at Finsbrekken the last days before he was to set -out for Hamar; his mother and sisters were making ready his clothes. - -The day before he was to ride southward, he came to Jörundgaard to bid -farewell. And he made a chance to whisper to Kristin, would she meet him -on the road south of Laugarbru next evening? - -“I would so fain we two should be alone the last time we are together,” -said he. “Does it seem such a great thing that I ask—after all, we were -brought up together like brother and sister,” he said when Kristin hung -doubtful a little before making reply. - -So she promised to come, if she could slip away from home. - -It snowed next morning, but through the day it turned to rain, and soon -roads and fields were a sea of grey mud. Wreaths of mist hung and -drifted along the lower hillsides; now and then they sank yet lower and -gathered into white rollers along the roots of the hills; and then the -thick rain-clouds closed in again. - -Sira Eirik came over to help Lavrans draw up some deeds. They went down -to the hearth-room, for in such weather it was pleasanter there than in -the great hall, where the fireplace filled the room with smoke. Ragnfrid -was at Laugarbru, where Ramborg was now getting better of a fever she -had caught early in the autumn. - -Thus it was not hard for Kristin to slip away unseen, but she dared not -take a horse, so she went on foot. The road was a quagmire of snow-slush -and withered leaves; there was a saddening breath of death and decay in -the raw, chill air, and now and again there came a gust of wind driving -the rain into her face. She drew her hood well down over her head and, -holding her cloak about her with both hands, went quickly forward. She -was a little afraid—the roar of the river sounded so hollow in the heavy -air, and the clouds drove dark and ragged over the hill-crests. Now and -again she halted and listened for Arne’s coming. - -After a time she heard the splashing of hoofs upon the slushy road -behind her, and she stopped then where she was, for this was a somewhat -lonely spot and she thought ’twas a good place for them to say their -farewells, in quiet. Almost at once she saw the horseman coming, and -Arne sprang from his horse and led it as he came to meet her. - -“’Twas kindly done of you to come,” said he, “in this ugly weather.” - -“’Tis worse for you who have so far to ride—and how is it you set out so -late?” she asked. - -“Jon has bidden me to lie the night at Loptsgaard,” answered Arne. “I -thought ’twas easier for you to meet me at this time of day.” - -They stood silent for a time. Kristin thought she had never seen before -how fair a youth Arne was. He had on a smooth, steel cap, and under that -a brown woollen hood that sat tight about his face and spread out over -his shoulders; under it his narrow face showed bright and comely. His -leather jerkin was old, spotted with rust, and rubbed by the coat of -mail which had been worn above it—Arne had taken it over from his -father—but it fitted closely to his slim, lithe, and powerful body, and -he had a sword at his side and in his hand a spear—his other weapons -hung from his saddle. He was full-grown now and bore himself manfully. - -She laid her hand upon his shoulder and said: - -“Mind you, Arne you asked me once if I thought you as good a man as -Simon Andressön? Now will I tell you one thing, before we part; ’tis -that you seem to me as much above him in looks and bearing as he is -reckoned above you in birth and riches by those who look most to such -things.” - -“Why do you tell me this?” asked Arne breathlessly. - -“Because Brother Edwin told me to lay to heart, that we should thank God -for his good gifts, and not be like the woman when St. Olav added to her -meat, and she wept because she had not trenchers to put it in—so you -should not grieve that He has not given you as much of riches as of -bodily gifts—” - -“Was it _that_ you meant?” said Arne. And then, as she was silent, he -said: - -“I wondered if you meant that you would rather be wedded to me than to -the other—” - -“That I would, truly,” said she in a low voice. “—I know you better—” - -Arne threw his arms around her so that her feet were lifted from the -ground. He kissed her face many times, and then set her down again: - -“God help us, Kristin, what a child you are!” - -She stood and hung her head, but left her hands upon his shoulders. He -caught her wrists and held them tight: - -“I see how ’tis with you, my sweeting; you little know how sore I am at -heart to lose you. Kristin, you know we have grown up together like two -apples on one branch; I loved you long before I began to understand that -one day another would come and break you from me. As sure as God -suffered death for us all—I know not how I can ever be happy in this -world after to-day—” - -Kristin wept bitterly and lifted her face, so that he might kiss her. - -“Do not talk so, my Arne,” she begged, and patted him on the shoulder. - -“Kristin,” said Arne in a low voice and took her into his arms again, -“think you not that if you begged your father—Lavrans is so good a man, -he would not force you against your will—if you begged them but to let -you wait a few years—no one knows how fortune may turn for me—we are -both of us so young.” - -“Oh, I fear I must do as they wish at home,” she wept. And now weeping -came upon Arne too. - -“You know not, Kristin, how dear you are to me.” He hid his face upon -her shoulder. “If you did, and if you cared for me, for sure you would -go to Lavrans and beg hard—” - -“I cannot do it,” she sobbed. “I could never come to love any man so -much as to go against my father and mother for his sake.” She groped -with her hands for his face under the hood and the heavy steel cap. “Do -not cry so, Arne, my dearest friend—” - -“You must take this at least,” said he after a time, giving her a little -brooch; “and think of me sometimes, for I shall never forget you nor my -grief—” - -It was all dark when Kristin and Arne had said their last farewell. She -stood and looked after him when at length he rode away. A streak of -yellow light shone through a rift in the clouds, and was reflected in -the footprints, where they had walked and stood in the slush on the -road—it all looked so cold and sorrowful, she thought. She drew up her -linen neckerchief and dried her tear-stained face, then turned and went -homeward. - -She was wet and cold and walked quickly. After a time she heard someone -coming along the road behind her. She was a little frightened; even on -such a night as this there might be strange folk journeying on the -highway, and she had a lonely stretch before her. A great black scree -rose right up on one side, and on the other the ground fell steeply and -there was fir-forest all the way down to the leaden-hued river in the -bottom of the dale. So she was glad when the man behind her called to -her by name; and she stood still and waited. - -The newcomer was a tall, thin man in a dark surcoat with lighter -sleeves—as he came nearer she saw he was dressed as a priest and carried -an empty wallet on his back. And now she knew him to be Bentein -Priestson, as they called him—Sira Eirik’s daughter’s son. She saw at -once that he was far gone in drink. - -“Aye, one goes and another comes,” said he, laughing, when they had -greeted one another. “I met Arne of Brekken even now—I see you are -weeping. You might as well smile a little now I am come home—we have -been friends too ever since we were children, have we not?” - -“’Tis an ill exchange, methinks, getting you into the parish in his -stead,” said Kristin, bluntly. She had never liked Bentein. “And so, I -fear, will many think. Your grandfather here has been so glad you were -in Oslo making such a fair beginning.” - -“Oh, aye,” said Bentein, with a nickering laugh. “So ’twas a fair -beginning I was making, you think? I was even like a pig in a -wheat-field, Kristin—and the end was the same, I was hunted out with -cudgels and the hue and cry. Aye, aye; aye, aye. ’Tis no great thing, -the gladness my grandfather gets from his offspring. But what a mighty -hurry you are in!” - -“I am cold,” said Kristin, curtly. - -“Not colder than I,” said the priest. “I have no more clothes on me than -you see here—my cloak I had to sell for food and beer in little Hamar. -Now, you should still have some heat in your body from making your -farewells with Arne—methinks you should let me get under your fur with -you—,” and he caught her cloak, pulled it over his shoulders and gripped -her round the waist with his wet arm. - -Kristin was so amazed with his boldness it was a moment before she could -gather her wits—then she strove to tear herself away, but he had a hold -of her cloak and it was fastened together by a strong silver clasp. -Bentein got his arms about her again, and made to kiss her, his mouth -nearly touching her chin. She tried to strike, but he held her fast by -the upper arm. - -“I trow you have lost your wits,” she hissed, as she struggled, “dare -you to lay hands on me as I were a—dearly shall you rue this to-morrow, -dastard that you are—” - -“Nay, to-morrow you will not be so foolish,” says Bentein, putting his -leg in front of her so that she half fell into the mud, and pressing one -hand over her mouth. - -Yet she had no thought of crying out. Now for the first time it flashed -on her mind what he dared to want with her, but rage came upon her so -wild and furious she had scarce a thought of fear: she snarled like an -animal at grips with another, and fought furiously with the man as he -tried to hold her down, while the ice-cold snow-water soaked through her -clothes on to her burning skin. - -“To-morrow you will have wit enough to hold your tongue,” said Bentein, -“—and if it can not be hidden, you can put the blame on Arne—’twill be -believed the sooner—” - -Just then one of his fingers got into her mouth and at once she bit it -with all her might, so that Bentein shrieked and let go his hold. Quick -as lightning Kristin got one hand free, seized his face with it and -pressed her thumb with all her might against the ball of one of his -eyes; he roared out and rose to his knees; like a cat she slipped from -his grasp, threw herself upon him so that he fell upon his back, and, -turning, rushed along the road with the mud splashing over her at every -bound. - -She ran and ran without looking back. She heard Bentein coming after, -and she ran till her heart thumped in her throat, while she moaned -softly and strained her eyes forward—should she never reach Laugarbru? -At last she was out on the road where it passed through the fields; she -saw the group of houses down on the hill-slope, and at the same moment -she bethought her that she durst not run in there, where her mother -was,—in the state she was now in, plastered with clay and withered -leaves from head to foot, and with her clothing torn to rags. - -She marked that Bentein was gaining upon her; and on that she bent down -and took up two great stones. She threw them when he came near enough; -one struck him with such force it felled him to the ground. Then she ran -on again and stayed not before she stood upon the bridge. - -All trembling, she stood and clutched the railing of the bridge; a -darkness came before her eyes, and she feared she would drop down in a -swoon—but then she thought of Bentein; what if he should come and find -her. Shaken with rage and shame she went onwards, though her legs would -scarce bear her, and now she felt her face smart where fingernails had -scarred it, and felt too she had hurts upon both back and arms. Her -tears came hot as fire. - -She wished Bentein might have been killed by the stone she had -thrown—she wished she had gone back and made an end of him—she felt for -her knife, but found that she must have lost it. - -Then again came the thought, she must not be seen at home as she was; -and so it came into her mind that she would go to Romundgaard. She would -complain to Sira Eirik. - -But the priest had not come back yet from Jörundgaard. In the -kitchen-house she found Gunhild, Bentein’s mother; the woman was alone, -and Kristin told her how her son had dealt with her. But that she had -gone out to meet Arne she did not tell her. When she saw that Gunhild -thought she had been at Laugarbru, she left her to think so. - -Gunhild said little, but wept a great deal while she washed the mud off -Kristin’s clothes and sewed up the worst rents. And the girl was so -shaken she paid no heed to the covert glances Gunhild cast on her now -and then. - -When Kristin went, Gunhild took her cloak and went out with her, but -took the way to the stables. Kristin asked her whither she was going. - -“Surely I may have leave to ride down and look after my son,” answered -the woman. “See whether you have killed him with that stone of yours, or -how it fares with him.” - -There seemed to be naught Kristin could answer to this, so she said only -that Gunhild should see to it Bentein got out of the parish as soon as -might be, and kept out of her sight, “—or I will speak of this to -Lavrans, and you can guess, I trow, what would happen then.” - - * * * * * - -And indeed, Bentein went southward not more than a week later; he -carried letters from Sira Eirik to the Bishop of Hamar begging the -Bishop to find work for him or otherwise to help him. - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - 7 - -One day at Yule-tide Simon Andressön came riding to Jörundgaard, a quite -unlooked for guest. He craved pardon for coming thus, unbidden and -alone, without his kinsfolk. But Sir Andres was in Sweden on the King’s -business; he himself had been home at Dyfrin for a time, but only his -young sisters and his mother, who lay ill abed, were there; so time had -hung on his hands, and a great longing had taken him to look in upon -them up here. - -Ragnfrid and Lavrans thanked him much for having made this long journey -in the depth of winter. The more they saw of Simon the more they liked -him. He knew of all that had passed between Andres and Lavrans, and it -was now fixed that his and Kristin’s betrothal ale should be drunk -before the beginning of Lent if Sir Andres would be home by that time, -but, if not, then as soon as Easter was past. - -Kristin was quiet and downcast when with her betrothed; she found not -much to talk of with him. One evening when they had all been sitting -drinking, he asked her to go out with him a little into the cool. Then, -as they stood on the balcony in front of the upper hall, he put his arm -round her waist and kissed her. After that he did the same often when -they were alone. It gave her no gladness, but she suffered him to do it, -since she knew the betrothal was a thing that must come. She thought of -her wedding now only as something which she must go through with, not as -something she wished for. None the less she liked Simon well -enough—most, though, when he talked with others and did not touch or -talk to her. - - * * * * * - -She had been so unhappy through this whole autumn. It was of no use, -however often she told herself Bentein had been able to do her no harm; -none the less she felt herself soiled and shamed. - -Nothing could be the same as it had been before, since a man had dared -try to wreak such a will on her. She lay awake of nights and burned with -shame and could not stop thinking of it. She felt Bentein’s body close -against hers as when they fought, his hot, beery breath—she could not -help thinking of what might have happened—and she thought, with a -shudder through all her body, of what he had said: how Arne would get -the blame if it could not be hidden. There rushed through her mind all -that would have followed if such a calamity had befallen and then folk -had heard of her meeting with Arne—what if her father and mother had -believed such a thing of Arne—and Arne himself—She saw him as she had -seen him that last evening, and she felt as though she sank crushed -before him at the very thought that she _might_ have dragged him down -with her into sorrow and disgrace. And then she had such ugly dreams. -She had heard tell in church and in holy stories of fleshly lusts and -the temptations of the body, but they had meant naught to her. Now it -was become real to her that she herself and all mankind had a sinful, -carnal body which enmeshed the soul and ate into it with hard bonds. - -Then she would think out for herself how she might have killed or -blinded Bentein. It was the only solace she could find—to sate herself -with dreams of revenge upon the dark, hateful man who stood always in -the way of her thoughts. But this did not help for long; she lay by -Ulvhild’s side of nights and wept bitter tears at the thought of all -this that had been brought upon her by brute force. Bentein had not -failed altogether—he had wrought scathe to the maidenhood of her spirit. - -The first work-day after Christmas all the women on Jörundgaard were -busy in the kitchen-house; Ragnfrid and Kristin had been there, too, for -most of the day. Late in the evening, while some of the women were -clearing up after the baking, and others making ready for supper, the -dairy-maid came rushing in, shrieking and wringing her hands: - -“Jesus, Jesus—did ever any hear such a dreadful thing—they are bringing -Arne Gyrdson home dead on a sleigh—God help Gyrd and Inga in this -misery—” - -A man who dwelt in a cottage a little way down the road came in with -Halvdan. It was these two who had met the bier. - -The women crowded round them. Outside the circle stood Kristin, white -and shaking. Halvdan, Lavrans’ own body-servant, who had known Arne from -his boyhood, wept aloud as he told the story: - -It was Bentein Priestson who had killed Arne. On New Year’s Eve the men -of the Bishop’s household were sitting and drinking in the men’s hall, -and Bentein had come in—he had been given a clerkship now with the -Corpus Christi prebendary. The men did not want him amongst them at -first, but he had put Arne in mind that they were both from the same -parish, and Arne had let him sit by him, and they had drunk together. -But presently they had quarrelled and fought, and Arne had fallen on so -fiercely that Bentein had snatched a knife from they table and stabbed -him in the throat and then more than once in the breast. Arne had died -almost at once. - -The Bishop had taken this mischance much to heart; he himself had cared -for the laying-out of the corpse, and had it brought all the long way -home by his own folk. Bentein he had thrown into irons, cast him out -from the church, and if he were not already hanged, he was going to be. - -Halvdan had to tell all this over again many times as fresh people -streamed in. Lavrans and Simon came over to the kitchen too, when they -marked all the stir and commotion about the place. Lavrans was much -moved; he bade them saddle his horse, he would ride over to Brekken at -once. As he was about to go, his eyes fell on Kristin’s white face. - -“May be _you_ would like to go with me?” he asked. Kristin faltered a -little; she shuddered—but then she nodded, for she could not utter one -word. - -“Is’t not too cold for her?” said Ragnfrid. “Doubtless they will have -the wake to-morrow, and then ’tis like we shall all go together—” - -Lavrans looked at his wife; he marked Simon’s face too; and then he went -and laid his arm round Kristin’s shoulders: - -“She is his foster-sister, you must bear in mind,” said he. “Maybe she -would like to help Inga with the laying-out the body.” - -And though Kristin’s heart was benumbed with despair and fear, she felt -a glow of thankfulness to her father for his words. - -Ragnfrid said then, that if Kristin was to go, they must eat their -evening porridge before they started. She wished, too, to send gifts to -Inga by them—a new linen sheet, wax-candles and fresh-baked bread; and -she bade them say she would come up herself and help to prepare for the -burial. - -There was little eating, but much talking in the room while the food was -on the table. One reminded the other of the trials that God had laid -upon Gyrd and Inga. Their farm had been laid waste by stone-slips and -floods: more than one of their elder children were dead, so that all -Arne’s brothers and sisters were still but little ones. They had had -fortune with them now for some years, since the Bishop placed Gyrd at -Finsbrekken as his bailiff; and the children who were left to them were -fair and full of promise. But his mother loved Arne more than all the -rest— - -They pitied Sira Eirik too. The priest was beloved and well respected -and the folk of the parish were proud of him; he was learned and skilled -in his office and in all the years he had had their church he had never -let a holy day or mass or a service pass that he was in duty bound to -hold. In his youth he had been man-at-arms under Count Alv of Tornberg -but he had had the misfortune to kill a man of very high birth, and so -had taken refuge with the Bishop of Oslo; when the Bishop saw what a -turn Eirik had for book-learning, he had him trained for a priest. And -had it not been that he still had enemies by reason of that slaying of -long ago, it was like Sira Eirik would not have stayed here in this -little charge. True enough, he was very greedy of pence, both for his -own purse and for the church, but then, was not his church richly fitted -out with plate and vestments and books? and he himself had these -children—and he had had naught but sorrow and trouble with his family. -In these far away country parishes folk held it was not reason that -priests should live like monks, for they must at the least have women to -help on their farms, and they might well need a woman to look after -things for them, seeing what long and toilsome journeys they must make -round the parishes, and that too in all kinds of weather; besides folk -had not forgotten that it was not so very long since priests in Norway -had been wedded men. Thus no one had blamed Sira Eirik over much that he -had had three children by the woman who tended his house, while he was -yet young. But this evening they said, it looked, indeed, as though -’twas God’s will to punish Eirik for his loose living, so much evil had -his children and his children’s children brought upon him. And some -thought there was good reason, too, that a priest should have neither -wife nor children—for after this it was much to be feared that -bitterness and enmity would arise between the priest and the folk on -Finsbrekken, who until now had been the best of friends. - -Simon Andressön knew much of Bentein’s doings in Oslo; and he told of -them. Bentein had been clerk to the Dean of the Church of the Holy -Virgin, and he had the name of being a quick-witted youth. There were -many women, too, who liked him well—he had roving eyes, and a glib -tongue. Some held him a comely man—these were for the most part such -women as thought they had a bad bargain in their husbands, and then -young maids, the sort that liked well that men should be somewhat free -with them. Simon laughed—aye, they understood? Well, Bentein was so sly, -he never went too far with that kind of woman; he was all talk with -them, and so he got a name for clean-living. But the thing was that King -Haakon, as they knew, was a good and pious man himself, and fain would -keep order among his men and hold them to a seemly walk and -conversation—the young ones at least; the others were apt to be too much -for him. And it came about that whatever pranks the youngsters managed -to slip out and take part in—drinking bouts, gambling and beer-drinking -and such like—the priest of the King’s household always got to hear of, -and the mad-caps had to confess and pay scot and suffer hard reproof; -aye, two or three of the wildest youths of all were hunted away. But at -last it came out it was this fox, Bentein secretarius—unknown to anyone -he had been made free of all the beer-houses and worse places still; he -confessed the serving-wenches and gave them absolution— - -Kristin sat at her mother’s side; she tried to eat so that no one should -mark how it was with her, though her hand shook so that she spilled the -milk porridge at each spoonful, and her tongue felt so thick and dry in -her mouth that she could not swallow the morsels of bread. But when -Simon began to tell of Bentein, she had to give up making believe to -eat; she held on to the bench beneath her—terror and loathing seized -her, so that she felt dizzy and sick. It was he who had wanted -to—Bentein and Arne, Bentein and Arne—Beside herself with impatience, -she waited for them to be finished. She longed to see Arne, Arne’s -comely face, to throw herself down beside him and mourn and forget all -else. - -As her mother helped her with her outer wrappings, she kissed her -daughter on the cheek. Kristin was so little used to endearments from -her mother now, it comforted her much—she laid her head upon Ragnfrid’s -shoulder a moment, but she could not weep. - -When they came out of the courtyard, she saw that others were going with -them—Halvdan, Jon from Laugarbru, and Simon and his man. It gave her a -pang, she knew not why, that the two strangers should be coming with -them. - -It was a bitter cold evening, and the snow crackled under foot; in the -black sky the stars crowded thick, glittering like rime. When they had -ridden a little way, they heard yells and howls and furious hoof-beats -from the flats to the south—a little further up the road a whole troop -of horsemen came tearing up behind and swept past them with a ringing of -metal, leaving behind a vapour of reeking, rime-covered horseflesh, -which reached them even where they stood aside in the deep snow. Halvdan -hailed the wild crew—they were youths from the farms in the south of the -parish; they were still keeping Yule-tide and were out trying their -horses. Some, who were too drunk to understand, thundered on at a -gallop, roaring at the top of their voices and hammering on their -shields. But a few grasped the tidings which Halvdan shouted to them; -they fell out of the troop, grew silent, joined Lavrans’ company and -talked in whispers to those in the rear. - -At last they came in sight of Finsbrekken, on the hillside beyond the -Sil river. There were lights about the houses—in the middle of the -courtyard pine-root torches had been planted in a heap of snow, and -their glare lay red over the white slopes, but the black houses looked -as though smeared with clotted blood. One of Arne’s little sisters stood -outside and stamped her feet; she hugged her hands beneath her cloak. -Kristin kissed the tear-stained, half-frozen child. Her heart was heavy -as stone, and it seemed as though she had lead in her limbs, as she -climbed the stairs to the loft-room where they had laid him. - - * * * * * - -The sound of singing and the glitter of many lighted candles met them in -the doorway. In the middle of the room stood the coffin he had been -brought home in, covered with a sheet; boards had been laid on trestles -and the coffin placed upon them. At the head of the bier a young priest -stood with a book in his hands, chanting; round about knelt the mourners -with their faces hidden in their heavy cloaks. - -Lavrans lit his candle at one of those already burning, set it firmly -upon one of the boards of the bier and knelt down. Kristin tried to do -the like, but could not get her candle to stand; so Simon took it and -helped her. As long as the priest went on chanting, all stayed upon -their knees and repeated his words in whispers, their breath hanging -like steam about their mouths, in the bitter cold air of the room. - -When the priest shut his book and the folk rose—there were many gathered -in the death-chamber already—Lavrans went forward to Inga. She stared at -Kristin, and seemed scarce to hear what Lavrans said; she stood holding -the gifts he had handed to her as though she knew not she had aught in -her hand. - -“Are _you_ come, too, Kristin,” she said in a strange, laboured voice. -“Maybe you would see my son, so as he is come back to me?” - -She pushed some of the candles aside, seized Kristin’s arm with a -shaking hand, and with the other swept the napkin from the face of the -dead. - -It was greyish-yellow like clay, and the lips had the hue of lead; they -had parted a little, so that the small, even, bone-white teeth showed -through as in a mocking smile. Under the long eyelashes there was a -gleam of the glassy eyes, and there were some livid stains below the -temples, either marks of blows or the death-spots. - -“Maybe you would kiss him?” asked Inga, as before; and Kristin bent -forward at her bidding and pressed her lips upon the dead man’s cheek. -It was clammy as with dew, and she thought she could feel the least -breath of decay; the body had begun to thaw perhaps with the heat from -all the tapers round. - -Kristin stayed still, lying with her hands on the bier, for she could -not rise. Inga drew the shroud further aside, so that the great gash -above the collarbone came to sight. Then she turned towards the people -and said with a shaking voice: - -“They lie, I see, who say a dead man’s wounds will bleed when he is -touched by him who wrought his death. He is colder now, my boy, and less -comely, than when you met him last down there on the road. You care not -much to kiss him now, I see—but I have heard you scorned not his lips -then.” - -“Inga,” said Lavrans, coming forward, “have you lost your wits—are you -raving—” - -“Oh, aye, you are all so fine, down at Jörundgaard—you were far too rich -a man, you Lavrans Björgulfsön, for my son to dare think of courting -your daughter with honour—and Kristin, too, she thought herself too -good. But she was not too good to run after him on the highway at night -and play with him in the thickets the night he left—ask her yourself and -we will see if she dare deny it here, with Arne lying dead—and all -through her lightness—” - -Lavrans did not ask, he turned to Gyrd: - -“Curb your wife, man—you see she has clean lost her wits—” - -But Kristin lifted her white face and looked desperately about her: - -“I went and met Arne the last evening because he begged me to. But -naught of wrong passed between us.” And then, as she seemed to come to -herself and to understand all, she cried out: “I know not what you mean, -Inga—would you slander Arne, and he lying here—never did he tempt me nor -lure me astray—” - -But Inga laughed aloud: - -“Nay, not Arne! but Bentein Priest—_he_ did not let you play with him -so—ask Gunhild, Lavrans, that washed the dirt off your daughter’s back; -and ask each man who was in the Bishop’s henchmen’s hall on New Year’s -Eve, when Bentein flouted Arne for that he had let her go, and leave him -standing like a fool. She let Bentein walk homeward with her under her -cloak and would have played the same game with him—” - -Lavrans took her by the shoulder and laid his hand over her mouth: - -“Take her away, Gyrd. Shameful it is that you should speak such words by -this good youth’s body—but if all your children lay here dead, I would -not stand and hear you lie about mine—you, Gyrd, must answer for what -this madwoman says—” - -Gyrd took hold of his wife and tried to lead her away, but he said to -Lavrans: - -“’Tis true, though, ’twas of Kristin they talked, Arne and Bentein, when -my son lost his life. Like enough you have not heard it, but there hath -been talk in the parish here too this autumn—” - -Simon struck a blow with his sword upon the clothes-chest beside him: - -“Nay, good folk, now must you find somewhat else to talk of in this -death-chamber than my betrothed—Priest, can you not rule these folk and -keep seemly order here—?” - -The priest—Kristin saw now he was the youngest son from Ulvsvolden, who -had been at home for Yule—opened his book and stood up beside the bier. -But Lavrans shouted that those who had talked about his daughter, let -them be who they might, should be made to swallow their words, and Inga -shrieked: - -“Aye, take my life then, Lavrans, since she has taken all my comfort and -joy—and make her wedding with this knight’s son; but yet do all folk -know that she was wed with Bentein upon the highway—Here—,” and she cast -the sheet Lavrans had given her right across the bier to Kristin, “I -need not Ragnfrid’s linen to lay my Arne in the grave—make head-cloths -of it, you, or keep it to swaddle your roadside brat—and go down and -help Gunhild to moan for the man that’s hanged—” - -Lavrans, Gyrd and the priest took hold of Inga. Simon tried to lift -Kristin, who was lying over the bier. But she thrust his arm fiercely -aside, drew herself up straight upon her knees and cried aloud: - -“So God my Saviour help me, it is false!” and, stretching out one hand, -she held it over the nearest candle on the bier. - -It seemed as if the flame bent and waved aside—Kristin felt all eyes -fixed upon her—what seemed to her a long time went by. And then all at -once she grew aware of a burning pain in her palm, and with a piercing -cry she fell back upon the floor. - -She thought, herself, she swooned—but she was aware that Simon and the -priest raised her. Inga shrieked out something; she saw her father’s -horror-stricken face, and heard the priest shout that no one must take -account of this ordeal—not thus might one call God to witness,—and then -Simon bore her from the room and down the stairs. Simon’s man ran to the -stable, and soon after Kristin was sitting, still half senseless, in -front of Simon on his saddle, wrapped in his coat, and he was riding -toward Jörundgaard as fast as his horse could gallop. - -They were nigh to Jörundgaard when Lavrans came up with them. The rest -of their company came thundering along the road far behind. - -“Say naught to your mother,” said Simon, as he set her down at the door -of the house. “We have heard all too much wild talk to-night; ’tis no -wonder you lost your wits yourself at the last.” - - * * * * * - -Ragnfrid was lying awake when they came in, and she asked how things had -been in the wake chamber. Simon took it upon himself to answer for all. -Aye, there had been many candles and many folk; aye, there had been a -priest—Tormod from Ulvsvolden—Sira Eirik he heard had ridden off to -Hamar this very evening, so there would be no trouble about the burial. - -“We must have a mass said over the lad,” said Ragnfrid; “God strengthen -Inga; the good worthy woman is sorely tried.” - -Lavrans sang the same tune as Simon and in a little Simon said that now -they must all go to rest; “for Kristin is both weary and sorrowful.” - - * * * * * - -After a time, when Ragnfrid slept, Lavrans threw on a few clothes, and -went and seated himself on the edge of his daughters’ bed. He found -Kristin’s hand in the dark and said very gently: - -“Now must you tell me, child, what is true and what is false in all this -talk Inga is spreading?” - -Sobbing, Kristin told him all that had befallen the evening Arne set out -for Hamar. Lavrans said but little. Kristin crept toward him in her bed, -threw her arms around his neck and wailed softly: - -“It _is_ my fault that Arne is dead—’tis but too true, what Inga said—” - -“’Twas Arne himself that begged you to go and meet him,” said Lavrans, -pulling the coverlid up over his daughter’s bare shoulders. “I trow it -was heedless in me to let you two go about together, but I thought the -lad would have known better—I will not blame you two—I know these things -are heavy for you to bear. Yet did I never think that daughter of mine -would fall into ill-fame in this parish of ours—and ’twill go hard with -your mother when she hears these tidings—But that you went to Gunhild -with this and not to me, ’twas so witless a thing—I understand not how -you could behave so foolishly—” - -“I cannot bear to stay here in the Dale any more,” sobbed Kristin, “—not -a soul would I dare look in the face—and all I have brought upon -them—the folks at Romundgaard and at Finsbrekken—” - -“Aye, they will have to see to it, both Gyrd and Sira Eirik,” said -Lavrans, “that these lies about you are buried with Arne. For the rest, -’tis Simon Andressön can best defend you in this business,” said he, and -patted her in the dark. “Think you not he took the matter well and -wisely—” - -“Father”—and Kristin clung close to him and begged piteously and -fervently, “send me to the convent, father. Aye, listen to me—I have -thought of this for long; may be Ulvhild will grow well if I go in her -stead. You know the shoes with beads upon them that I sewed for her in -the autumn—I pricked my fingers sorely, and my hands bled from the sharp -gold-thread—yet I sat and sewed on them, for I thought it was wicked of -me not to love my sister so that I would be a nun to help her—Arne once -asked if I would not. Had I but said ‘Aye’ then, all this would not have -befallen—” - -Lavrans shook his head: - -“Lie down now,” he bade. “You know not yourself what you say, poor -child. Now you must try if you can sleep—” - -But Kristin lay and felt the smart in her burnt hand, and despair and -bitterness over her fate raged in her heart. No worse could have -befallen her had she been the most sinful of women; everyone would -believe—no, she could not, could not bear to stay on here in the Dale. -Horror after horror rose before her—when her mother came to know of -this—and now there was blood between them and their parish priest, -ill-will betwixt all who had been friends around her the whole of her -life. But the worst, the most crushing fear of all fell upon her when -she thought of Simon and of how he had taken her and carried her away -and stood forth for her at home, and borne himself as though she were -his own possession—her father and mother had fallen aside before him as -though she belonged already more to him than to them— - -Then she thought of Arne’s face in the coffin, cold and cruel. She -remembered the last time she was at church, she had seen, as she left, -an open grave that stood waiting for a dead man. The upthrown clods of -earth lay upon the snow hard and cold and grey like iron—to this had she -brought Arne— - -All at once the thought came to her of a summer evening many years -before. She was standing on the balcony of the loft-room at Finsbrekken, -the same room where she had been struck down that night. Arne was -playing ball with some boys in the courtyard below, and the ball was hit -up to her in the balcony. She had held it behind her back, and would not -give it up when Arne came after it; then he had tried to wrest it from -her by strength—and they had fought for it, in the balcony, in the room -amid the chests, with the leather sacks, which hung there full of -clothes, bumping their heads as they knocked against them in their -frolic; they had laughed and struggled over that ball— - -And then, at last, the truth seemed to come home to her: he was dead and -gone, and she should never again see his comely, fearless face nor feel -the touch of his warm, living hands. And she had been so childish and so -heartless as never to give a thought to what it must be for him to lose -her—She wept bitter tears, and felt she had earned all her unhappiness. -But then the thought came back of all that still awaited her, and she -wept anew, for, after all, it seemed to her too hard a punishment— - - * * * * * - -It was Simon who told Ragnfrid of what happened in the corpse chamber at -Brekken the night before. He did not make more of it than he needs must. -But Kristin was so amazed with sorrow and night waking that she felt a -senseless anger against him because he talked as if it were not so -dreadful a thing after all. Besides it vexed her sorely that her father -and mother let Simon behave as though he were master of the house. - -“And you Simon—surely you believe not aught of this?” asked Ragnfrid, -fearfully. - -“No,” replied Simon. “Nor do I deem there is anyone who believes it—they -know you and her and this Bentein; but so little befalls for folk to -talk of in these outparishes—’tis but reason they should fall to on such -a fat titbit. ’Tis for us to teach them Kristin’s good name is too fine -fare for such clowns as they. But pity it was she let herself be so -frighted by his grossness that she went not forthwith to you or to Sira -Eirik with the tale—methinks this bordel-priest would but too gladly -have avowed he meant naught worse than harmless jesting, had you, -Lavrans, got a word with him.” - -Both Kristin’s parents said that Simon was right in this. But she cried -out, stamping her foot: - -“But he threw me down on the ground, I say—I scarce know myself what he -did or did not do—I was beside myself; I can remember naught—for all I -know it may be as Inga says—I have not been well nor happy a single day -since—” - -Ragnfrid shrieked and clasped her hands together; Lavrans started -up—even Simon’s face fell; he looked at her sharply, then went up to her -and took her by the chin. - -Then he laughed: - -“God bless you, Kristin—you had remembered but too well if he had done -you any harm. No marvel if she has been sad and ill since that unhappy -evening she had such an ugly fright—she who had never known aught but -kindness and goodwill before,” said he to the others. “Any but the evil -minded, who would fain think ill rather than good, can see by her eyes -that she is a maid, and no woman.” - -Kristin looked up into her betrothed’s small, steady eyes. She half -lifted her hands—as if to throw them round his neck—when he went on: - -“You must not think, Kristin, that you will not forget this. ’Tis not in -my mind that we should settle down at Formo as soon as we are wed, so -that you would never leave the Dale. No one has the same hue of hair or -mind in both rain and sunshine, said old King Sverre, when they blamed -his Birch-legs for being overbearing in good fortune—” - -Lavrans and Ragnfrid smiled—it was pleasant enough to hear the young man -discourse with the air of a wise old bishop. Simon went on: - -“’Twould ill beseem me to seek to teach you, who are to be my -father-in-law; but so much, maybe, I may make bold to say, that we, my -brothers and sisters and I, were brought up more strictly; we were not -let run about so freely with the house-folk as I have seen that Kristin -is used to. My mother often said that if one played with the cottar -carls’ brats, ’twas like one would get a louse or two in one’s hair in -the end—and there’s somewhat in that saying.” - -Lavrans and Ragnfrid held their peace, but Kristin turned away, and the -wish she had felt but a moment before to clasp Simon round the neck, had -quite left her. - - * * * * * - -Towards noon, Lavrans and Simon took their ski and went out to see to -some snares up on the mountain ridges. The weather was fine -outside—sunshine, and the cold not so great. Both men were glad to slip -away from all the sadness and weeping at home, and so they went -far—right up among the bare hilltops. - -They lay in the sun under a crag and drank and ate; Lavrans spoke a -little of Arne—he had loved the boy well, Simon chimed in, praised the -dead lad, and said he thought it not strange that Kristin grieved for -her foster brother. Then Lavrans said: maybe they should not press her -much, but should give her a little time to get back her peace of mind -before they drank the betrothal ale. She had said somewhat of wishing to -go into a convent for a time. - -Simon sat bolt upright, and gave a long whistle. - -“You like not the thought?” asked Lavrans. - -“Nay, but I do, I do,” said the other hastily. “Methinks it is the best -way, dear father-in-law. Send her to the Sisters in Oslo for a -year—there will she learn how folk talk one of the other out in the -world. I know a little of some of the maidens who are there,” he said -laughing. “_They_ would not throw themselves down and die of grief if -two mad younkers tore each other to pieces for their sakes. Not that I -would have such an one for wife—but methinks Kristin will be none the -worse for meeting new folks.” - -Lavrans put the rest of the food into the wallet and said, without -looking at the youth: - -“Methinks you love Kristin—?” - -Simon laughed a little and did not look at Lavrans: - -“Be sure, I know her worth—and yours too,” he said quickly and -shamefacedly, as he got up and took his ski. “None that I have ever met -would I sooner wed with—” - - * * * * * - -A little before Easter, when there was still snow enough for sleighing -down the Dale and the ice still bore on Mjösen, Kristin journeyed -southward for the second time. Simon came up to bear her company—so now -she journeyed driving in a sleigh, well wrapped in furs and with father -and betrothed beside her; and after them followed her father’s men and -sledges with her clothes, and gifts of food and furs for the Abbess and -the Sisters of Nonneseter. - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - BOOK TWO - - - - - - - THE GARLAND - - - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - 1 - -AASMUND BJÖRGULFSÖN’S church-boat stood in round the point of Hovedö -early one Sunday at the end of April, while the bells were ringing in -the cloister-church and were answered from across the bay by the chimes -of bells from the town, now louder and now fainter as the breeze rose or -fell. - -Light, fluted clouds were floating over the high, pale-blue heavens, and -the sun was glittering on the dancing ripples of the water. It was quite -spring-like along the shores; the fields lay almost bare of snow, and -over the leaf-tree thickets the light had a yellow shimmer and the -shadows were blue. But in the pine-forests up on the high ridges, which -framed in the settled lands of Akersbygd, there were glimpses of snow, -and on the far blue fells to the westward, beyond the fjord, there still -showed many flashes of white. - -Kristin was standing in the bow of the boat with her father, and Gyrid, -Aasmund’s wife. She gazed at the town, with all the light-hued churches -and stone buildings that rose above the swarm of grey-brown wooden -houses and bare tree-tops. The wind ruffled the skirts of her cloak and -snatched at her hair beneath her hood. - -They had left the cattle out at Skog the day before, and a great longing -had come on her to be at Jörundgaard. It would be a long time still -before they could let the cattle out there—she longed with tender pity -for the lean, winter-worn cows in the dark byres; they would have to -wait and suffer a long while yet. Her mother, Ulvhild, who had slept in -her arms each night all these years, little Ramborg—she yearned so much -for them; she longed for all the folk at home, and the horses and the -dogs, for Kortelin, whom Ulvhild was to have while she was gone, and for -her father’s hawks as they sat there on their perches with their hoods -over their heads. She saw the horse-hide gloves that hung beside them to -wear when you took them on to your wrist, and the ivory staves to -scratch them with. - -It was as if all the woe of the last winter had gone far away from her -and she only saw her home as it used to be. They had told her, too, that -none thought ill of her in the parish—Sira Eirik did not believe that -story; he was angry and grieved at what Bentein had done. Bentein had -fled from Hamar; ’twas said he had gone to Sweden. So things were not so -bad between them and their neighbour as she had feared. - -On the journey down to Oslo they had stayed as guests at Simon’s home, -and she had come to know his mother and sisters—Sir Andres was in Sweden -still. She had not felt at ease there, and her dislike of the Dyfrin -folk was all the stronger that she could think of no good ground for it. -All the way thither, she had said to herself that they had no cause to -be proud or to think themselves better than her kin—no man knew aught of -Reidar Darre, the Birch-leg, before King Sverre got him the widow of the -Dyfrin Baron to wife. But lo! they were not proud at all; and when Simon -himself spoke one night of his forefather: “I have found out now for -sure—he was a comb-maker—so ’tis as though you were to come into a -kingly stock—almost, Kristin,” said he. “Take heed to your tongue, boy,” -said his mother but they all laughed together. It vexed her strangely -when she thought of her father; he laughed much, if Simon gave him the -least cause—a thought came to her dimly that maybe her father would -gladly have had more laughter in his life—But ’twas not to her mind that -he should like Simon so much. - -They had all been at Skog over Easter. She had found that her uncle was -a hard master to his farmers and serving-folk—she had met one and -another who asked after her mother and spoke lovingly of Lavrans: they -had better times when he lived here. Aasmund’s mother, Lavrans’ -step-mother, lived on the manor in a house by herself; she was not so -very old, but sickly and failing. Lavrans had but seldom spoken of her -at home. Once when Kristin asked him if he had had a hard step-mother, -her father answered: “She never did much to me of either good or ill.” - -Kristin felt for her father’s hand, and he pressed hers: - -“You will be happy soon enough, my daughter, with the good Sisters—you -will have other things to think of besides longing to be home with us—” - - * * * * * - -They sailed so near by the town that the smell of tar and salt fish was -borne out to them from the wharves. Gyrid named all the churches, the -traders’ quarters and the open places which ran up from the water’s -edge—Kristin remembered nothing from the time she was here before but -the great heavy towers of St. Halvard’s church. They sailed westward -past the whole town and laid to at the convent pier. - -Kristin walked between her father and her uncle through a cluster of -warehouses, and came out upon a road which led up through the fields. -Simon came after, leading Gyrid by the hand. The serving-folk stayed -behind to help some men from the convent load the baggage upon a cart. - -Nonneseter and the whole Leiran quarter lay within the boundaries of the -town grazing-grounds, but there were but a few clusters of houses here -and there along the roadside. The larks were trilling over their heads -in the pale-blue sky, and the small yellow flowers of the coltsfoot were -thickly sprinkled over the wan clay slopes, but along by the fences the -roots of the grass were green. - -When they were through the gate and were come into the cloister, all the -nuns came marching two by two towards them from the church, while song -and music streamed out after them through the open door. - -Ill at ease, Kristin watched the many black-robed women with white linen -wimples about their faces. She curtsied low, and the men bowed with -their hats held close to their breasts. After the nuns came a flock of -young maidens—some of them but children—in gowns of undyed wadmal, their -waists bound with belts of twined black and white, and their hair -braided tightly back from their faces with cords of the same black and -white. Without thinking, Kristin put on a bold and forward look as the -young maids passed, for she felt bashful, and was afraid they must think -she looked countrified and foolish. - -The convent was so glorious that she was quite overcome. All the -buildings round the inner court were of grey stone; on the north side -the main-wall of the church stood up high above the other houses; it had -two tiers of roofs and towers at the west end. The court itself was laid -with stone flags, and round the whole there ran a covered way whose roof -was borne on pillars fairly wrought. In the midst of the court stood a -stone statue of the Mater Misericordiæ, spreading her cloak over some -kneeling figures. - -Then a lay-sister came and prayed them to go with her to the Abbess’ -parlour. The Lady Groa Guttormsdatter was a tall and stoutly-made old -woman—she would have been comely had she not had so many hairs about her -mouth. Her voice was deep like a man’s. But her bearing was gentle and -kindly—she called to mind that she had known Lavrans’ father and mother, -and asked after his wife and his other children. Last she spoke to -Kristin in friendly wise: - -“I have heard good report of you, and you look to be wise and well -nurtured—sure I am you will give us no cause for miscontent. I have -heard that you are plighted to this good and well-born man, Simon -Andressön, whom I see here—it seems to us that ’twas wise counsel of -your father and your husband to be, to grant you leave to live here -awhile in the Virgin Mary’s house, that you may learn to obey and serve -before you are called to rule and to command. Now would I have you lay -to heart this counsel: that you learn to find joy in prayer and the -worship of God, that you may use yourself in all your doings to remember -your Creator, God’s gentle Mother, and all the Saints who have given us -the best patterns of strength, uprightness, faithfulness and all the -virtues you must show forth in guiding your people and your goods and -nurturing your children. And you will learn in this house, too, to take -good heed of time, for here every hour has its use and its task also. -Many young maids and women love all too well to lie abed late of a -morning, and sit long at table of an evening in idle talk—yet look not -you as you were one of these. Yet may you learn much in the year you are -here that may profit you both here on earth and in our heavenly home.” - -Kristin curtsied and kissed her hand. After that Lady Groa bade Kristin -go with a monstrously fat old nun, whom she called Sister Potentia, over -to the nuns’ refectory. The men and Gyrid she asked to dine with her in -another house. - -The refectory was a great and fair room with a stone floor and pointed -windows with glass panes. There was a doorway into another room, where, -Kristin could see, there must be glass windows too, for the sun shone -in. - -The Sisters were already seated at the table waiting for their food—the -elder nuns upon a cushioned stone-bench along the wall under the -windows; the younger Sisters and the bareheaded maidens in light-hued -wadmal dresses sat upon a wooden bench on the outer side of the board. -In the next room a board was laid too; this was for the commoners and -the lay-servants; there were a few old men amongst them. These folk did -not wear the convent habit, but were none the less clad soberly in dark -raiment. - -Sister Potentia showed Kristin to a seat on the outer bench, but went -and placed herself near to the Abbess’ high-seat at the end of the -board—the high-seat was empty to-day. - -All rose, both in this room and in the side room, while the Sisters said -grace. After that a fair, young nun went and stood at a lectern placed -in the doorway between the two chambers. And while the lay-sisters in -the greater room, and two of the youngest nuns in the side room, bore in -food and drink, the nun read in a high and sweet voice, and without -stopping or tripping at a single word, the story of St. Theodora and St. -Didymus. - -At first Kristin was thinking most of minding her table-manners, for she -saw all the Sisters and the young maids bore them as seemly and ate as -nicely as though they had been sitting at the finest feast. There was -abundance of the best food and drink, but all helped themselves -modestly, and dipped but the very tips of their fingers into the dishes; -no one spilled the broth either upon the cloths or upon their garments, -and all cut up the meat so small that they did not soil their mouths, -and ate with so much care that not a sound was to be heard. - -Kristin grew hot with fear that she might not seem as well-behaved as -the others; she was feeling ill at ease, too, in her bright dress in the -midst of all these women in black and white—she fancied that they were -all looking at her. So when she had to eat a fat piece of breast of -mutton, and was holding it by the bone with two fingers, while cutting -morsels off with her right hand, and taking care to handle the knife -lightly and neatly—suddenly the whole slipped from her fingers; her -slice of bread and the meat flew on to the cloth, and the knife fell -clattering on the stone flags. - -The noise sounded fearfully in the quiet room. Kristin flushed red as -fire and would have bent to pick up the knife, but a lay-sister came -noiselessly in her sandals and gathered up the things. - -But Kristin could eat no more. She found, too, that she had cut one of -her fingers, and she was afraid of bleeding upon the cloth; so she sat -with her hand wrapped in a corner of her skirt, and thought of how she -was staining the goodly light-blue dress she had gotten for the journey -to Oslo—and she did not dare to raise her eyes from her lap. - -Howbeit, in a little she began to listen more to what the nun was -reading. When the ruler found he could not shake the steadfastness of -the maid, Theodora—she would neither make offerings to the false gods -nor let herself be given in marriage—he bade them lead her to a brothel. -Yet while on the way thither he exhorted her to think of her free born -kindred and her honoured father and mother, upon whom everlasting shame -must now be brought, and gave his word she should be let live in peace -and stay a maid, if she would but join the service of a heathen goddess, -whom they called Diana. - -Theodora answered fearlessly: “Chastity is like a lamp, but love of God -is the flame; were I to serve the devilwoman whom you call Diana, my -chastity were no more worth than a rusty lamp without flame or oil. Thou -callest me freeborn, but we are all born bondsmen, since our first -parents sold us to the devil; Christ has bought me free, and I am bound -to serve him, so that I cannot wed me with his foes. He will guard his -dove; but should he even suffer you to break my body, that is the temple -of his Holy Spirit, it shall not be counted to me for shame if so be -that I consent not to betray what is His into the hands of his enemies.” - -Kristin’s heart began to throb, for this in some way reminded her of her -meeting with Bentein—she was smitten by the thought that this perhaps -was her sin—she had not for a moment thought of God nor prayed for His -help. And now Sister Cecilia read further of St. Didymus. He was a -Christian knight, but heretofore he had kept his faith hidden from all -save a few friends. He went now to the house where the maid was; he gave -money to the woman who owned the house, and thus was the first to be let -in to Theodora. She fled into a corner like a frightened hare, but -Didymus hailed her as his sister and as his Lord’s bride and said he was -come to save her. Then he spake with her a while, saying: was it not -meet that a brother should wage his life for his sister’s honour? And at -last she did as he bade her, changed clothes with him, and let herself -be clad in Didymus’ coat of mail; he pulled the hat down over her eyes -and drew the cape up about her chin, and bade her go out with her face -hidden, like a youth who is abashed at having been in such a place. - -Kristin thought of Arne, and was scarce able to hold back her tears. She -gazed straight before her with wet eyes while the nun was reading to the -end—how Didymus was led to the place of execution, and how Theodora came -hastening down from the mountains, cast herself at the headsman’s feet -and begged that she might die in his stead. And now the holy man and -maid strove together who should first win the crown; and both were -beheaded on the one day. This was the eight and twentieth day of April -in the year 304 after the birth of Christ, in Antioch, as was written by -St. Ambrosius. - -When they rose from the table, Sister Potentia came and patted Kristin -kindly on the cheek: “Aye, you are longing for your mother, I can well -believe.” And on that Kristin’s tears began to fall. But the nun made as -though she did not see them, and led Kristin to the hostel where she was -to dwell. - -It was in one of the stone houses by the cloisters; a goodly room with -glass windows and a big fireplace in the short wall at the far end. -Along one main-wall stood six bedsteads, and along the other all the -maidens’ chests. - -Kristin wished they would let her sleep with one of the little girls, -but Sister Potentia called a fat, fair-haired, grown maiden: “Here is -Ingebjörg Filippusdatter, who is to be your bed-fellow—you must see now -and learn to know each other.” And with that she went out. - -Ingebjörg took Kristin at once by the hand and began to talk. She was -not very tall, and was much too fat, above all in her face—her cheeks -were so plump that her eyes looked quite small. But her skin was clear, -red and white, and her hair was yellow as gold, and so curly that her -thick plaits twisted and twined together like strands of rope, and small -locks kept ever slipping from under her snood. - -She began straightway to question Kristin about many things, but never -waited for an answer; instead she talked about herself, reckoned out the -whole of her kindred in all its branches—they were naught but fine and -exceeding rich folk. She was betrothed, too, to a rich and mighty man, -Einar Einarssön of Aganæs—but he was far too old, and twice widowed; -this was her greatest sorrow, she said. Yet could Kristin not mark that -she took it much to heart. Then she talked a little of Simon Darre—’twas -a marvel how closely she had looked him over in the short moment when -they were passing in the cloisters. After that she had a mind to look -into Kristin’s chest—but first she opened her own and brought forth all -her clothes. While they were ransacking their chests, Sister Cecilia -came in—she rebuked them and said that this was no seemly Sunday -pastime. This made Kristin unhappy again—she had never been taken to -task by any but her mother, and that was not the same as being chid by a -stranger. - -Ingebjörg was not abashed.—After they were come to bed in the evening, -she lay chattering until Kristin fell asleep. Two elder lay-sisters -slept in a corner of the room; they were to see that the maidens did not -take their shifts off at night—for it was against the rules for the -girls to undress entirely—and to see that they were up in time for -matins in the church. But else they did not trouble themselves to keep -order in the hostel, and made as though they marked it not when the -maids were lying talking, or eating the dainties which they had hidden -in their chests. - -When Kristin was awakened next morning, Ingebjörg was in the midst of a -long tale already, so that Kristin almost wondered whether the other had -been talking the whole night through. - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - 2 - -The foreign merchants who lay in Oslo during the summer and trafficked -there, came to the town in the spring about Holy Rood Day, which is ten -days before the Halvards-wake Fair. To this folks streamed in from all -the parishes between Mjösen and the Swedish marches, so that the town -swarmed with people in the first weeks of May. This was the best time to -buy from the strangers, before they had sold too many of their wares. - -Sister Potentia had the care of the marketing for Nonneseter, and she -had promised Ingebjörg and Kristin that they should go with her down to -the town the day before the Halvards-wake. But about midday some of -Sister Potentia’s kin came to the convent to see her; and so she could -not go that day. Then Ingebjörg begged and prayed till at last she let -them go alone—though it was against the rules. An old peasant who was a -commoner of the convent was sent with them as escort—Haakon was his -name. - -Kristin had been three weeks now at Nonneseter, and in all that time she -had not set foot outside the convent grounds and gardens. She wondered -to see how spring-like it was outside. The little woods out in the -fields were pale-green; the wood anemones grew thick as a carpet round -the light-coloured tree stems; white fair-weather clouds came sailing up -over the islands in the fjord, and the water lay fresh and blue, -slightly ruffled here and there by the light flaws of wind. - -Ingebjörg skipped about, plucked bunches of leaves from the trees and -smelt them, and peeped round after the folk they met; till Haakon chid -her—were these seemly goings-on for a well-born maid, and in the convent -habit too? The maidens were made to walk just behind him, hand in hand, -quietly and seemly; but Ingebjörg used her eyes and her tongue all the -same—Haakon was somewhat deaf. Kristin, too, was wearing the novices’ -garb now—an undyed, light-grey wadmal dress, woollen belt and head-band, -and a plain, dark-blue cloak over all, with a hood turned up so that the -plaited hair was quite hid. Haakon strode in front with a stout -brass-knobbed staff in his hand. He was dressed in a long black gown, -had a leaden Agnus Dei hanging on his breast and an image of St. -Christopher in his hat—his white hair and beard were so well brushed -that they shone like silver in the sunshine. - -The upper part of the town between the Nunsbeck and the bishop’s palace -was a quiet neighbourhood; there were here neither shops nor taverns; -most of the dwelling-places belonged to great folk from the parishes -around, and the houses turned dark, windowless, timber gables to the -street. But on this day whole crowds of people were roaming about the -roads even up here, and the serving-folk stood loitering about the -courtyard gates gossiping with the passers-by. - -When they were come out near the bishop’s palace, there was a great -crush upon the place in front of Halvard’s Church and the -Olav-cloister—booths had been set up on the grassy slopes, and there -were showmen making trained dogs jump through barrel-hoops. But Haakon -would not have the maids stand and look at these things, and he would -not let Kristin go into the church—he said ’twould be better worth her -seeing on the great Feast-day itself. - -As they came down over the open space by St. Clement’s Church Haakon -took them by the hands, for here was the greatest press of folk coming -from the wharves or out from the alleys between the traders Yards. The -maidens were bound for the Mickle Yard, where the shoemakers plied their -trade. For Ingebjörg had found the clothes Kristin had brought from home -very good and sightly, but she said the shoes she had with her from the -Dale were not fit to wear for best. And when Kristin had seen the shoes -from the outland Ingebjörg had in her chest—more pairs than one—she felt -she could not rest until she too had bought some like them. - -The Mickle Yard was one of the largest in Oslo; it stretched from the -wharves up to the Souters’ Alley, with more than forty houses round two -great courts. And now they had set up booths with wadmal roofs in the -courts as well. Above the roofs of these tents there rose a statue of -St. Crispinus. Within the courts was a great throng of folk buying and -selling, women running between the kitchens with pots and pails, -children getting in the way of folks’ feet, horses being led in and out -of the stables, and serving-men carrying packages to and from the -warehouses. From the balconies of the lofts above, where the finest -wares were sold, shoemakers and their apprentices shouted to the two -maids and dangled small gaily-coloured or gold-embroidered shoes before -them. - -But Ingebjörg made her way toward the loft where Didrek the shoemaker -sat; he was a German, but had a Norse wife and owned a house in the -Mickle Yard. - -The old man was standing bargaining with an esquire wearing a -traveller’s cloak, and a sword at his belt; but Ingebjörg went forward -unabashed, bowed and said: - -“Good sir, will you not suffer us of your courtesy to have speech with -Didrek first; we must be home in our convent by vespers; you, perchance, -have no such great haste?” - -The esquire bowed and stepped aside. Didrek nudged Ingebjörg with his -elbow and asked laughing whether they danced so much in the convent that -she had worn out already all the shoon she had of him the year before. -Ingebjörg nudged him again and said they were still unworn, thank -heaven, but here was this other maid—and she pulled Kristin forward. -Then Didrek and his lad bore forth a box into the balcony; and out of it -he brought forth shoes, each pair finer than the last. They had Kristin -sit down upon a chest that he might try them on her—there were white -shoes and brown and red and green and blue, shoes with painted wooden -heels and shoes without heels, shoes with buckles and shoes with silken -laces in them, shoes in leather of two or three hues. Kristin felt she -would fain have had them all. But they cost so dear she was quite -dismayed—not one pair cost less than a cow at home. Her father had given -her a purse with a mark of silver in counted money when he left—that was -for pocket money, and Kristin had deemed it great riches. But she soon -saw that Ingebjörg thought it no great store to go a marketing with. - -Ingebjörg, too, must try on some shoes for the jest of it; that cost no -money, said Didrek laughing. She did buy one pair of leaf-green shoes -with red heels—she said she must have them on trust, but then Didrek -knew her and her folks. - -Kristin thought, indeed, that Didrek liked this none too well, and that -he was vexed too, that the tall esquire in the travelling coat had left -the loft—much time had been taken up with the trying-on. So she chose -for herself a pair of heel-less shoes of thin purple-blue leather, -broidered with silver and with rose-red stones. But she liked not the -green silk laces in them. Didrek said he could change these, and took -the maids with him into a room at the back of the loft. Here he had -coffers full of silk ribbons and small silver buckles—’twas against the -law, strictly, for shoemakers to trade in these things—and the ribbons, -too, were many of them too broad and the buckles too big for foot-gear. - -They felt they had to buy one or two of the smaller things, and when -they had drunk a cup of sweet wine with Didrek and he had packed the -things they had bought into a wadmal cloth, the hour was grown somewhat -late, and Kristin’s purse much lighter. - -When they had come to the Östre Stræte again the sunlight was turned -golden and, by reason of the traffic in the town, the dust hung over the -street in a bright haze. The evening was warm and fair, and folk were -coming down from Eikaberg with great armfuls of green branches wherewith -to deck their houses for the holy day. And now the whim took Ingebjörg -that they should go out to the Gjeita bridge—at fair-times there was -wont to be so much merry-making in the fields on the further side of the -river, both jugglers and fiddlers—nay, Ingebjörg had heard there was -come a whole shipful of outlandish beasts that were being shown in -booths down by the waterside. - -Haakon had had a pot or two of German beer at the Mickle Yard, and was -now easy and mild of mood; so when the maidens took him by the arm and -begged him sweetly, he gave way at last, and the three went out towards -Eikaberg. - -Beyond the stream there were but a few small dwelling-places scattered -about the green slopes between the river and the steep hillside. They -went past the Minorite monastery, and Kristin’s heart sank with shame as -she bethought her how she had meant to give most of her silver for the -good of Arne’s soul. But she had had no mind to speak of it to the -priest at Nonneseter; she feared to be asked questions—she had thought -that she could maybe come out to the barefoot friars and find if by -chance Brother Edwin were in the cloister now. She was fain to meet him -again—but she knew not, either, what would be the most seemly way to get -speech with one of the monks and tell him her desire. And now she had so -little money she knew not whether she could buy a mass—maybe she must be -content to offer a thick wax-candle. - -Of a sudden they heard a fearful yell from countless throats down by the -shore—a storm seemed to sweep over the press of human-beings down -there—and now the whole mass rushed towards them shrieking and shouting. -All seemed wild with terror, and some of the runners-by cried out to -Haakon and the maids that the pards were loose— - -They set out running back to the bridge, and heard folk shout to one -another that a booth had fallen down and two pards had broken loose—some -spoke of a serpent, too— - -The nearer they came to the bridge, the worse became the crush. Just in -front of them a woman dropped a little child out of her arms—Haakon -stood astride the little one to shield it—soon after they caught sight -of him far away with the child in his arms, and then they lost him. - -At the narrow bridge the press of people was so great that the maids -were pushed right out into a field. They saw folks run down to the river -bank; young men jumped in and swam, but elder folk sprang into the boats -that lay there, and these were overladen in a trice. - -Kristin tried to make Ingebjörg hear—she cried out to her that they -should run up to the Minorite cloister—they could see the Grey Friars -come running out from it, striving to gather in the terrified people. -Kristin was not so frightened as the other girl—they saw nothing, -either, of the wild beasts,—but Ingebjörg had quite lost her wits. And -now, when there was a fresh uproar in the throng, and it was driven back -by a whole troop of men from the nearest dwellings who had armed -themselves and forced their way back over the bridge, some riding and -some running, and Ingebjörg nigh coming under the feet of a horse—she -gave a scream and set off running for the woods. Kristin had never -thought the girl could have run so fast—it made her think of a hunted -pig— She ran after her, so that they two, at least, should not be -parted. - -They were deep in the woods before Kristin could get Ingebjörg to -stop—they were on a little path which seemed to lead down toward the -road to Trælaborg. They stood still for a little to get their breath -again; Ingebjörg was snivelling and weeping, and said she dared not go -back alone through the town and all the way out to the convent. - -Nor did Kristin deem that this would be well, with the streets in such -commotion; she thought they must try to find a house where they might -hire a lad to take them home. Ingebjörg thought there was a bridle-path -to Trælaborg further down by the shore, and along it there lay some -houses, she knew. So they followed the path downward, away from the -town. - -Fearful and uneasy as they both were, it seemed to them they had gone -far ere at last they came to a farmstead lying off in a field. In the -courtyard there they found a band of men sitting drinking at a board -under some ash trees, while a woman came and went, bearing out tankards -to them. She looked wonderingly and sourly at the two maids in convent -habit, and none of the men seemed to have a mind to go with them when -Kristin told their need. At last, though, two young men stood up and -said they would bring the girls to Nonneseter, if Kristin would give -them a silver ducat. - -She heard by their speech that they were not Norse, but she thought they -seemed honest folk enough. ’Twas a shameless sum they asked, she -thought, but Ingebjörg was beside herself with fright and she saw not -how they could go home alone so late; and so she struck the bargain. - -No sooner were they come to the forest path than the men drew closer to -them and began to talk. Kristin liked this but ill, but she would not -show she was afraid; so she answered them quietly, told of the pards and -asked the men where they were from. She spied about her, too, and made -as though she looked each moment to meet the serving-men they had had -with them—she talked as though there had been a whole band. As they went -on the men spoke less and less—nor did she understand much of their -speech. - -After a while she became aware that they were not going the same way she -had come with Ingebjörg—the course their path took was not the same; -’twas more northerly—and she deemed they had already gone much too far. - -Deep within her there smouldered a fear she dared not let herself think -upon—but it strengthened her strangely to have Ingebjörg with her, for -the girl was so foolish that Kristin knew she must trust in herself -alone to find a way out for them both. Under her cloak, she managed by -stealth to pull out the cross with the holy relic she had had of her -father; she clasped it in her hand, praying fervently in her heart that -they might soon meet someone, and in all ways sought to gather all her -courage and to make no sign. - -Just after this she saw that the path came out on to a road and there -was a clearing in the forest. The town and the bay lay far below. The -men had led them astray, whether wilfully or because they knew not the -paths—they were high up on the mountain-side and far north of Gjeita -bridge, which she could see below; the road they had now met seemed to -lead thither. - -Thereupon she stopped, drew forth her purse and made to count out ten -silver pennies into her hand. - -“Now, good fellows,” said she, “we need you not any more to guide us; -for we know the way from here. We thank you for your pains, and here is -the wage we bargained for. God be with you, good friends.” - -The men looked at one another so foolishly, that Kristin was near -smiling. Then one said with an ugly grin that the road down to the -bridge was exceeding lonely; ’twas not wise for them to go alone. - -“None, surely, are such nithings or such fools that they would seek to -stop two maids, and they in the convent habit,” answered Kristin. “We -would fain go our own way alone now—” and she held out the money. - -The man caught her by the wrist, thrust his face close up to hers, and -said somewhat of “kuss” and “beutel”—Kristin made out he was saying they -might go in peace if she but gave him a kiss and her purse. - -She remembered Bentein’s face close to hers like this, and such a fear -came on her for a moment that she grew faint and sick. But she pressed -her lips together, and called in her heart upon God and the Virgin -Mary—and in the same instant she thought she heard hoof-falls on the -path from the north. - -She struck the man in the face with her purse so that he staggered—and -then she pushed him in the breast with all her strength so that he -tumbled off the path and down into the wood. The other German gripped -her from behind, tore the purse from her hand and her chain from her -neck so that it broke—she was near falling, but clutched the man and -tried to get her cross from him again. He struggled to get free—the -robbers, too, had now heard folk coming—Ingebjörg screamed with all her -might, and the riders on the path came galloping forward at full speed. -They burst out of the thicket—three of them—and Ingebjörg ran shrieking -to meet them as they sprang from their horses. Kristin knew one for the -esquire of Didrek’s loft; he drew his sword, seized the German she was -struggling with by the back of the neck, and threshed him with the flat -of his blade. His men ran after the other, caught him and beat him to -their hearts’ content. - -Kristin leaned against the face of the rock; she was trembling now that -all was over, but what she felt most was marvel that her prayer had -brought such speedy help. Then she caught sight of Ingebjörg, who had -thrown back her hood, hung her cape loosely over her shoulders and was -in the act of bringing her heavy, shining plaits of hair forward into -sight upon her breast. At this sight Kristin burst out a-laughing—her -strength left her and she had to hold on to a tree to keep her feet, for -’twas as though the marrow of her bones was turned to water, she felt so -weak; and so she trembled and laughed and cried. - -The esquire came forward and laid a hand warily upon her shoulder: - -“You were more frightened, I see, than you would show,” said he, and his -voice was kindly and gentle. “But now you must take a hold on -yourself—you bore you so bravely while yet there was peril—” - -Kristin could only look up at him and nod. He had fine, bright eyes set -in a narrow, pale-brown face, and coal-black hair clipped somewhat short -over the forehead and behind the ears. - -Ingebjörg had her hair in order now; she came and thanked the stranger -with many fair words. He stood there still with a hand on Kristin’s -shoulder while he answered her comrade. - -“We must take these birds along,” said he to his men, who stood holding -the two Germans—they were from a Rostock ship, they said—“we must have -them along with us to the town that they may be sent to the black hole. -But first must we take these two maids home to the convent. You can find -some thongs, I trow, to bind them with—” - -“Mean you the maids, Erlend?” asked one of the men. They were young, -stout, well-appointed yeomen, and were in high feather from the tussle. - -Their master frowned and seemed about to answer sharply, but Kristin -laid her hand upon his sleeve: - -“Let them go, dear sir!” She shuddered a little. “Loth would we be, in -truth, both my sister and I, this matter should be talked of.” - -The stranger looked down at her—he bit his lip and nodded, as though he -understood her. Then he gave each of the captives a blow on the nape -with the flat of his sword which sent them sprawling forwards. “Run for -it then,” he said, kicking them, and both scrambled up and took to their -heels as fast as they could. Then he turned again to the maidens and -asked if they would please to ride. - -Ingebjörg let herself be lifted into Erlend’s saddle, but it was soon -plain that she could not keep her seat,—she slid down again at once. He -looked at Kristin doubtfully, and she said that she was used to ride on -a man’s saddle. - -He took hold of her below the knees and lifted her up. A sweet and happy -thrill ran through her to feel how carefully he held her from him, as -though afraid to come near her—at home no one ever minded how tight they -held her when they helped her on to a horse. She felt marvellously -honoured and uplifted— - -The knight—as Ingebjörg called him, though he had but silver spurs—now -offered that maiden his hand, and his men sprang to their saddles. -Ingebjörg would have it that they should ride round the town to the -northcard, below the Ryenberg and Martestokke, and not through the -streets. First she gave as a reason that Sir Erlend and his men were -fully armed—were they not? The knight answered gravely that the ban on -carrying arms was not over strict at any time—for travellers at -least—and now everyone in the town was out on a wild beast hunt—Then she -said she was fearful of the pards. Kristin saw full well that Ingebjörg -was fain to go by the longest and loneliest road, that she might have -the more talk with Erlend. - -“This is the second time this evening that we hinder you, good sir,” -said she, and Erlend answered soberly: - -“’Tis no matter, I am bound no further than to Gerdarud to-night—and -’tis light the whole night long.” - -It liked Kristin well that he jested not, nor bantered them, but talked -to her as though she were his like or even more than his like. She -thought of Simon; she had not met other young men of courtly breeding. -But ’twas true, this man seemed older than Simon— - -They rode down into the valley below the Ryenberg hills and up along the -back. The path was narrow, and the young bushes swung wet, -heavily-scented branches against her—it was a little darker down here, -and the air was cool and the leaves all dewy along the beck-path. - -They went slowly, and the horses’ hoofs sounded muffled on the damp, -grass-grown path. She rocked gently in the saddle; behind her she heard -Ingebjörg’s chatter and the stranger’s deep, quiet voice. He said little -and answered as if his mind wandered—it sounded almost as if his mood -were like her own, she thought—she felt strangely drowsy, yet safe and -content now that all the day’s chances were safely over. - -It was like waking to come out of the woods, on to the green slopes -under the Martestokke hills. The sun was gone down and the town and the -bay lay below them in a clear, pale light—above the Aker ridges there -was a light-yellow strip edging the pale-blue sky. In the evening hush, -sounds were borne to them from far off as they came out of the cool -depths of the wood—a cart-wheel creaked somewhere upon a road, dogs on -the farms bayed at each other across the valley. And from the woods -behind them birds trilled and sang full-throated, now the sun was down. - -Smoke was in the air from the fires on lands under clearance, and out in -a field there was the red flare of a bonfire; against the great ruddy -flame the clearness of the night seemed a kind of darkness. - -They were riding between the fences of the convent-fields when the -stranger spoke to her again. He asked her what she thought best; should -he go with her to the gate and ask for speech of the Lady Groa, so that -he might tell her how this thing had come about. But Ingebjörg would -have it that they should steal in through the church; then maybe they -might slip into the convent without anyone knowing they had been away so -much too long—it might be her kinsfolks’ visit had made Sister Potentia -forget them. - -The open place before the west door of the church was empty and still, -and it came not into Kristin’s thoughts to wonder at this, though there -was wont to be much life there of an evening with folks from the -neighbourhood who came to the nuns’ church, and round about were houses -wherein lay-servants and commoners dwelt. They said farewell to Erlend -here. Kristin stood and stroked his horse; it was black and had a comely -head and soft eyes—she thought it like Morvin, whom she had been wont to -ride at home when she was a child. - -“What is your horse’s name, sir?” she asked, as it turned its head from -her and snuffed at its master’s breast. - -“Bayard,” said he, looking at her over the horse’s neck. “You ask my -horse’s name, but not mine?” - -“I would be fain to know your name, sir,” she replied, and bent her head -a little. - -“I am called Erlend Nikulaussön,” said he. - -“Then, Erlend Nikulaussön, have thanks for your good service this -night,” said Kristin and proffered him her hand. - -Of a sudden she flushed red, and half withdrew her hand from his. - -“Lady Aashild Gautesdatter of Dovre, is she your kinswoman?” she asked. - -To her wonder she saw that he too blushed—he dropped her hand suddenly -and answered: - -“She is my mother’s sister. And I am Erlend Nikulaussön of Husaby.” He -looked at her so strangely that she became still more abashed, but she -mastered herself and said: - -“’Tis true I should have thanked you with better words, Erlend -Nikulaussön; but I know not what I can say to you—” - -He bowed before her, and she felt that now she must bid him good-bye, -though she would fain have spoken more with him. In the church-door she -turned, and as she saw that Erlend still stood beside his horse, she -waved her hand to him in farewell. - - * * * * * - -The convent was in a hubbub, and all within in great dismay. Haakon had -sent word home by a horseman, while he himself went seeking the maids in -the town; and folks had been sent from the convent to help him. The nuns -had heard the wild beasts had killed and eaten up two children down in -the town. This, to be sure, was a lie, and the pard—there was only -one—had been caught before vespers by some men from the King’s palace. - - * * * * * - -Kristin stood with bent head and kept silence while the Abbess and -Sister Potentia poured out their wrath upon the two maidens. She felt as -though something were asleep within her. Ingebjörg wept and began to -make excuse—they had gone out with Sister Potentia’s leave, with fitting -attendance, and, sure, they were not to blame for what had happened -after— - -But Lady Groa said they might now stay in the church till the hour of -midnight struck, that they might strive to turn their thoughts to the -things of the spirit and might thank God who had saved their lives and -honour. “God hath now manifested clearly to you the truth about the -world,” said she; “wild beasts and the servants of the devil threaten -his children there at every footstep, and there is no salvation except -ye hold fast to him with prayer and supplication.” - -She gave them each a lighted candle and bade them go with Sister Cecilia -Baardsdatter, who was often alone in the church praying the whole night -long. - -Kristin put her candle upon St. Lawrence’s altar and knelt on the -praying-stool. She fixed her gaze on the flame while she said over the -Paternoster and the Ave Maria softly. The sheen of the candle seemed -little by little to enfold her and to shut out all that was outside her -and the light. She felt her heart open and overflow with thankfulness -and praise and love of God and His gentle Mother—they came so near to -her. She had always known They saw her, but to-night she _felt_ that it -was so. She saw the world as in a vision; a great dark room whereinto -fell a sunbeam; the motes were dancing in and out between the darkness -and the light, and she felt that now she had at last slipped into the -sunbeam— - -She felt she would gladly have stayed for ever in this dark still -church—with the few small spots of light like golden stars in the night, -the sweet stale scent of incense and the warm smell of the burning wax. -And she at rest within her own star— - -It was as if some great joy were at an end, when Sister Cecilia came -gliding to her and touched her shoulder. Bending before the altars, the -three women went out of the little south-door into the convent close. - -Ingebjörg was so sleepy that she went to bed without a word. Kristin was -glad—she had been loth to have her good thoughts broken in on. And she -was glad, too, that they must keep on their shifts at night—Ingebjörg -was so fat and had been so over-hot. - -She lay awake long, but the deep flood of sweetness that she had left -lifting her up as she knelt in the church would not come again. Yet she -felt the warmth of it within her still, she thanked God with all her -heart, and thought she felt her spirit strengthened while she prayed for -her father and mother and sisters and for Arne Gyrdson’s soul. - -Father, she thought—she longed so much for him, for all they had been to -one another before Simon Darre came into their lives. There welled up in -her a new tenderness for him—there was as it were a foretaste of -mother’s love and care in her love for her father this night; dimly she -felt that there was so much in life that he had missed. She called to -mind the old, black wooden church at Gerdarud—she had seen there this -last Easter the graves of her three little brothers and of her -grandmother, her father’s own mother, Kristin Sigurdsdatter, who died -when she brought him into the world— - -What could Erlend Nikulaussön have to do at Gerdarud—she could not -think. - -She had no knowledge that she had thought much of him that evening, but -the whole time the thought of his dark, narrow face and his quiet voice -had hung somewhere in the dusk outside the glow of light that enfolded -her spirit. - -When she awoke the next morning, the sun was shining into the dormitory, -and Ingebjörg told her how Lady Groa herself had bidden the lay-sisters -not to wake them for matins. She had said that when they woke they might -go over to the kitchen-house and get some food. Kristin grew warm with -gladness at the Abbess’ kindness—it seemed as if the whole world had -been good to her. - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - 3 - -The farmer guild of Aker had St. Margaret for their patroness, and they -began their festival, each year on the twentieth of July, the day of St. -Margaret’s Mass. In that day the guild-brothers and sisters, with their -children, their guests and their serving-folk, gathered at Aker’s church -and heard mass at St. Margaret’s Altar there; after that they wended -their way to the hall of the guild which lay near the Hofvin -hospital—there they were wont to hold a drinking-feast lasting five -days. - -But since both Aker’s church and the Hofvin spital belonged to -Nonneseter, and as, besides, many of the Aker farmers were tenants of -the convent, it had come to be the custom that the Abbess and some of -the elder Sisters should honour the guild by coming to the feasting on -the first day. And those of the young maids who were at the convent only -to learn, and were not to take the veil, had leave to go with them and -to dance in the evening; therefore at this feast they wore their own -clothes and not the convent habit. - -And so there was great stir and bustle in the novices’ sleeping rooms on -the eve of St. Margaret’s Mass; the maids who were to go to the guild -feast ransacking their chests and making ready their finery, while the -others, less fortunate, went about something moodily and looked on. Some -had set small pots in the fireplace and were boiling water to make their -skin white and soft; others were making a brew to be smeared on the -hair—then they parted the hair into strands and twisted them tightly -round strips of leather, and this gave them curling, wavy tresses. - -Ingebjörg brought out all the finery she had, but could not think what -she should wear—come what might, not her best leaf-green velvet dress; -that was too good and too costly for such a peasant rout. But a little, -thin sister who was not to go with them—Helga was her name; she had been -vowed to the convent by her father and mother while still a child—took -Kristin aside and whispered: she was sure Ingebjörg would wear the green -dress and her pink silk shift too. - -“You have ever been kind to me, Kristin,” said Helga. “It beseems me -little to meddle in such doings—but I will tell you none the less. The -knight who brought you home that evening in the spring—I have seen and -heard Ingebjörg talking with him since—they spoke together in the -church, and he has tarried for her up in the hollow when she hath gone -to Ingunn at the commoners’ house. But ’tis you he asks for, and -Ingebjörg has promised him to bring you there along with her. But I -wager you have not heard aught of this before!” - -“True it is that Ingebjörg has said naught of this,” said Kristin. She -pursed up her mouth that the other might not see the smile that would -come out. So this was Ingebjörg’s way—“’Tis like she knows I am not of -such as run to trysts with strange men round house-corners and behind -fences,” said she proudly. - -“Then I might have spared myself the pains of bringing you tidings -whereof ’twould have been but seemly I should say no word,” said Helga, -wounded, and they parted. - -But the whole evening Kristin was put to it not to smile when anyone was -looking at her. - - * * * * * - -Next morning Ingebjörg went dallying about in her shift, till Kristin -saw she meant not to dress before she herself was ready. - -Kristin said naught, but laughed as she went to her chest and took out -her golden-yellow silken shift. She had never worn it before, and it -felt so soft and cool as it slipped down over her body. It was broidered -with goodly work, in silver and blue and brown silk, about the neck and -down upon the breast, as much as should be seen above the low-cut gown. -There were sleeves to match, too. She drew on her linen hose, and laced -up the small, purple-blue shoes which Haakon, by good luck, had saved -that day of commotion. Ingebjörg gazed at her—then Kristin said -laughing: - -“My father ever taught me never to show disdain of those beneath us—but -’tis like you are too grand to deck yourself in your best for poor -tenants and peasant-folk—” - -Red as a berry, Ingebjörg slipped her woollen smock down over her white -hips and hurried on the pink silk shift.—Kristin threw over her own head -her best velvet gown—it was violet-blue, deeply cut-out at the bosom, -with long slashed sleeves flowing wellnigh to the ground. She fastened -the gilt belt about her waist, and hung her grey squirrel cape over her -shoulders. Then she spread her masses of yellow hair out over her -shoulders and back and fitted the golden fillet, chased with small -roses, upon her brow. - -She saw that Helga stood watching them. Then she took from her chest a -great silver clasp. It was that she had on her cloak the night Bentein -met her on the highway, and she had never cared to wear it since. She -went to Helga and said in a low voice: - -“I know ’twas your wish to show me goodwill last night; think me not -unthankful—,” and with that she gave her the clasp. - -Ingebjörg was a fine sight, too, when she stood fully decked in her -green gown, with a red silk cloak over her shoulders and her fair, curly -hair waving behind her. They had ended by striving to outdress each -other, thought Kristin, and she laughed. - - * * * * * - -The morning was cool and fresh with dew as the procession went forth -from Nonneseter and wound its way westward toward Frysja. The hay-making -was near at an end here on the lowlands, but along the fences grew -blue-bells and yellow crowsfoot in clumps; in the fields the barley was -in ear and bent its heads in pale silvery waves just tinged with pink. -Here and there, where the path was narrow and led through the fields, -the corn all but met about folks’ knees. - -Haakon walked at the head, bearing the convent’s banner with the Virgin -Mary’s picture upon the blue silken cloth. After him walked the servants -and the commoners, and then came the Lady Groa and four old sisters on -horseback, while behind these came the young maidens on foot; their -many-hued holiday attire flaunted and shone in the sunlight. Some of the -commoners’ women-folk and a few armed serving-men closed the train. - -They sang as they went over the bright fields, and the folk they met at -the by-ways stood aside and gave them reverent greeting. All round, out -on the fields, they could see small groups of men coming walking and -riding, for folks were drawing toward the church from every house and -every farm. Soon they heard behind them the sound of hymns chanted in -men’s deep voices, and the banner of the Hovedö monastery rose above a -hillock—the red silk shone in the sun, swaying and bending to the step -of the bearer. - -The mighty, metal voice of the bells rang out above the neighing and -screaming of stallions as the procession climbed the last slope to the -church. Kristin had never seen so many horses at one time—a heaving, -restless sea of horses’ backs round about the green before the -church-door. Upon the sward stood and sat and lay folk dressed in all -their best—but all rose in reverence as the Virgin’s flag from -Nonneseter was borne in amongst them, and all bowed deeply before the -Lady Groa. - -It seemed as though more folk had come than the church could hold, but -for those from the convent room had been kept in front near the altar. -Straightway after them the Cistercian monks from Hovedö marched in and -went up into the choir—and forthwith song burst from the throats of men -and boys and filled the church. - -Soon after the mass had begun, when the service brought all to their -feet, Kristin caught sight of Erlend Nikulaussön. He was tall, and his -head rose above those about him—she saw his face from the side. He had a -high, steep and narrow forehead, and a large, straight nose—it jutted, -triangle-like, from his face, and was strangely thin about the fine, -quivering nostrils—something about it reminded Kristin of a restless, -high-strung stallion. His face was not as comely as she had thought -it—the long-drawn lines running down to his small, weak, yet well-formed -mouth gave it as ’twere a touch of joylessness—aye, but yet, he _was_ -comely. - -He turned his head and saw her. She knew not how long they stood thus, -looking into each other’s eyes. From that time she thought of naught but -the end of the mass; she waited, intent on what would then befall. - -There was some pressing and thronging as the folks made their way out -from the over-crowded church. Ingebjörg held Kristin back till they were -at the rear of the throng; she gained her point—they were quite cut off -from the nuns, who went out first—the two girls were among the last in -coming to the offertory-box and out of the church. - -Erlend stood without, just by the door, beside the priest from Gerdarud -and a stoutish, red-faced man, splendid in blue velvet. Erlend himself -was clad in silk, but of a sober hue—a long coat of brown, figured with -black, and a black cloak with a pattern of small yellow hawks inwoven. - -They greeted each other and crossed the green together to where the -men’s horses stood tethered. While they spoke of the fine weather, the -goodly mass and the great crowd of folk that were mustered, the fat, -ruddy knight—he bore golden spurs and was named Sir Munan Baardsön—took -Ingebjörg by the hand; ’twas plain he was mightily taken with the maid. -Erlend and Kristin fell behind—they were silent as they walked. - -There was a great to-do upon the church-green as folk began to ride -away—horses jostled one another, people shouted—some angry, others -laughing. Many sat in pairs upon the horses; men had their wives behind -them, or their children in front upon the saddle; youths swung -themselves up beside a friend. They could see the church banners, the -nuns and the priests far down the hill already. - -Sir Munan rode by; Ingebjörg sat in front of him, his arm about her. -Both of them called out and waved. Then Erlend said: - -“My serving-men are both with me—they could ride one horse and you have -Haftor’s—if you would rather have it so?” - -Kristin flushed as she replied: “We are so far behind the others -already—I see not your serving-men hereabouts, and—” Then she broke into -a laugh, and Erlend smiled. - -He sprang to the saddle and helped her to a seat behind him. At home -Kristin had often sat thus sidewise behind her father, after she had -grown too big to ride astride the horse. Still she felt a little bashful -and none too safe as she laid a hand upon Erlend’s shoulder; the other -she put on the horse’s back to steady herself. They rode slowly down -towards the bridge. - -In a while Kristin thought she must speak, since he was silent, so she -said: - -“We looked not, sir, to meet you here to-day.” - -“Looked you not to meet me?” asked Erlend, turning his head. “Did not -Ingebjörg Filippusdatter bear you my greeting then?” - -“No,” said Kristin. “I heard naught of any greeting—she hath not named -you once since you came to our help last May—,” said she, guilefully—she -was not sorry that Ingebjörg’s falseness should come to light. - -Erlend did not look back again, but she could hear by his voice that he -was smiling when he asked again: - -“But the little dark one—the novice—I mind not her name—her I even feed -to bear you my greeting.” - -Kristin blushed, but she had to laugh too: “Aye, ’tis but Helga’s due I -should say that she earned her fee,” she said. - -Erlend moved his head a little—his neck almost touched her hand. Kristin -shifted her hand at once further out on his shoulder. Somewhat uneasily -she thought, maybe she had been more bold than was fitting, seeing she -had come to this feast after a man had, in a manner, made tryst with her -there. - -Soon after Erlend asked: - -“Will you dance with me to-night, Kristin?” - -“I know not, sir,” answered the maid. - -“You think, mayhap, ’tis not seemly?” he asked, and, as she did not -answer, he said again: “It may well be it is not so. But I thought now -maybe you might deem you would be none the worse if you took my hand in -the dance to-night. But indeed ’tis eight years since I stood up to -dance.” - -“How may that be, sir?” asked Kristin. “Mayhap you are wedded?” But then -it came into her head that had he been a wedded man, to have made tryst -with her thus would have been no fair deed of him. On that she tried to -mend her speech, saying: “Maybe, you have lost your betrothed maid or -your wife?” - -Erlend turned quickly and looked on her with strange eyes: - -“Hath not Lady Aashild—? Why grew you so red when you heard who I was -that evening,” he asked a little after. - -Kristin flushed red once more, but did not answer; then Erlend asked -again: - -“I would fain know what my mother’s sister said to you of me.” - -“Naught else,” said Kristin quickly, “but in your praise. She said you -were so comely and so great of kin that—she said that beside such as you -and her kin we were of no such great account—my folk and I—” - -“Doth she still talk thus, living the life she lives,” said Erlend, and -laughed bitterly. “Aye, aye—if it comfort her—Said she naught else of -me?” - -“What should she have said?” asked Kristin—she knew not why she was -grown so strangely heavy-hearted. - -“Oh, she must have said”—he spoke in a low voice, looking down, “she -might have said that I had been under the Church’s ban, and had to pay -dear for peace and atonement—” - -Kristin was silent a long time. Then she said softly: - -“There is many a man who is not master of his own fortunes—so have I -heard said. ’Tis little I have seen of the world—but I will never -believe of you, Erlend, that ’twas for any—dishonourable—deed.” - -“May God reward you for those words, Kristin,” said Erlend, and bent his -head and kissed her wrist so vehemently that the horse gave a bound -beneath them. When Erlend had it in hand again, he said earnestly: -“Dance with me to-night then, Kristin. Afterwards I will tell how things -are with me—will tell you all—but to-night we will be happy together?” - -Kristin answered: “Aye,” and they rode a while in silence. - -But ere long Erlend began to ask of Lady Aashild, and Kristin told all -she knew of her; she praised her much. - -“Then all doors are not barred against Björn and Aashild?” asked Erlend. - -Kristin said they were thought much of, and that her father and many -with him deemed that most of the tales about these two were untrue. - -“How liked you my kinsman, Munan Baardsön?” asked Erlend laughing slily. - -“I looked not much upon him,” said Kristin, “and methought, too, he was -not much to look on.” - -“Knew you not,” asked Erlend, “that he is her son?” - -“Son to Lady Aashild!” said Kristin, in great wonder. - -“Aye, her children could not take their mother’s fair looks, though they -took all else,” said Erlend. - -“I have never known her first husband’s name,” said Kristin. - -“They were two brothers who wedded two sisters,” said Erlend. “Baard and -Nikulaus Munansön. My father was the elder, my mother was his second -wife, but he had no children by his first. Baard, whom Aashild wedded, -was not young either, nor, I trow, did they ever live happily -together—aye, I was a little child when all this befell, they hid from -me as much as they could—But she fled the land with Sir Björn and -married him against the will of her kin—when Baard was dead. Then folk -would have had the wedding set aside—they made out that Björn had sought -her bed while her first husband was still living and that they had -plotted together to put away my father’s brother. ’Tis clear they could -not bring this home to them, since they had to leave them together in -wedlock. But to make amends, they had to forfeit all their estate—Björn -had killed their sister’s son too—my mother’s and Aashild’s, I mean—” - -Kristin’s heart beat hard. At home her father and mother had kept strict -watch that no unclean talk should come to the ears of their children or -of young folk—but still things had happened in their own parish and -Kristin had heard of them—a man had lived in adultery with a wedded -woman. That was whoredom, one of the worst of sins; ’twas said they -plotted the husband’s death, and that brought with it outlawry and the -Church’s ban. Lavrans had said no woman was bound to stay with her -husband, if he had had to do with another’s wife; the state of a child -gotten in adultery could never be mended, not even though its father and -mother were free to wed afterward. A man might bring into his family and -make his heir his child by any wanton or strolling beggar woman, but not -the child of his adultery—not if its mother came to be a knight’s -lady—She thought of the misliking she had ever felt for Sir Björn with -his bleached face and fat, yet shrunken body. She could not think how -Lady Aashild could be so good and yielding at all times to the man who -had led her away into such shame; how such a gracious woman could have -let herself be beguiled by him. He was not even good to her; he let her -toil and moil with all the farm work; Björn did naught but drink beer. -Yet Aashild was ever mild and gentle when she spoke with her husband. -Kristin wondered if her father could know all this, since he had asked -Sir Björn to their home. Now she came to think, too, it seemed strange -Erlend should think fit to tell such tales of his near kin. But like -enough he deemed she knew of it already— - -“I would like well,” said Erlend in a while, “to visit her, Moster -Aashild, some day—when I journey northwards. Is he comely still, Björn, -my kinsman?” - -“No,” said Kristin. “He looks like hay that has lain the winter through -upon the fields.” - -“Aye, aye, it tells upon a man, I trow,” said Erlend, with the same -bitter smile. “Never have I seen so fair a man—’tis twenty years since, -I was but a lad then—but his like have I never seen—” - -A little after they came to the hospital. It was an exceeding great and -fine place, with many houses both of stone and of wood—houses for the -sick, almhouses, hostels for travellers, a chapel and a house for the -priest. There was great bustle in the courtyard, for food was being made -ready in the kitchen of the hospital for the guild feast, and the poor -and sick too, that were dwelling in the place, were to be feasted on the -best this day. - -The hall of the guild was beyond the garden of the hospital, and folks -took their way thither through the herb-garden, for this was of great -renown. Lady Groa had had brought hither plants that no one had heard of -in Norway before, and moreover all plants that else folks were used to -grow in gardens, throve better in her herbaries, both flowers and -pot-herbs and healing herbs. She was a most learned woman in all such -matters and had herself put into the Norse tongue the herbals of the -Salernitan school—Lady Groa had been more than ever kind to Kristin -since she had marked that the maid knew somewhat of herb-lore and was -fain to know yet more of it. - -So Kristin named for Erlend what grew in the beds on either side the -grassy path they walked on. In the midday sun there was a warm and spicy -scent of dill and celery, garlic and roses, southernwood and wallflower. -Beyond the shadeless, baking herb-garden the fruit orchards looked cool -and enticing—red cherries gleamed amid the dark leafy tops, and the -apple trees drooped their branches heavy with green fruit. - -About the garden was a hedge of sweet briar. There were some flowers on -it still—they looked the same as other briar-roses, but in the sun the -leaves smelt of wine and apples. Folk plucked sprays to deck themselves -as they went past. Kristin, too, took some roses and hung them on her -temples, fixed under her golden fillet. One she kept in her hand—After a -time Erlend took it, saying no word. A while he bore it in his hand as -they walked, then fastened it with the brooch upon his breast—he looked -awkward and bashful as he did it, and was so clumsy that he pricked his -fingers till they bled. - - * * * * * - -Broad tables were spread in the loft-room of the guild’s hall—two by the -main-walls, for the men and the women; and two smaller boards out on the -floor, where children and young folk sat side by side. - -At the women’s board Lady Groa was in the high-seat, the nuns and the -chief of the married women sat on the inner bench along the wall, and -the unwedded women on the outer benches, the maids from Nonneseter at -the upper end. Kristin knew that Erlend was watching her, but she durst -not turn her head even once, either when they rose or when they sat -down. Only when they got up at last to hear the priest read the names of -the dead guild-brothers and sisters, she stole a hasty glance at the -men’s table—she caught a glimpse of him where he stood by the wall, -behind the candles burning on the board. He was looking at her. - -The meal lasted long, with all the toasts in honour of God, the Virgin -Mary, and St. Margaret and St. Olav and St. Halvard, and prayers and -song between. - -Kristin saw through the open door that the sun was gone; sounds of -fiddling and song came in from the green without, and all the young -folks had left the tables already when Lady Groa said to the convent -maidens that they might go now and play themselves for a time if they -listed. - - * * * * * - -Three red bonfires were burning upon the green; around them moved the -many-coloured chains of dancers. The fiddlers sat aloft on heaped-up -chests and scraped their fiddles—they played and sang a different tune -in every ring; there were too many folk for _one_ dance. It was nearly -dark already—northward the wooded ridge stood out coal-black against the -yellow-green sky. - -Under the loft-balcony folk were sitting drinking. Some men sprang -forward, as soon as the six maids from Nonneseter came down the steps. -Munan Baardsön flew to meet Ingebjörg and went off with her, and Kristin -was caught by the wrist—Erlend, she knew his hand already. He pressed -her hand in his so that their rings grated on one another and bruised -the flesh. - -He drew her with him to the outermost bonfire. Many children were -dancing there; Kristin gave her other hand to a twelve-year old lad, and -Erlend had a little, half-grown maid on his other side. - -No one was singing in the ring just then—they were swaying in and out to -the tune of the fiddle as they moved round. Then someone shouted that -Sivord the Dane should sing them a new dance. A tall, fair-haired man -with huge fists stepped out in front of the chain and struck up his -ballad: - - Fair goes the dance at Munkholm - On silver sand. - There danceth Ivar Sir Alfsön— - Holds the Queen’s own hand. - _Know ye not Ivar Sir Alfsön?_ - -The fiddlers knew not the tune, they thrummed their strings a little, -and the Dane sang alone—he had a strong, tuneful voice. - - “Mind you, Queen of the Danemen, - That summer fair, - They led you out of Sweden, - To Denmark here? - - “They led you out of Sweden - To Denmark here, - All with a crown of the red gold - And many a tear. - - “All with a crown of the red gold - And tear-filled eyne— - —Mind you, Queen of the Danemen, - You first were mine?” - -The fiddles struck in again, the dancers hummed the new-learned tune and -joined in the burden. - - “And are you, Ivar Sir Alfsön, - Sworn man to me, - Then shall you hang to-morrow - On the gallows tree!” - - But ’twas Ivar Sir Alfsön, - All unafraid - He leaped into the gold-bark - In harness clad. - - “God send to you, oh Dane-Queen, - So many a good-night, - As in the high heavens - Are stars alight. - - “God send to you, oh Dane-King, - So many ill years - As be leaves on the linden— - Or the hind hath hairs.” - _Know ye not Ivar Sir Alfsön?_ - -It was far on in the night, and the fires were but heaps of embers -growing more and more black. Kristin and Erlend stood hand in hand under -the trees by the garden fence. Behind them the noise of the revellers -was hushed—a few young lads were hopping round the glowing mounds -singing softly, but the fiddlers had sought their resting-places and -most of the people were gone. One or two wives went round seeking their -husbands, who were lying somewhere out of doors overcome by the beer. - -“Where think you I can have laid my cloak?” whispered Kristin. Erlend -put his arm about her waist and drew his mantle round them both. Close -pressed to one another they went into the herb-garden. - -A lingering breath of the day’s warm spicy scents, deadened and damp -with the chill of the dew, met them in there. The night was very dark, -the sky overcast, with murky grey clouds close down upon the tree-tops. -But they could tell that there were other folks in the garden. Once -Erlend pressed the maiden close to him and asked in a whisper: - -“Are you not afraid, Kristin?” - -In her mind she caught a faint glimpse of the world outside this -night—and knew that this was madness. But a blessed strengthlessness was -upon her. She leaned closer to the man and whispered softly—she herself -knew not what. - -They came to the end of the path; a stone wall divided them from the -woods. Erlend helped her up. As she jumped down on the other side, he -caught her and held her lifted in his arms a moment before he set her on -the grass. - -She stood with upturned face to take his kiss. He held her head between -his hands—it was so sweet to her to feel his fingers sink into her -hair—she felt she must repay him, and so she clasped his head and sought -to kiss him, as he had kissed her. - -When he put his hands upon her breast, she felt as though he drew her -heart from out her bosom; he parted the folds of silk ever so little and -laid a kiss betwixt them—it sent a glow into her inmost soul. - -“You I could never harm,” whispered Erlend. “You should never shed a -tear through fault of mine. Never had I dreamed a maid might be so good -as you, my Kristin—” - -He drew her down into the grass beneath the bushes; they sat with their -backs against the wall. Kristin said naught, but when he ceased from -caressing her, she put up her hand and touched his face. - -In a while Erlend asked: “Are you not weary, my dear one?” And when -Kristin nestled in to his breast, he folded his arms around her and -whispered: “Sleep, sleep, Kristin, here in my arms—” - -She slipped deeper and deeper into darkness and warmth and happiness -upon his breast. - - * * * * * - -When she came to herself again, she was lying outstretched in the grass -with her cheek upon the soft brown silk above his knees. Erlend was -sitting as before with his back to the stone wall, his face looked grey -in the grey twilight, but his wide opened eyes were marvellously clear -and fair. She saw he had wrapped his cloak all about her—her feet were -so warm and snug with the fur lining around them. - -“Now have you slept in my lap,” said he smiling faintly. “May God bless -you, Kristin—you slept as safe as a child in its mother’s arms—” - -“Have _you_ not slept, Sir Erlend?” asked Kristin, and he smiled down -into her fresh-opened eyes: - -“Maybe the night will come when you and I may lie down to sleep -together—I know not what you will think when you have weighed all -things.—I have watched by you to-night—there is still so much betwixt us -two that ’tis more than if there had lain a naked sword between you and -me—Tell me if you will hold me dear, when this night is past?” - -“I will hold you dear, Sir Erlend.” said Kristin, “I will hold you dear, -so long as you will—and thereafter I will love none other—” - -“Then,” said Erlend slowly, “may God forsake me if any, maid or woman, -come to my arms ere I may make you mine in law and honour—Say you this -too,” he prayed. Kristin said: - -“May God forsake me if I take any other man to my arms so long as I live -on earth.” - -“We must go now,” said Erlend a little after, “—before folk waken—” - -They passed along without the wall among the bushes. - -“Have you bethought you,” asked Erlend, “what further must be done in -this?” - -“’Tis for you to say what we must do, Erlend,” answered Kristin. - -“Your father,” he asked in a little, “they say at Gerdarud he is a mild -and a righteous man. Think you he will be so exceeding loth to go back -from what he hath agreed with Andres Darre?” - -“Father has said so often, he would never force us, his daughters,” said -Kristin. “The chief thing is that our lands and Simon’s lie so fitly -together. But I trow father would not that I should miss all my gladness -in this world for the sake of that.” A fear stirred within her that so -simple as this perhaps it might not prove to be—but she fought it down. - -“Then maybe ’twill be less hard than I deemed in the night,” said -Erlend. “God help me, Kristin—methinks I _cannot_ lose you now—unless I -win you now, never can I be glad again.” - - * * * * * - -They parted among the trees, and in the dawning light Kristin found her -way to the guest-chamber where the women from Nonneseter were to lie. -All the beds were full, but she threw a cloak upon some straw on the -floor and laid her down in all her clothes. - -When she awoke, it was far on in the day. Ingebjörg Filippusdatter was -sitting on a bench near by stitching down an edge of fur, that had been -torn loose on her cloak. She was full of talk as ever. - -“Were you with Erlend Nikulaussön the whole night?” she asked. “’Twere -well you went warily with that lad, Kristin—how think you Simon -Andressön would like it if you came to be dear friends with him?” - -Kristin found a hand-basin and began to wash herself. - -“And your betrothed—think you he would like that you danced with Dumpy -Munan last night? Surely we must dance with him who chooses us out on -such a night of merry-making—and Lady Groa had given us leave—” - -Ingebjörg pshawed: - -“Einar Einarssön and Sir Munan are friends—and besides he is wedded and -old. Ugly he is to boot for that matter—but likable and hath becoming -ways—see what he gave me for a remembrance of last night,” and she held -forth a gold clasp which Kristin had seen in Sir Munan’s hat the day -before. “But this Erlend—’tis true he was freed of the ban at Easter -last year, but they say Eline Ormsdatter has been with him at Husaby -since—Sir Munan says Erlend hath fled to Sira Jon at Gerdarud, and he -deems ’tis because he cannot trust himself not to fall back into sin, if -he meet her again—” - -Kristin crossed over to the other—her face was white. - -“Knew you not this?” said Ingebjörg. “That he lured a woman from her -husband somewhere in Haalogaland in the North—and held her with him at -his manor in despite of the King’s command and the Archbishop’s ban—they -had two children together—and he was driven to fly to Sweden and hath -been forced to pay in forfeit so much of his lands and goods Sir Munan -says he will be a poor man in the end unless he mend his ways the -sooner—” - -“Think not but that I know all this,” said Kristin with a set face. “But -’tis known the matter is ended now—” - -“Aye, but as to that Sir Munan said, there had been an end between them -so many times before,” said Ingebjörg pensively. “But all these things -can be nothing to you—you that are to wed Simon Darre. But a comely man -is Erlend Nikulaussön, sure enough—” - -The company from Nonneseter was to set out for home that same day after -nones. Kristin had promised Erlend to meet him by the wall where they -had sat the night before, if she could but find a way to come. - -He was lying face downwards in the grass with his head upon his hands. -As soon as he saw her, he sprang to his feet and held out both his -hands, as she was about jumping from the wall. - -Kristin took them, and the two stood a little, hand in hand. Then said -Kristin: - -“Why did you tell me that of Sir Björn and Lady Aashild yesterday?” - -“I can see you know it all,” said Erlend and let go her hands suddenly. -“What think you of me now, Kristin—? - -“I was eighteen then,” he went on vehemently, “’tis ten years since that -the King, my kinsman, sent me with the mission to Vargöyhus—and we -stayed the winter at Steigen—she was wife to the Lagmand, Sigurd -Saksulvsön—I thought pity of her, for he was old and ugly beyond -belief—I know not how it came to pass—aye; but I loved her too. I bade -Sigurd crave what amends he would; I would fain have done right by -him—he is a good and doughty man in many ways—but he would have it that -all must go by law; he took the matter to the King—I was to be branded -for whoredom with the wife of him whose guest I had been, you -understand— - -“Then it came to my father’s ears and then to King Haakon’s—he—he drove -me from his court. And if you must know the whole—there is naught more -now betwixt Eline and me save the children, and she cares not much for -them. They are in Österdal, upon a farm I owned there; I have given it -to Orm, the boy—but she will not stay with them—Doubtless she reckons -that Sigurd cannot live for ever—but I know not what she would be at. - -“Sigurd took her back again—but she says she fared like a dog and a -bondwoman in his house—so she set a tryst with me at Nidaros. ’Twas -little better for me at Husaby with my father—I sold all I could lay -hands on, and fled with her to Halland—Count Jacob stood my friend—Could -I do aught else—she was great with my child. I knew many a man had lived -even so with another’s wife and had got off cheap enough—if he were rich -that is—But so it is with King Haakon, he is hardest upon his own kin. -We were away from one another for a year, but then my father died and -then she came back. Then there were other troubles. My tenants denied me -rent and would have no speech with my bailiffs because I lay under ban—I -on my side dealt harshly with them, and so they brought suit against me -for robbery; but I had not the money to pay my house-folk withal; and -you can see I was too young to meet these troubles wisely, and my -kinsfolk would not help me—save Munan—he did all his wife would let him— - -“Aye, now you know it, Kristin: I have lost much both of lands and goods -and of honour. True it is; you would be better served if you held fast -to Simon Andressön.” - -Kristin put her arms about his neck: - -“We will abide by what we swore to each other yester-night, Erlend—if so -be you think as I do.” - -Erlend drew her close to him, kissed her and said: - -“You will see too, trust me, that all things will be changed with me -now—for none in the world has power on me now but you. Oh, my thoughts -were many last night, as you slept upon my lap, my fairest one. So much -power the devil cannot have over a man, that I should ever work you care -and woe—you, my dearest life—” - - - 4 - -At the time he dwelt at Skog Lavrans Björgulfsön had made gifts of land -to Gerdarud church that masses for the souls of his father and mother -might be said on their death-days. Björgulf Ketilsön’s day was the -thirteenth of August, and Lavrans had settled with his brother that this -year Aasmund should bring Kristin out to Skog that she might be at the -mass. - -She went in fear that something should come in the way, so that her -uncle would not keep his promise—she thought she had marked that Aasmund -did not care over much about her. But the day before the mass was to be, -Aasmund Björgulfsön came to the convent to fetch his brother’s daughter. -Kristin was told to clothe herself in lay garb, but simply and in dark -garments. There had been some carping at the Sisters of Nonneseter for -going about too much without the convent walls; therefore the bishop had -given order that the maidens who were not to take the veil must wear -naught like to the habit of the order when they went visiting their -kinsfolk—so that laymen could not mistake them for novices or nuns. - -Kristin’s heart was full of gladness as she rode along the highway with -her uncle, and Aasmund grew more friendly and merry with her when he saw -the maid was not so tongue-tied after all, with folk. Otherwise Aasmund -was somewhat moody and downcast; he said it looked as though there would -be a call to arms in the autumn and that the King would lead an army -into Sweden to avenge the slaying of his son-in-law and the husband of -his niece. Kristin had heard of the murder of the Swedish Dukes, and -thought it a most foul deed—yet all these questions of state seemed far -away from her. No one spoke much of such things at home in the Dale; she -remembered, too, that her father had been to the war against Duke Eirik -at Ragnhildarholm and Konungahella. Then Aasmund told her of all that -had come and gone between the King and the Dukes. Kristin understood but -little of this, but she gave careful heed to all her uncle told of the -making and breaking of the betrothals of the King’s daughters. It gave -her comfort to think ’twas not everywhere as it was at home in her -countryside, that a betrothal once fixed by word of mouth was held to -bind nigh as fast as a wedding. Then she took courage to tell of her -adventure on the evening before Halvard-wake, and asked her uncle if he -knew Erlend of Husaby. Aasmund spoke well of Erlend—said, he had guided -his affairs unwisely, but his father and the King were most to blame; -they had borne themselves as though the young lad were a very limb of -the devil only because he had fallen into this misfortune. The King was -over pious in such matters, and Sir Nikulaus was angry because Erlend -had lost much good land, so they had thundered about whoredom and hell -fire—“and there must be a bit of the dare-devil in every likely lad,” -said Aasmund Björgulfsön. “And the woman was most fair. But you have no -call now to look Erlend’s way, so trouble yourself no more about his -doings.” - - * * * * * - -Erlend came not to the mass, as he had promised Kristin he would, and -she thought about this more than of God’s word. She felt no sorrow that -this was so—she had only that strange new feeling that she was cut off -from all the ties that she had felt binding on her before. - -She tried to take comfort—like enough Erlend deemed it wisest that no -one in whose charge she was should come to know of their friendship at -this time. She could understand herself that ’twas wise. But her heart -had longed so for him, and she wept when she had gone to rest in the -loft-room where she was to sleep with Aasmund’s little daughters. - -The day after, she went up into the wood with the youngest of her -uncle’s children, a little maid of six years. When they were come to the -pastures among the woods a little way off, Erlend came running after -them. Kristin knew it was he before she had seen who was coming. - -“I have sat up here on the hill spying down into the courtyard the whole -day,” said he. “I thought surely you would find a chance to come out—” - -“Think you I came out to meet you then?” said Kristin, laughing. “And -are you not afraid to beat about my uncle’s woods with dogs and bow?” - -“Your uncle gave me leave to take my pastime hunting here,” said Erlend. -“And the dogs are Aasmund’s—they found me out this morning.” He patted -them and lifted the little girl up in his arms. - -“_You_ know me, Ragndid? But say not you have spoken with me, and you -can have this”—and he took out a bunch of raisins and gave them to the -child. “I had brought them for you,” he said to Kristin. “Think you this -child can hold her tongue?” - -They talked fast and laughed together. Erlend was dressed in a short -close-fitting brown jacket and had a small red silk cap pulled down over -his black hair—he looked so young; he laughed and played with the child; -but sometimes he would take Kristin’s hand, and press it till it hurt -her. - -He spoke of the rumours of war and was glad: “’Twill be easier for me to -win back the King’s friendship,” said he, “and then will all things be -easy,” he said vehemently. - -At last they sat down in a meadow up among the woods. Erlend had the -child on his lap; Kristin sat by his side; under cover of the grass he -played with her fingers. He pressed into her hand three gold rings bound -together by a cord: - -“By and by,” he whispered, “you shall have as many as will go on your -fingers—” - -“I shall wait for you here on this field each day about this time, as -long as you are at Skog,” he said as they parted. “And you must come if -you can.” - -The next day Aasmund Björgulfsön set out with his wife and children to -the manor of Gyrid’s kin in Hadeland. They had been scared by the talk -of war; the folk about Galo still went in terror since Duke Eirik’s -harrying of that countryside some years before. Aasmund’s old mother was -so fearful, she was minded to seek shelter in Nonneseter—besides she was -too weak to travel with the others. So Kristin was to stay at Skog with -the old woman—she called her grandmother—till Aasmund came back from -Hadeland. - -About the midday hour, when the folk on the farm were resting, Kristin -went to the loft-room where she slept. She had brought some clothes with -her in a sheepskin bag, and now she changed her garments, humming to -herself the while. - -Her father had given her a dress of thick cotton stuff from the East, -skyblue with a close pattern of red flowers; this she put on. She -brushed and combed out her hair and bound it back from her face with a -red silk ribbon, wound a red silk belt tightly about her waist and put -Erlend’s rings upon her fingers; all the time she wondered if he would -think her fair. - -The two dogs that had been with Erlend in the forest had slept in the -loft-room over night—she called them to go with her now. She stole out -round the houses and took the same path as the day before up through the -hill-pastures. - -The field amid the forest lay lonely and silent in the burning midday -sun; the pine woods that shut it in on all sides gave out a hot strong -scent. The sun stung, and the blue sky seemed strangely near and close -down upon the tree-tops. - -Kristin sat down in the shade in the borders of the wood. She was not -vexed that Erlend was not there; she was sure he would come, and it gave -her an odd gladness to sit there alone a little and to be the first. - -She listened to the low hum of tiny life above the yellow, scorched -grass, pulled a few dry, spicy-scented flowers that she could reach -without moving more than her hand, and rolled them between her fingers -and smelt them—she sat with wide open eyes sunk in a kind of drowse. - -She did not move when she heard a horse in the woods. The dogs growled -and the hair on their necks bristled—then they bounded up over the -meadow, barking and wagging their tails. Erlend sprang from his horse at -the edge of the forest, let it go with a clap on its flank and ran down -towards her with the dogs jumping about him. He caught their muzzles in -his hands and came to her leading the two elk-grey, wolflike beasts. -Kristin smiled and held out her hand without getting up. - - * * * * * - -Once, while she was looking at the dark head that lay in her lap, -between her hands, something bygone flashed on her mind. It stood out, -clear yet distant, as a homestead far away on a mountain slope may start -to sight of a sudden from out dark clouds, when a sunbeam strikes it on -a stormy day. And it was as though there welled up in her heart all the -tenderness Arne Gyrdsön had once begged for while as yet she did not -understand his words. With timid passion, she drew the man up to her and -laid his head upon her breast, kissing him as if afraid he should be -taken from her. And when she saw his head upon her arm, she felt as -though she clasped a child—she hid his eyes with one of her hands and -showered little kisses upon his mouth and cheek. - -The sunshine had gone from the meadow—the leaden colour above the -tree-tops had thickened to dark-blue and spread over the whole sky; -little, coppery flashes like fire-tinged smoke flickered within the -clouds. Bayard came down to them, neighed loudly once and then stood -stock still, staring before him. Soon after came the first flash of -lightning, and the thunder followed close, not far away. - -Erlend got up and took hold of the horse. An old barn stood at the -lowest end of the meadow; they went thither, and he tied Bayard to some -woodwork just inside the door. At the back of the barn lay some hay; -Erlend spread his cloak out, and they seated themselves with the dogs at -their feet. - -And now the rain came down like a sheet before the doorway. It hissed in -the trees and lashed the ground—soon they had to move further in, away -from the drips from the roof. Each time it lightened and thundered, -Erlend whispered: - -“Are you not afraid, Kristin—?” - -“A little—” she whispered back and drew closer to him. - - * * * * * - -They knew not how long they had sat—the storm had soon passed over—it -thundered far away, but the sun shone on the wet grass outside the door, -and the sparkling drops fell more and more rarely from the roof. The -sweet smell of the hay in the barn grew stronger. - -“Now must I go,” said Kristin, and Erlend answered: “Aye, ’tis like you -must.” He took her foot in his hand: “You will be wet—you must ride and -I must walk—out of the woods—” and he looked at her so strangely. - -Kristin shook—it must be because her heart beat so, she thought—her -hands were cold and clammy. As he kissed her vehemently she weakly tried -to push him from her. Erlend lifted his face a moment—she thought of a -man who had been given food at the convent one day—he had kissed the -bread they gave him. She sank back upon the hay.... - - * * * * * - -She sat upright when Erlend lifted his head from her arms. He raised -himself suddenly upon his elbow: - -“Look not so—Kristin!” - -His voice sent a new, wild pang into Kristin’s soul—he was not glad—_he_ -was unhappy too—! - -“Kristin, Kristin— - -“—Think you I lured you out here to me in the woods meaning this—to make -you mine by force—” he asked in a little. - -She stroked his hair and did not look at him: - -“’Twas not force, I trow—you had let me go as I came, had I begged you—” -said she in a low voice. - -“I know not,” he answered and hid his face in her lap— - -“Think you that I would betray you?” asked he, vehemently. “Kristin—I -swear to you by my Christian faith—may God forsake me in my last hour, -if I keep not faith with you till the day of my death—” - -She could say naught, she only stroked his hair again and again. - -“’Tis time I went home, is it not?” she asked at length, and she seemed -to wait in deadly terror for his answer. - -“May be so,” he answered dully. He got up quickly, went to the horse, -and began to loosen the reins. - -Then she too got up. Slowly, wearily and with crushing pain it came home -to her—she knew not what she had hoped he might do—set her upon his -horse, maybe, and carry her off with him so she might be spared from -going back amongst other people. It was as though her whole body ached -with wonder—that this ill thing was what was sung in all the songs. And -since Erlend had wrought her this, she felt herself grown so wholly his, -she knew not how she should live away from him any more. She was to go -from him now, but she could not understand that it should be so— - -Down through the woods he went on foot, leading the horse. He held her -hand in his, but they found no words to say. - -When they had come so far that they could see the houses at Skog, he -bade her farewell. - -“Kristin—be not so sorrowful—the day will come or ever you know it, when -you will be my wedded wife—” - -But her heart sank as he spoke: - -“Must you go away, then—?” she asked, dismayed. - -“As soon as you are gone from Skog,” said he, and his voice already rang -more bright. “If there be no war, I will speak to Munan—he has long -urged me that I should wed—he will go with me and speak for me to your -father.” - -Kristin bent her head—at each word he said, she felt the time that lay -before grow longer and more hard to think of—the convent, -Jörundgaard—she seemed to float upon a stream which bore her far from it -all. - -“Sleep you alone in the loft-room, now your kinsfolk are gone?” asked -Erlend. “Then will I come and speak with you to-night—will you let me -in?” - -“Aye,” said Kristin low. And so they parted. - - * * * * * - -The rest of the day she sat with her father’s mother, and after supper -she took the old lady to her bed. Then she went up to the loft-room, -where she was to lie. There was a little window in the room; Kristin sat -herself down on the chest that stood below it—she had no mind to go to -bed. - -She had long to wait. It was quite dark without when she heard the soft -steps upon the balcony. He knocked upon the door with his cloak about -his knuckles, and Kristin got up, drew the bolt and let Erlend in. - -She marked how glad he was, when she flung her arms about his neck and -clung to him. - -“I have been fearing you would be angry with me,” he said. - -“You must not grieve for our sin,” he said sometime after. “’Tis not a -deadly sin. God’s law is not like to the law of the land in -this—Gunnulv, my brother, once made this matter plain to me—if two vow -to have and hold each other fast for all time, and thereafter lie -together, then they are wedded before God and may not break their troths -without great sin. I can give you the words in Latin when they come to -my mind—I knew them once....” - -Kristin wondered a little why Erlend’s brother should have said this—but -she thrust from her the hateful fear that it might have been said of -Erlend and another—and sought to find comfort in his words. - -They sat together on the chest, he with his arm about her, and now -Kristin felt that ’twas well with her once more and she was safe—beside -him was the only spot now where she could feel safe and sheltered. - -At times Erlend spoke much and cheerfully—then he would be silent for -long while he sat caressing her. Without knowing it Kristin gathered up -out of all he said each little thing that could make him fairer and -dearer to her, and lessen his blame in all she knew of him that was not -good. - -Erlend’s father, Sir Nikulaus, had been so old before he had children, -he had not patience enough nor strength enough left to rear them up -himself; both the sons had grown up in the house of Sir Baard Petersön -at Hestnæs. Erlend had no sisters and no brother save Gunnulv; he was -one year younger and was a priest at Christ’s Church in Nidaros. “He is -dearest to me of all mankind save only you.” - -Kristin asked if Gunnulv were like him, but Erlend laughed and said they -were much unlike both in mind and body. Now Gunnulv was in foreign lands -studying—he had been away these three years, but had sent letters home -twice, the last a year ago, when he thought to go from St. Geneviève’s -in Paris and make his way to Rome. “He will be glad, Gunnulv, when he -comes home and finds me wed,” said Erlend. - -Then he spoke of the great heritage he had had from his father and -mother—Kristin saw he scarce knew himself how things stood with him now. -She knew somewhat of her father’s dealings in land—Erlend had dealt in -his the other way about, sold and scattered and wasted and pawned, worst -of all in the last years when he had been striving to free him of his -paramour, thinking that, this done, his sinful life might in time be -forgotten and his kin stand by him once more; he had thought he might -some day come to be Warden of half the Orkdöla county, as his father had -been before him. - -“But now do I scarce know what the end will be,” said he. “Maybe I shall -sit at last on a mountain croft like Björn Gunnarsön, and bear out the -dung on my back as did the thralls of old, because I have no horse.” - -“God help you,” said Kristin, laughing. “Then I must come to you for -sure—I trow I know more of farm work and country ways than you.” - -“I can scarce think you have borne out the dung-basket,” said he, -laughing too. - -“No; but I have seen how they spread the dung out—and sown corn have I, -well nigh every year at home. ’Twas my father’s wont to plough himself -the fields nearest the farm, and he let me sow the first piece that I -might bring good fortune—” the thought sent a pang through her heart, so -she said quickly: “—and a woman you must have to bake, and brew the -small beer, and wash your one shirt, and milk—and you must hire a cow or -two from the rich farmer near by—” - -“Oh, God be thanked that I hear you laugh a little once more!” said -Erlend and caught her up so that she lay on his arms like a child. - - * * * * * - -Each of the six nights which passed ere Aasmund Björgulfsön came home, -Erlend was in the loft-room with Kristin. - -The last night he seemed as unhappy as she; he said many times they must -not be parted from one another a day longer than needful. At last he -said very low: - -“Now should things go so ill that I cannot come back hither to Oslo -before winter—and if it so falls out you need help of friends—fear not -to turn to Sira Jon here at Gerdarud, we are friends from childhood up, -and Munan Baardsön, too, you may safely trust.” - -Kristin could only nod. She knew he spoke of what she had thought on -each single day; but Erlend said no more of it. So she too said naught, -and would not show how heavy of heart she was. - -On the other nights he had gone from her when the night grew late, but -this last evening he begged hard that he might lie and sleep by her an -hour. Kristin was fearful, but Erlend said haughtily: “Be sure that were -I found here in your bower, I am well able to answer for myself—” She -herself, too, was fain to keep him by her yet a little while, and she -had not strength enough to deny him aught. - -But she feared that they might sleep too long. So most of the night she -sat leaning against the head of the bed, dozing a little at times, and -scarce knowing herself when he caressed her and when she only dreamed -it. Her one hand she held upon his breast, where she could feel the -beating of his heart beneath, and her face was turned to the window that -she might see the dawn without. - -At length she had to wake him. She threw on some clothes and went out -with him upon the balcony—he clambered over the railing on the side that -faced on to another house near by. Now he was gone from her sight—the -corner hid him. Kristin went in again and crept into her bed; and now -she quite gave way and fell to weeping for the first time since Erlend -had made her all his own. - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - 5 - -AT Nonneseter the days went by as before. Kristin’s time was passed -between the dormitory and the church, the weaving-room, the book-hall -and the refectory. The nuns and the convent folk gathered in the -pot-herbs and the fruits from the herb-garden and the orchard; Holy -Cross Day came in the autumn with the procession, then there was the -fast before Michaelmas—Kristin wondered—none seemed to mark any change -in her. But she had ever been quiet when amongst strangers, and -Ingebjörg Filippusdatter, who was by her night and day, was well able to -chatter for them both. - -Thus no one marked that her thoughts were far away from all around her. -Erlend’s paramour—she said to herself, she was Erlend’s paramour now. It -seemed now as though she had dreamed it all—the eve of St. Margaret’s -Mass, that hour in the barn, the nights in her bower at Skog—either she -had dreamed it, or else all about her now was a dream. But one day she -must waken, one day it must all come out. Not for a moment did she think -aught else than that she bore Erlend’s child within her— - -But what would happen to her when this came to light she could not well -think. Would she be put into the black hole, or be sent home—She saw dim -pictures of her father and mother far away—Then she shut her eyes, dizzy -and sick, bowed in fancy beneath the coming storm and tried to harden -herself to bear it since she thought it must end by sweeping her for -ever into Erlend’s arms—the only place where now she felt she had a -home. - -Thus was there in this strained waiting as much of hope as terror, as -much of sweetness as of torment. She was unhappy—but she felt her love -for Erlend as it were a flower planted within her—and, spite of her -unhappiness, it put forth fresher and richer blooms each day. That last -night when he had slept by her side she had felt, as a faint and -fleeting bliss, that there awaited her a joy and happiness in his arms -such as she had not yet known—she thrilled now at the thought of it; it -came to her like warm, spicy breaths from sun-heated gardens. Wayside -brat—Inga had flung the word at her—she opened her arms to it and -pressed it to her bosom. Wayside brat, was the name they gave to the -child begotten in secret in woods or fields. She felt the sunshine and -the smell of the pines in the forest pasture. Each new, creeping tremor, -each sudden pulse-beat in her body she took as a reminder from the -unborn babe that now she was come out into new paths—and were they never -so hard to follow to the end, she was sure they must lead to Erlend at -the last. - -She sat betwixt Ingebjörg and Sister Astrid and sewed at the great -tapestry of knights and birds amidst leafy tendrils. And as she sewed -she thought of how she should fly when the time was come and it could no -longer be hidden. She saw herself walking along the highways, clothed -like a poor woman; all she owned of gold and silver she bore within a -bundle in her hand. She bought herself shelter on a farm somewhere in a -far away countryside—she went as a serving-wench, bore the -water-carrier’s yoke upon her neck, worked in the byres, baked and -washed and was cursed because she would not tell who was the child’s -father. Then Erlend came and found her— - -Sometimes she dreamed that he came too late. She lay snow-white and fair -in the poor peasant’s bed. Erlend stooped as he came in at the door; he -had on the long black cloak he had used to wear when he came to her by -night at Skog. The woman led him forward to where she lay, he sank down -and took her cold hands, his eyes were sad as death—dost thou lie here, -my one delight—? Bent with sorrow he went out with his tender son -clasped to his breast, in the folds of his cloak—nay, she thought not in -good sooth that it would so fall out; she had no mind to die, Erlend -should have no such sorrow—But her heart was so heavy, it did her good -to dream these dreams— - -Then for a moment it stood out cold and clear as ice before her—the -child, that was no dream, that must be faced; she must answer one day -for what she had done—and it seemed as if her heart stood still with -terror. - -But after a little time had gone by, she came to think ’twas not so sure -after all she was with child. She understood not herself why she was not -glad—it was as though she had lain and wept beneath a warm covering and -now must get up in the cold. A month went by—then two; now she was sure -that she had been spared this ill-hap—and, empty and chill of soul, she -felt yet unhappier than before. In her heart there dawned a little -bitterness toward Erlend. Advent drew near, and she had heard neither -from or of him; she knew not where he was. - -And now she felt she could not bear this fear and doubt—it was as though -a bond betwixt them had snapped; now she was afraid indeed—might it not -so befall that she should never see him more? All she had been safely -linked to once, she was parted from now—and the new tie that bound her -to her lover was such a frail one. She never thought that he would mean -to play her false—but there was so much that might happen—She knew not -how she could go on any longer day after day, suffering the tormenting -doubt of this time of waiting. - -Now and then she thought of her father and mother and sisters—she longed -for them, but as for something she had lost for ever. - -And sometimes in church, and elsewhere too, she would feel a great -yearning to take part in all that this meant, the communion of mankind -with God. It had ever been a part of her life; now she stood outside -with her unconfessed sin. - -She told herself that this cutting adrift from home and kin and church -was but for a time. Erlend must take her by the hand and lead her back -into it all. When her father had given consent to their love, she could -go to him as of yore; when she and Erlend were wed, they could confess -and do penance for their transgression. - -She began to seek for tokens that other folk were not without sin any -more than they. She hearkened more to tale-bearing, and marked all the -little things about her which showed that not even the Sisters in the -convent here were altogether godly and unworldly. These were only little -things—under Lady Groa’s rule Nonneseter to the world was a pattern of -what a godly sisterhood should be. Zealous in their devotions, diligent, -full of care for the poor and sick, were the nuns. Their aloofness from -the world was not so strict but that the Sisters both had visits from -their friends and kin in the parlour, and themselves were given leave to -visit these in the town when aught was afoot; but no nun had brought -shame upon the house by her life all the years of Lady Groa’s rule. - -But Kristin had now an ear alive to all the little jars within the -convent walls—little wranglings and spites and vanities. Save in the -nursing of the sick, none of the Sisters would help with the rough -housework—all were minded to be women of learning or skilled in some -craft; the one strove to outdo the other, and the Sisters who had no -turn for learning or the nobler crafts, lost heart and mooned through -the hours as though but half awake. - -Lady Groa herself was wise as well as learned; she kept a wakeful eye on -her spiritual daughters’ way of life and their diligence, but she -troubled herself little about their souls’ health. She had been kind and -friendly to Kristin at all times—she seemed to like her better than the -other young girls, but that was because Kristin was apt at books and -needlework, diligent and sparing of words. Lady Groa never looked for an -answer from any of the Sisters; but on the other hand she was ever glad -to speak with men. They came and went in her parlour—tenant farmers and -bailiffs of the convent, Preaching Friars from the Bishop, stewards of -estates on Hovedö with whom she was at law. She had her hands full with -the oversight of the convent’s great estates, with the keeping of -accounts, sending out church vestments and taking in books to be copied -and sending them away again. Not the most evil-minded of men could find -aught unseemly in Lady Groa’s way of life. But she liked only to talk of -such things as women seldom know about. - -The prior, who dwelt in a house by himself northward of the church, -seemed to have no more will of his own than the Abbess’ writing reed or -her scourge. Sister Potentia looked after most things within the house; -and she thought most of keeping such order as she had seen in the -far-famed German convent where she had passed her noviciate. She had -been called Sigrid Ragnvaldsdatter before, but had taken a new name when -she took the habit of the order, for this was much the use in other -lands; it was she too who had thought of making the maidens, who were at -Nonneseter as pupils and for a time only, wear novice’s dress. - -Sister Cecilia Baardsdatter was not as the other nuns. She went about -quietly, with downcast eyes, answered always gently and humbly, was -serving maid to all, did for choice all the roughest work, fasted much -more than she need—as much as Lady Groa would let her—and knelt by the -hour in the church after evensong or went thither before matins. - -But one evening, after she had been all day at the beck with two lay -sisters washing clothes, she suddenly burst into a loud sobbing at the -supper table. She cast herself upon the stone floor, crept among the -Sisters on hands and knees, beat her breast, and with burning cheeks and -streaming tears begged them all to forgive her. She was the worst sinner -of them all—she had been hard as stone with pride all her days; pride, -and not meekness or thankfulness for Jesus’ redeeming death, had held -her up, when she had been tempted in the world; she had fled thither not -because she loved a man’s soul, but because she loved her own vain -glory. She had served her sisters out of pride, vanity had she drunken -from her water cup, self-righteousness had she spread thick upon her dry -bread, while the other Sisters were drinking their beer and eating their -bread-slices with butter. - -Of all this Kristin understood no more than that not even Cecilia -Baardsdatter was truly godly at heart. An unlit tallow candle that has -hung from the roof and grown foul with soot and cobweb—to this she -herself likened her unloving chastity. - -Lady Groa went herself and lifted up the sobbing woman. Sternly she -said, that for this disorder Cecilia should as a punishment move from -the Sisters’ dormitory into the Abbess’s own bed, and lie there till she -was free of this fever. - -“And thereafter, Sister Cecilia, shall you sit in my seat for the space -of a week; we will seek counsel of you in spiritual things and give you -such honour for your godly life, that you may have your fill of the -homage of sinful mankind. Thus may you judge if it be worth so much -striving, and thereafter choose whether you will live by the rules, as -do we others, or keep on in exercises that no one demands of you. Then -can you ponder whether you will do for love of God, that he may look -down upon you in His mercy, all those things which you say you have done -that we should look up to you.” - -And so was it done. Sister Cecilia lay in the Abbess’s room for fourteen -days; she had a high fever, and Lady Groa herself tended her. When she -got up again, she had to sit for a week at the side of the Abbess in the -high seat both in the church and in the convent, and all waited on -her—she wept all the time as though she were being beaten with whips. -But afterward she was much calmer and happier. She lived much as before, -but she blushed like a bride if anyone looked at her, whether she was -sweeping the floor or going alone to the church. - - * * * * * - -None the less did this matter of Sister Cecilia awake in Kristin a great -longing for peace and atonement with all wherefrom she had come to feel -herself cast out. She thought of Brother Edwin, and one day she took -courage and begged leave of Lady Groa to go out to the barefoot friars -and visit a friend she knew there. - -She marked that Lady Groa misliked this—there was scant friendship -between the Minorites and the other cloisters in the bishopric. And the -Abbess was no better pleased when she heard who was Kristin’s friend. -She said this Brother Edwin was an unstable man of God—he was ever -wandering about the country and seeking leave to pay begging visits to -strange bishoprics. The common folk in many places held him to be a holy -man, but he did not seem to understand that a Franciscan’s first duty -was obedience to those set over him. He had shriven freebooters and -outlaws, baptised their children, chanted them to their graves without -asking leave—yet, doubtless, he had sinned as much through ignorance as -in despite, and he had borne meekly the penances laid upon him on -account of these things. He was borne with too because he was skilled in -his handicraft—but even in working at this, he had fallen out with his -craft-fellows; the master-limners of the Bishop of Bergen would not -suffer him to come and work in the bishopric there. - -Kristin made bold to ask where he had come from, this monk with the -un-Norse name. Lady Groa was in the mood for talking; she told how he -had been born here in Oslo, but his father was an Englishman, Rikard -Platemaster, who had wedded a farmer’s daughter from the Skogheim -Hundred, and had taken up his abode in the town—two of Edwin’s brothers -were armourers of good repute in Oslo. But this eldest of the -Platemaster’s sons had been a restless spirit all his days. ’Twas true -he had felt a call to the life of the cloister from childhood up; he had -joined the Cistercians at Hovedö as soon as he was old enough. They sent -him to a monastery in France to be trained—for his gifts were good; -while still there he had managed to get leave to pass from the -Cistercian into the Minorite order. And at the time the unruly friars -began building their church eastward in the fields in despite of the -Bishop’s command, Brother Edwin had been one of the worst and most -stiff-necked of them all—nay, he had half killed with his hammer one of -the men the Bishop sent to stop the work. - -—It was a long time now since anyone had spoken so much with Kristin at -one time, so when Lady Groa said that now she might go, the young girl -bent and kissed the Abbess’s hand, fervently and reverently; and as she -did so, tears came into her eyes. And Lady Groa, who saw she was -weeping, thought it was from sorrow—and so she said maybe she might -after all let her go out one day to see Brother Edwin. - -And a few days later she was told some of the convent folk had an errand -to the King’s palace, and they could take her out along with them to the -Brothers in the fields. - -Brother Edwin was at home. Kristin had not thought she could have been -so glad to see anyone, except it had been Erlend. The old man sat and -stroked her hand while they talked together—in thanks for her coming. -No, he had not been in her part of the country since the night he lay at -Jörundgaard, but he had heard she was to wed and he wished her all good -fortune. Then Kristin begged that he would go over to the church with -her. - -They had to go out of the monastery and round to the main door; Brother -Edwin durst not take her through the courtyard. He seemed altogether -exceeding downcast, and fearful of doing aught that might offend. He had -grown very old, thought Kristin. - -And when she had laid upon the altar her offering for the officiant monk -who was in the church, and afterward asked Edwin if he would confess -her, he grew very frightened. He dared not, he said, he had been -strictly forbidden to hear confession. - -“Aye, maybe you have heard of it,” said he. “So it was that I felt I -could not deny to those poor unfortunates the gifts which God had given -me of his free grace. But, ’tis true, I should have enjoined on them to -seek forgiveness in the right place—aye, aye—And you, Kristin,—you are -in duty bound to confess to your own prior.” - -“Nay, but this is a thing I cannot confess to the prior of the convent,” -said Kristin. - -“Think you it can profit you aught to confess to me what you would hide -from your true father confessor,” said the monk more severely. - -“If so be you cannot confess me,” said Kristin, “at least you can let me -speak with you and ask your counsel about what lies upon my soul.” - -The monk looked about him. The church was empty at the moment. Then he -sat himself down on a chest which stood in a corner: “You must remember -that I cannot absolve you, but I will counsel you, and keep silence as -though you had told me in confession.” - -Kristin stood up before him and said: - -“It is this: I cannot be Simon Darre’s wife.” - -“Therein you know well that I can counsel no otherwise than would your -own prior,” said Brother Edwin. “To undutiful children God gives no -happiness, and your father had looked only to your welfare—that you know -full well.” - -“I know not what your counsel will be, when you have heard me to the -end,” answered Kristin. “Thus stands it now with us: Simon is too good -to gnaw the bare branch from which another man has broken the blossom.” - -She looked the monk straight in the face. But when she met his eyes and -marked how the dry, wrinkled, old face changed, grew full of sorrow and -dismay—something seemed to snap within her, tears, started to her eyes, -and she would have cast herself upon her knees. But Edwin stopped her -hurriedly: - -“Nay, nay, sit here upon the chest by me—confess you I cannot—” He drew -aside and made room for her. - -She went on weeping; he stroked her hand, and said gently: - -“Mind you that morning, Kristin, I first saw you there on the stairway -in the Hamar church—? I heard a tale once, when I was in foreign lands, -of a monk, who could not believe that God loved all us wretched -sinners—Then came an angel and touched his eyes, and he beheld a stone -in the bottom of the sea, and under the stone there lived a blind, -white, naked creature; and he gazed at it until he came to love it, for -it was so frail and weak. When I saw you sitting there, so little and so -frail, within the great stone house, methought it was but reason that -God should love such as you. Fair and pure you were, and, yet did you -need a helper and a protector. Methought I saw the whole church, with -you in it, lying in the hollow of God’s hand.” - -Kristin said low: - -“We have bound ourselves one to the other with the dearest oaths—and I -have heard that in the eyes of God such a pact hallows our coming -together as much as if our fathers and mothers had given us one to the -other.” - -The monk answered sadly: - -“I see well, Kristin, someone who knew it not to the full has spoken to -you of the canonical law. You could not bind yourself by oath to this -man without sinning against your father and mother; them had God set -over you before you met him. And is it not sorrow and a shame for his -kin too, if they learn that he has lured astray the daughter of a man -who has borne his shield with honour at all seasons—betrothed, too, to -another? I hear by your words, you deem you have not sinned so -greatly—yet dare you not confess this thing to your appointed priest. -And if so be you think you are as good as wed to this man, wherefore set -you not on your head the linen coif of wedlock, but go still with -flowing hair amidst the young maids with whom you can have no great -fellowship any more—for now must the chief of your thoughts be with -other things than they have in mind?” - -“I know not what they have in their minds,” said Kristin, wearily. “True -it is that all my thoughts are with the man I long for. Were it not for -my father and mother, I would full gladly bind up my hair this -day—little would I care if I were called wanton, if only I might be -called his.” - -“Know you if this man means so to deal toward you, that you may be -called his with honour some day,” asked Brother Edwin. - -Then Kristin told of all that had passed between Erlend Nikulaussön and -herself. And while she spoke she seemed not even to call to mind that -she had ever doubted the outcome of it all. - -“See you not, Brother Edwin,” she began again, “we could not help -ourselves. God help me, if I were to meet him without here, when I go -from you, and should he pray me to go with him, I would go—I wot well, -too, I have seen now there be other folk who have sinned as well as -we—When I was a girl at home ’twas past my understanding how aught could -win such power over the souls of men that they could forget the fear of -sin; but so much have I learnt now: if the wrongs men do through lust -and anger cannot be atoned for, then must heaven be an empty place—They -tell of you, even, that you, too, once struck a man in wrath—” - -“’Tis true,” said the monk, “God’s mercy alone have I to thank that I am -not called manslayer. ’Tis many years agone—I was a young man then, and -methought I could not endure the wrong the Bishop would have put upon us -poor friars. King Haakon—he was Duke then—had given us the ground for -our house, but we were so poor we had to work upon our church -ourselves—with some few workmen who gave their help more for Heavenly -reward than for what we could pay them. Maybe ’twas sinful pride in us -beggar monks to wish to build our church so fair and goodly—but we were -happy as children in the fields, and sang songs of praise while we hewed -and built and toiled. Brother Ranulv—God rest his soul—was -masterbuilder—he was a right skilful stonecutter; nay, I trow the man -had been granted skill in all knowledge and all arts by God himself. I -was a carver of stone panels in those days; I had but just finished one -of St. Clara, whom the angels were bearing to the church of St. Francis -in the dawn of Christmas day—a most fair panel it had proved, and all of -us joyed in it greatly—then the hellish miscreants tore down the walls, -and a stone fell and crushed my panels—I struck at a man with my hammer, -I could not contain me— - -“Aye, now you smile, my Kristin. But see you not, that ’tis not well -with you now, since you would rather hear such tales of other folks’ -frailties than of the life and deeds of good men, who might serve you as -a pattern—? - -“’Tis no easy matter to give you counsel,” he said, when it was time for -her to go. “For were you to do what were most right, you would bring -sorrow to your father and mother and shame to all your kin. But you must -see to it that you free yourself from the troth you plighted to Simon -Andressön—and then must you wait in patience for the lot God may send -you, make in your heart what amends you can—and let not this Erlend -tempt you to sin again, but pray him lovingly to seek atonement with -your kin and with God— - -“From your sin I cannot free you,” said Brother Edwin, as they parted, -“but pray for you, I will with all my might....” - -He laid his thin, old hands upon her head and prayed, in farewell, that -God might bless her and give her peace. - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - 6 - -AFTERWARDS, there was much in what Brother Edwin had said to her that -Kristin could not call to mind. But she left him with a mind strangely -clear and peaceful. - -Hitherto she had striven with a dull, secret fear and tried to brave it -out; telling herself she had not sinned so deeply. Now she felt Edwin -had shown her plainly and clearly, that she had sinned indeed; such and -such was her sin, and she must take it upon her and try to bear it -meekly and well. She strove to think of Erlend without impatience—either -because he did not send word of himself or because she must want his -caresses. She would only be faithful and full of love for him. - -She thought of her father and mother, and vowed to herself that she -would requite them for all their love, once they had got over the sorrow -she must bring upon them by breaking with the Dyfrin folk. And wellnigh -most of all, she thought of Brother Edwin’s words of how she must not -seek comfort in looking on others’ faults; she felt she grew humble and -kind, and now she saw at once how easy it was for her to win folks’ -friendship. Then was she comforted by the thought that after all ’twas -not so hard to come to a good understanding with people—and so it seemed -to her it surely could not be so hard for her and Erlend either. - -Until the day she gave her word to Erlend, she had always striven -earnestly to do what was right and good—but she had done all at the -bidding of others. Now she felt she had grown from maid to woman. ’Twas -not only by reason of the fervent secret caresses she had taken and -given, not only that she had passed from her father’s ward and was now -under Erlend’s will. For Edwin had laid upon her the burden of answering -for her own life, aye and for Erlend’s too. And she was willing to bear -it well and bravely. Thus she went about among the nuns at Yule-tide; -and, throughout the goodly rites and the joy and peace of the holy time, -though she felt herself unworthy, yet she took comfort in thinking that -the time would soon come when she could set herself right again. - - * * * * * - -But the second day of the new year, Sir Andres Darre with his wife and -all five children came, all unlooked for, to the convent. They were come -to keep the last days of Yule-tide with their friends and kindred in the -town, and they asked that Kristin might have leave to be with them in -their lodging for a short space. - -“For methought, my daughter,” said Lady Angerd, “you would scarce be -loth to see a few new faces for a time.” - - * * * * * - -The Dyfrin folk dwelt in a goodly house that stood in a dwelling place -near the bishop’s palace—Sir Andres’ cousin owned it. There was a great -hall where the serving-folk slept, and a fine loft-room with a fireplace -of masonry and three good beds; in the one Sir Andres and Lady Angerd -slept with their youngest son, Gudmund, who was yet a child; in another -slept Kristin and their two daughters, Astrid and Sigrid, and in the -third Simon and his eldest brother Gyrd Andressön. - -All Sir Andres’ children were comely; Simon the least so, yet he too was -reckoned to be well-favoured. And Kristin marked still more than when -she was at Dyfrin the year before, that both his father and mother and -his four brothers and sisters hearkened most to Simon and did all he -would have them. They all loved each other dearly, but all agreed, -without grudging or envy, in setting Simon foremost amongst them. - -Here these good folk lived a merry, carefree life. They visited the -churches and made their offerings every day, came together with their -friends and drank in their company each evening, while the young folk -had full leave to play and dance. All showed Kristin the greatest -kindness, and none seemed to mark how little glad she was. - -Of an evening, when the light had been put out in the loft-room, and all -had sought their beds, Simon was wont to get up and go to where the -maidens lay. He would sit a while on the edge of the bed; his talk was -mostly to his sisters, but in the dark he would let his hand rest on -Kristin’s bosom—while she lay there hot with wrath. - -Now that her sense of such things was keener, she understood well that -there were many things Simon was both too proud and too shy to say to -her, since he saw she had no mind to such talk from him. And she felt -strangely bitter and angry with him, for it seemed to her as though he -would fain be a better man than he who had made her his own—even though -Simon knew not there was such a one. - -But one night when they had been dancing at another house, Astrid and -Sigrid were left behind there to sleep with a playmate. When, late at -night, the Dyfrin folk had gone to rest in their loft-room, Simon came -to Kristin’s bed and climbed up into it; he laid himself down above the -fur cover. - -Kristin pulled the coverlid up to her chin and crossed her arms firmly -upon her breast. In a little Simon tried to put his hand upon her bosom. -She felt the silken broidery on his wristband, and knew he had not taken -off any of his clothes. - -“You are just as bashful in the dark as in the light, Kristin,” said -Simon, laughing a little. “Surely you can at least let me have one hand -to hold,” he said, and Kristin gave him the tips of her fingers. - -“Think you not we should have somewhat to talk of, when it so falls out -that we can be alone a little while?” said he; and Kristin thought, now -was the time for her to speak. So she answered: yes. But after that she -could not utter a word. - -“May I come under the fur,” he begged again. “’Tis cold in the room -now—” And he slipped in between the fur coverlid and the woollen blanket -she had next her. He bent one arm round the bed head, but so that he did -not touch her. Thus they lay a while. - -“You are not over-easy to woo, i’ faith,” said Simon soon after, with a -resigned laugh. “Now I pledge you my word, I will not so much as kiss -you, if you would not I should. But surely you can speak to me at -least?” - -Kristin wet her lips with the tip of her tongue, but still she was -silent. - -“Nay, if you are not lying there trembling!” went on Simon. “Surely it -cannot be that you have aught against me, Kristin?” - -She felt she could not lie to Simon, so she said “No,”—but nothing more. - -Simon lay a while longer; he tried to get her into talk with him. But at -last he laughed again and said: - -“I see well you think I should be content with hearing that you have -naught against me—for to-night—and be glad to boot. ’Tis a parlous -thing, so proud as you are—yet one kiss must you give me; then will I go -my way and not plague you any more—” - -He took the kiss, then sat up and put his feet to the floor. Kristin -thought, now must she say to him what she had to say—but he was away -already by his own bed, and she heard him undress. - - * * * * * - -The day after Lady Angerd was not so friendly to Kristin as was her -wont. The girl saw that the Lady must have heard somewhat the night -before, and that she deemed her son’s betrothed had not borne her toward -him as she held was fitting. - -Late that afternoon Simon spoke of a friend’s horse he was minded to -take in barter for one of his own. He asked Kristin if she would go with -him to look at it. She was nothing loth; and they went out into the town -together. - -The weather was fresh and fair. It had snowed a little overnight, but -now the sun was shining, and it was freezing so that the snow crackled -under their feet. Kristin felt ’twas good to be out and walk in the cold -air, and when Simon brought out the horse to show her, she talked of it -with him gaily enough; she knew something of horses, she had been so -much with her father. And this was a comely beast—a mouse-grey stallion -with a black stripe down the back and a clipped mane, well-shapen and -lively, but something small and slightly built. - -“He would scarce hold out under a full-armed man for long,” said -Kristin. - -“Indeed, no; nor did I mean him for such a rider,” said Simon. - -He led the horse out into the home field behind the house, made it trot -and walk, mounted to try its paces and would have Kristin ride it too. -Thus they stayed together a good while out on the snowy field. - -At last, as Kristin stood giving the horse bread out of her hand, while -Simon leant with his arm over its back, he said all at once: - -“Methinks, Kristin, you and my mother are none too loving one with -another.” - -“I have not meant to be unloving to your mother,” said she, “but I find -not much to say to Lady Angerd.” - -“Nor seems it you find much to say to me either,” said Simon. “I would -not force myself upon you, Kristin, before the time comes—but things -cannot go on as now, when I can never come to speech with you.” - -“I have never been one for much speaking”; said Kristin, “I know it -myself; and I look not you should think it so great a loss, if what is -betwixt us two should come to naught.” - -“You know well, what my thoughts are in that matter,” said Simon, -looking at her. - -Kristin flushed red as blood. And it gave her a pang that she could not -mislike the fashion of Simon Darre’s wooing. After a while he said: - -“Is it Arne Gyrdsön, Kristin, you feel you cannot forget?” Kristin but -gazed at him; Simon went on, and his voice was gentle and kind: “Never -would I blame you for that—you had grown up like brother and sister, and -scarce a year is gone by. But be well assured, for your comfort, that I -have your good at heart—” - -Kristin’s face had grown deathly white. Neither of them spoke again as -they went back through the town in the twilight. At the end of the -street, in the blue-green sky, rode the new moon’s sickle with a bright -star within its horn. - -A year, thought Kristin; and she could not think when she had last given -a thought to Arne. She grew afraid—maybe she was a wanton, wicked -woman—but one year since she had seen him on his bier in the wake room, -and had thought she should never be glad again in this life—she moaned -within herself for terror of her own heart’s inconstancy and of the -fleeting changefulness of all things. Erlend, Erlend—could he forget -her—and yet it seemed to her ’twould be worse, if at any time she should -forget him. - - * * * * * - -Sir Andres went with his children to the great Yule-tide feast at the -King’s palace. Kristin saw all the pomp and show of the festival—they -came, too, into the hall where sat King Haakon and the Lady Isabel -Bruce, King Eirik’s widow. Sir Andres went forward and did homage to the -King, while his children and Kristin stood somewhat behind. She thought -of all Lady Aashild had told her; she called to mind that the King was -near of kin to Erlend, their fathers’ mothers were sisters—and she was -Erlend’s light o’ love, she had no right to stand here, least of all -amid these good and worthy folk, Sir Andres’ children. - -Then all at once she saw Erlend Nikulaussön—he had stepped forward in -front of Queen Isabel, and stood with bowed head and with his hand upon -his breast, while she spoke a few words to him; he had on the brown silk -clothes that he had worn at the guild feast. Kristin stepped behind Sir -Andres’ daughters. - -When, some time after, Lady Angerd led her daughters up before the -Queen, Kristin could not see him anywhere, but indeed she dared not lift -her eyes from the floor. She wondered whether he was standing somewhere -in the hall, she thought she could feel his eyes upon her—but she -thought, too, that all folks looked at her as though they must know she -was a liar, standing there with the golden garland on her outspread -hair. - - * * * * * - -He was not in the hall where the young folk were feasted and where they -danced when the tables had been taken away; this evening it was Simon -with whom Kristin must dance. - -Along one of the longer walls stood a fixed table, and thither the -King’s men bore ale and mead and wine the whole night long. Once when -Simon drew her thither and drank to her, she saw Erlend standing near, -behind Simon’s back. He looked at her, and Kristin’s hand shook when she -took the beaker from Simon’s hand and set it to her lips. Erlend -whispered vehemently to the man who was with him—a tall comely man, well -on in years and somewhat stout, who shook his head impatiently and -looked as he were vexed. Soon after Simon led her back to the dance. - -She knew not how long this dancing lasted—the music seemed as though -’twould never end, and each moment was long and evil to her with longing -and unrest. At last it was over, and Simon drew her to the drinking -board again. - -A friend came forward to speak to him, and led him away a few steps, to -a group of young men. And Erlend stood before her. - -“I have so much I would fain say to you,” he whispered, “I know not what -to say first—in Jesus’ name, Kristin, what ails you?” he asked quickly, -for he saw her face grow white as chalk. - -She could not see him clearly; it seemed as though there were running -water between their two faces. He took a goblet from the table, drank -from it and handed it to her. Kristin felt as though ’twas all too heavy -for her, or as though her arm had been cut off at the shoulder; do as -she would, she could not lift the cup to her mouth. - -“Is it so, then, that you will drink with your betrothed, but not with -me?” asked Erlend softly—but Kristin dropped the goblet from her hand -and sank forward into his arms. - -When she awoke she was lying on a bench with her head in a strange -maiden’s lap—someone was standing by her side, striking the palms of her -hands, and she had water on her face. - -She sat up. Somewhere in the ring about her she saw Erlend’s face, white -and drawn. Her own body felt weak, as though all her bones had melted -away, and her head seemed as it were large and hollow—but somewhere -within it shone one clear, desperate thought—she must speak with Erlend. - -She said to Simon Darre—he stood near by: - -“’Twas too hot for me, I trow,—so many tapers are burning here—and I am -little used to drink so much wine—” - -“Are you well again now,” asked Simon. “You frightened folks—Mayhap you -would have me take you home now?” - -“We must wait, surely, till your father and mother go,” said Kristin -calmly. “But sit down here—I can dance no more.” She touched the cushion -at her side—then she held out her other hand to Erlend: - -“Sit you here, Erlend Nikulaussön; I had no time to speak my greetings -to an end. ’Twas but of late Ingebjörg said she deemed you had clean -forgotten her.” - -She saw it was far harder for him to keep calm than for her—and it was -all she could do to keep back the little tender smile, which would -gather round her lips. - -“You must bear the maid my thanks for thinking of me still,” he -stammered. “Almost I was afraid she had forgotten me.” - -Kristin paused a little. She knew not what she should say, which might -seem to come from the flighty Ingebjörg and yet might tell Erlend her -meaning. Then there welled up in her the bitterness of all these months -of helpless waiting, and she said: - -“Dear Erlend, can you think that we maidens could forget the man who -defended our honour so gallantly.” - -She saw his face change as though she had struck him—and at once she was -sorry; then Simon asked what this was they spoke of. Kristin told him of -Ingebjörg’s and her adventure in the Eikaberg woods. She marked that -Simon liked the tale but little. Then she begged him to go and ask of -Lady Angerd, whether they should not soon go home; ’twas true that she -was weary. When he was gone, she looked at Erlend. - -“’Tis strange,” said he in a low voice, “you are so quick-witted—I had -scarce believed it of you.” - -“Think you not I have had to learn to hide and be secret?” said she -gloomily. - -Erlend’s breath came heavily; he was still very pale. - -“’Tis so then?” he whispered. “Yet did you promise me to turn to my -friends if this should come to pass. God knows, I have thought of you -each day, in dread that the worst might have befallen—” - -“I know well what you mean by the worst,” said Kristin shortly. “_That_ -you have no need to fear. To me what seemed the worst was that you would -not send me one word of greeting—can you not understand that I am living -there amongst the nuns—like a stranger bird—?” She stopped—for she felt -that the tears were coming. - -“Is it therefore you are with the Dyfrin folk now?” he asked. Then such -grief came upon her that she could make no answer. - -She saw Lady Angerd and Simon come through the doorway. Erlend’s hand -lay upon his knee, near her, and she could not take it— - -“I must have speech with you,” said he eagerly, “we have not said a word -to one another we should have said—” - -“Come to mass in the Maria Church at Epiphany,” said Kristin quickly, as -she rose and went to meet the others. - -Lady Angerd showed herself most loving and careful of Kristin on the way -home, and herself helped her to bed. With Simon she had no talk until -the day after. - -Then he said: - -“How comes it that you bear messages betwixt this Erlend and Ingebjörg -Filippusdatter? ’Tis not fit that you should meddle in the matter, if -there be hidden dealings between them.” - -“Most like there is naught in it,” said Kristin. “She is but a -chatterer.” - -“Methinks too,” said Simon, “you should have taken warning by what’s -past and not trusted yourself out in the wild-wood paths alone with that -magpie.” But Kristin reminded him hotly that it was not their fault they -had strayed and lost themselves. Simon said no more. - -The next day the Dyfrin folks took her back to the convent, before they -themselves left for home. - - * * * * * - -Erlend came to evensong in the convent church every evening for a week -without Kristin getting a chance to change a word with him. She felt as -she thought a hawk must feel sitting chained to its perch with its hood -over its eyes. Every word that had passed between them at their last -meeting made her unhappy too—it should never have been like that. It was -of no use to say to herself: it had come upon them so suddenly, they had -hardly known what they said. - -But one afternoon in the twilight there came to the parlour a comely -woman, who looked like a townsman’s wife. She asked for Kristin -Lavransdatter, and said she was the wife of a mercer and her husband had -come from Denmark of late with some fine cloaks; Aasmund Björgulfsön had -a mind to give one to his brother’s daughter, and the maid was to go -with her and choose for herself. - -Kristin was given leave to go with the woman. She thought it was unlike -her uncle to wish to give her a costly gift, and strange that he should -send an unknown woman to fetch her. The woman was sparing of her words -at first, and said little in answer to Kristin’s questions, but when -they were come down to the town, she said of a sudden: - -“I will not play you false, fair child that you are—I will tell you all -this thing as it is, and you must do as you deem best. ’Twas not your -uncle who sent me, but a man—maybe you can guess his name, and if you -cannot, then you shall not come with me. I have no husband—I make a -living for myself and mine by keeping a house of call and selling beer; -for such a one it boots not to be too much afraid either of sin or of -the watchmen—but I will not lend my house for you to be betrayed inside -my doors.” - -Kristin stood still, flushing red. She was strangely sore and ashamed -for Erlend’s sake. The woman said: - -“I will go back with you to the convent, Kristin—but you must give me -somewhat for my trouble—the knight promised me a great reward—but I too -was fair once, and I too was betrayed. And ’twould not be amiss if you -should name me in your prayers to-night—they call me Brynhild Fluga.” - -Kristin drew a ring off her finger and gave it to the woman: - -“’Tis fairly done of you, Brynhild—but if the man be my kinsman Erlend -Nikulaussön, then have I naught to fear; he would have me to make peace -betwixt him and my uncle. You may set your mind at ease—but I thank you -none the less that you would have warned me.” - -Brynhild Fluga turned away to hide a smile. - -She led Kristin by the alleys behind St. Clement’s Church northward -towards the river. Here a few small dwelling-places stood by themselves -along the river-bank. They went towards one of them along a path between -fences, and here Erlend came to meet them. He looked about him, on all -sides, then took off his cloak, wrapped it about Kristin and pulled the -hood over her face. - -“What think you of this device,” he asked, quickly and low. “Think you -’tis a great wrong I do?—yet needs must I speak with you.” - -“It boots but little now, I trow, to think what is right and what is -wrong,” said Kristin. - -“Speak not so,” begged Erlend. “I bear the blame—Kristin, every day and -every night have I longed for you,” he whispered close to her. - -A shudder passed through her as she met his eyes for a moment. She felt -it as guilt in her, when he looked so at her, that she had thought of -anything but her love for him. - -Brynhild Fluga had gone on before. Erlend asked, when they were come -into the courtyard: - -“Would you that we should go into the living-room, or shall we talk up -in the loft-room?” - -“As you will,” answered Kristin; and they mounted to the loft-room. - -The moment he had barred the door behind them she was in his arms— - - * * * * * - -She knew not how long she had lain folded thus in his arms, when Erlend -said: - -“Now must we say what has to be said, my Kristin—I scarce dare let you -stay here longer.” - -“I dare stay here all night long if you would have me stay,” she -whispered. - -Erlend pressed his cheek to hers: - -“Then were I not your friend. ’Tis bad enough as it is, but you shall -not lose your good name for my sake.” - -Kristin did not answer—but a soreness stirred within her; how could he -speak thus—he who had lured her here to Brynhild Fluga’s house—she knew -not why, but she felt it was no honest place. And he had looked that all -should go as it had gone, of that she was sure. - -“I have thought at times,” said Erlend again, “that if there be no other -way, I must bear you off by force—into Sweden—Lady Ingebjörg welcomed me -kindly in the autumn and was mindful of our kinship. But now do I suffer -for my sins—I have fled the land before, as you know—and I would not -they should name you as the like of that other.” - -“Take me home with you to Husaby,” said Kristin low. “I cannot bear to -be parted from you, and to live on among the maids at the convent. Both -your kin and mine would surely hearken to reason and let us come -together and be reconciled with them—” - -Erlend clasped her to him and groaned: - -“I cannot bring you to Husaby, Kristin.” - -“Why can you not?” she asked softly. - -“Eline came thither in the autumn,” said he after a moment. “I cannot -move her to leave the place,” he went on hotly, “not unless I bear her -to the sledge by force and drive away with her. And that methought I -could not do—she has brought both our children home with her—” - -Kristin felt herself sinking, sinking. In a voice breaking with fear, -she said: - -“I deemed you were parted from her—” - -“So deemed I too,” answered Erlend shortly. “But she must have heard in -Österdal, where she was, that I had thoughts of marriage. You saw the -man with me at the Yule-tide feast—’twas my foster-father, Baard -Petersön of Hestnæs. I went to him when I came from Sweden, I went to my -kinsman Heming Alvsön in Saltviken, too; I talked with both about my -wish to wed, and begged their help. Eline must have come to hear of it— - -“I bade her ask what she would for herself and the children—but Sigurd, -her husband—they look not that he should live the winter out—and then -none could deny us if we would live together— - -“—I lay in the stable with Haftor and Ulv, and Eline lay in the hall in -my bed. I trow my men had a rare jest to laugh at behind my back—” - -Kristin could not say a word. A little after, Erlend spoke again: - -“See you, the day we pledge each other at our espousals, she must -understand that all is over between her and me—she has no power over me -any more— - -“But ’tis hard for the children. I had not seen them for a year—they are -fair children—and little can I do to give them a happy lot. ’Twould not -have helped them greatly had I been able to wed their mother.” - -Tears began to roll down over Kristin’s cheeks. Then Erlend said: - -“Heard you what I said but now, that I had talked with my kinsfolk? Aye, -they were glad enough that I was minded to wed. Then I said ’twas you I -would have and none other—” - -“And they liked not that?” asked Kristin at length, forlornly. - -“See you not?” said Erlend gloomily, “they could say but one thing—they -cannot and they will not ride with me to your father, until this bargain -twixt you and Simon Andressön is undone again. It has made it none the -easier for us, Kristin, that you have spent your Yule-tide with the -Dyfrin folk.” - -Kristin gave way altogether and wept noiselessly. She had felt ever that -there was something of wrong and dishonour in her love, and now she knew -the fault was hers. - -She shook with the cold when she got up soon after, and Erlend wrapped -her in both the cloaks. It was quite dark now without, and Erlend went -with her as far as St. Clement’s Church; then Brynhild brought her the -rest of the way to Nonneseter. - - - 7 - -A week later Brynhild Fluga came with the word that the cloak was ready, -and Kristin went with her and met Erlend in the loft-room as before. - -When they parted, he gave her a cloak: “So that you may have something -to show in the convent,” said he. It was of blue velvet with red silk -inwoven, and Erlend bade her mark that ’twas of the same hues as the -dress she had worn that day in the woods. Kristin wondered it should -make her so glad that he said this—she thought he had never given her -greater happiness than when he had said these words. - -But now they could no longer make use of this way of meeting, and it was -not easy to find a new one. But Erlend came often to the vespers at the -convent church, and sometimes Kristin would make herself an errand after -the service up to the commoners’ houses; and then they would snatch a -few words together by stealth up by the fences in the murk of the winter -evening. - -Then Kristin thought of asking leave of Sister Potentia to visit some -old, crippled women, alms-folk of the convent, who dwelt in a cottage -standing in one of the fields. Behind the cottage was an outhouse where -the women kept a cow; Kristin offered to tend it for them; and while she -was there Erlend would join her and she would let him in. - -She wondered a little to mark that, glad as Erlend was to be with her, -it seemed to rankle in his mind that she could devise such a plan. - -“’Twas no good day for you when you came to know me,” said he one -evening. “Now have you learnt to follow the ways of deceit.” - -“_You_ ought not to blame me,” answered Kristin sadly. - -“’Tis not you I blame,” said Erlend quickly with a shamed look. - -“I had not thought myself,” went on Kristin, “that ’twould come so easy -to me to lie. But one _can_ do what one _must_ do.” - -“Nay, ’tis not so at all times,” said Erlend as before. “Mind you not -last winter, when you could not bring yourself to tell your betrothed -that you would not have him?” - -To this Kristin answered naught, but only stroked his face. - -She never felt so strongly how dear Erlend was to her, as when he said -things like this that made her grieve or wonder. She was glad when she -could take upon herself the blame for all that was shameful and wrong in -their love. Had she found courage to speak to Simon as she should have -done, they might have been a long way now on the road to have all put in -order. Erlend had done all he could when he had spoken of their wedding -to his kinsmen. She said this to herself when the days in the convent -grew long and evil—Erlend had wished to make all things right and good -again. With little tender smiles she thought of him as he drew a picture -of their wedding for her,—she should ride to church in silks and velvet, -she should be led to the bridal bed with the high golden crown on her -flowing hair—“your lovely, lovely hair,” he said, drawing her plaits -through his hand. - -“Yet can it not be the same to you as though I had never been yours,” -said Kristin musingly, once when he talked thus. - -Then he clasped her to him wildly: - -“Can I call to mind the first time I drank in Yule-tide think you, or -the first time I saw the hills at home turn green when winter was gone? -Aye, well do I mind the first time you were mine, and each time -since—but to have you for my own is like keeping Yule and hunting birds -on green hillsides for ever—” - -Happily she nestled to him. Not that she ever thought for a moment it -would turn out as Erlend was so sure it would—Kristin felt that before -long a day of judgment must come upon them. It could not be that things -should go well for them in the end.... But she was not so much -afraid—she was much more afraid Erlend might have to go northward before -it all came to light, and she be left behind, parted from him. He was -over at the castle at Akersnes now; Munan Baardsön was posted there -while the bodyguard was at Tunsberg, where the King lay grievously sick. -But sometime Erlend must go home and see to his possessions. That she -was afraid of his going home to Husaby because Eline sat there awaiting -for him, she would not own even to herself; and neither would she own -that she was less afraid to be taken in sin along with Erlend than of -standing forth alone and telling Simon and her father what was in her -heart. - -Almost she could have wished for punishment to come upon her, and that -soon. For now she had no other thought than of Erlend; she longed for -him in the day and dreamed of him at night; she could not feel remorse, -but she took comfort in thinking the day would come when she would have -to pay dear for all they had snatched by stealth. And in the short -evening hours she could be with Erlend in the almswomen’s cow-shed, she -threw herself into his arms with as much passion as if she knew she had -paid with her soul already that she might be his. - - * * * * * - -But time went on, and it seemed as though Erlend might have the good -fortune he had counted on. Kristin never marked that any in the convent -mistrusted her. Ingebjörg, indeed, had found out that she met Erlend, -but Kristin saw the other never dreamed ’twas aught else than a little -passing sport. That a maid of good kindred, promised in marriage, should -dare wish to break the bargain her kinsfolk had made, such a thought -would never come to Ingebjörg, Kristin saw. And once more a pang of -terror shot through her—it might be ’twas a quite unheard of thing, this -she had taken in hand. And at this thought she wished again that -discovery might come, and all be at an end. - -Easter came. Kristin knew not how the winter had gone; every day she had -not seen Erlend had been long as an evil year, and the long evil days -had linked themselves together into weeks without end—but now it was -spring and Easter was come, she felt ’twas no time since the Yule-tide -feast. She begged Erlend not to seek her till the Holy Week was gone by; -and he yielded to her in this, as he did to all her wishes, thought -Kristin. It was as much her own blame as his that they had sinned -together in not keeping the Lenten fast. But Easter she resolved they -should keep. Yet it was misery not to see him. Maybe he would have to go -soon—he had said naught of it, but she knew that now the King lay dying, -and mayhap this might bring some turn in Erlend’s fortunes, she thought. - - * * * * * - -Thus things stood with her, when one of the first days after Easter word -was brought her to go down to the parlour to her betrothed. - -As soon as he came toward her and held out his hand, she felt there was -somewhat amiss—his face was not as it was wont to be; his small, grey -eyes did not laugh, they did not smile when he smiled. And Kristin could -not help seeing it became him well to be a little less merry. He looked -well, too, in a kind of travelling dress—a long blue, close-fitting -outer garment men called _kothardi_, and a brown shoulder-cape with a -hood, which was thrown back now; the cold air had given his light-brown -hair a yet stronger curl. - -They sat and talked for a while. Simon had been at Formo through Lent, -and had gone over to Jörundgaard almost daily. They were well there; -Ulvhild as well as they dared look that she should be; Ramborg was at -home now, she was a fair child and lively. - -“’Twill be over one of these days—the year you were to be here at -Nonneseter,” said Simon. “By this the folks at your home will have begun -to make ready for our betrothal feast—yours and mine.” - -Kristin said naught, and Simon went on: - -“I said to Lavrans, I would ride hither to Oslo and speak to you of -this.” - -Kristin looked down and said low: - -“I, too, would fain speak with you of that matter, Simon—alone.” - -“I saw well myself that we must speak of it alone,” answered Simon, “and -I was about to ask even now that you would pray Lady Groa to let us go -together into the garden for a little.” - -Kristin rose quickly and slipped from the room without a sound. Soon -after she came back followed by one of the nuns with a key. - -There was a door leading from the parlour out into an herb-garden that -lay behind the most westerly of the convent buildings. The nun unlocked -the door and they stepped out into a mist so thick they could see but a -few paces in among the trees. The nearest stems were coal-black; the -moisture stood in beads on every twig and bough. A little fresh snow lay -melting upon the wet mould, but under the bushes some white and yellow -lily plants were blooming already, and a fresh, cool smell rose from the -violet leaves. - -Simon led her to the nearest bench. He sat a little bent forward with -his elbows resting upon his knees. Then he looked up at her with a -strange little smile: - -“Almost I think I know what you would say to me,” said he. “There is -another man, who is more to you than I—” - -“It is so,” answered Kristin faintly. - -“Methinks I know his name too,” said Simon, in a harder tone. “It is -Erlend Nikulaussön of Husaby?” - -After a while Kristin asked in a low voice: - -“It has come to your ears then?” - -Simon was a little slow in answering. - -“You can scarce think I could be so dull as not to see somewhat when we -were together at Yule? I could say naught then, for my father and mother -were with us. But this it is that has brought me hither alone this time. -I know not whether it be wise of me to touch upon it—but methought we -must talk of these things before we are given to one another. - -“But so it is now, that when I came hither yesterday—I met my kinsman -Master Öistein. And he spoke of you. He said you two had passed across -the churchyard of St. Clement’s one evening, and with you was a woman -they call Brynhild Fluga. I swore a great oath that he must have seen -amiss! And if you say it is untrue, I shall believe your word.” - -“The priest saw aright,” answered Kristin defiantly. “You foreswore -yourself, Simon.” - -He sat a little ere he asked: - -“Know you who this Brynhild Fluga is, Kristin?” As she shook her head, -he said: “Munan Baardsön set her up in a house here in the town, when he -wedded—she carries on unlawful dealings in wine—and other things—” - -“You know her?” asked Kristin mockingly. - -“I was never meant to be a monk or a priest,” said Simon reddening. “But -I can say at least that I have wronged no maid and no man’s wedded wife. -See you not yourself that ’tis no honourable man’s deed to bring you out -to go about at night in such company—” - -“Erlend did not draw me on,” said Kristin, red with anger, “nor has he -promised me aught. I set my heart on him without his doing aught to -tempt me—from the first time I saw him, he was dearer to me than all -other men.” - -Simon sat playing with his dagger, throwing it from one hand to the -other. - -“These are strange words to hear from a man’s betrothed maiden,” said -he. “Things promise well for us two now, Kristin.” - -Kristin drew a deep breath: - -“You would be ill served should you take me for your wife now, Simon.” - -“Aye, God Almighty knows that so it seems indeed,” said Simon Andressön. - -“Then I dare hope,” said Kristin meekly and timidly, “that you will -uphold me, so that Sir Andres and my father may let this bargain about -us be undone?” - -“Do you so?” said Simon. He was silent for a little. “God knows whether -you rightly understand what you say.” - -“That do I,” said Kristin. “I know the law is such that none may force a -maid to marriage against her will; else can she take her plea before the -Thing—” - -“I trow ’tis before the bishop,” said Simon, with something of a grim -smile. “True it is, I have had no cause to search out how the law stands -in such things. And I wot well you believe not either that ’twill come -to that pass. You know well enough that I will not hold you to your -word, if your heart is too much set against it. But can you not -understand—’tis two years now since our marriage was agreed, and you -have said no word against it till now, when all is ready for the -betrothal and the wedding. Have you thought what it will mean, if you -come forth now an seek to break the bond, Kristin?” - -“But you want me not either,” said Kristin. - -“Aye, but I do,” answered Simon curtly. “If you think otherwise, you -must even think better of it—” - -“Erlend Nikulaussön and I have vowed to each other by our Christian -faith,” said she, trembling, “that if we cannot come together in -wedlock, then neither of us will have wife or husband all our days—” - -Simon was silent a good while. Then he said with effort: - -“Then I know not, Kristin, what you meant when you said Erlend had -neither drawn you on nor promised you aught—he has lured you to set -yourself against the counsel of all your kin.—Have you thought what kind -of husband you will get, if you wed a man who took another’s wife to be -his paramour—and now would take for wife another man’s betrothed -maiden—?” - -Kristin gulped down her tears; she whispered thickly: - -“This you say but to hurt me.” - -“Think you I would wish to hurt you?” asked Simon in a low voice. - -“’Tis not as it would have been, had you—” said Kristin falteringly. -“You were not asked either, Simon—’twas your father and my father who -made the pact. It had been otherwise had you chosen me yourself—” - -Simon stuck his dagger into the bench so that it stood upright. A little -after he drew it out again, and tried to slip it back into its sheath, -but it would not go down, the point was bent. Then he sat passing it -from hand to hand as before. - -“You know yourself,” said he in a low tone, and with a shaking voice, -“you know that you lie, if you would have it that I did not—You know -well enough, what I would have spoken of with you—many times—when you -met me so that I had not been a man, had I been able to say it—after -that—not if they had tried to drag it out of me with redhot pincers.... - -“—First I thought ’twas yonder dead lad. I thought I must leave you in -peace awhile—you knew me not—I deemed ’twould have been a wrong to -trouble you so soon after. Now I see you did not need so long a time to -forget—now—now—now—” - -“No,” said Kristin quietly. “I know it, Simon. Now I cannot look that -you should be my friend any longer.” - -“_Friend—!_” Simon gave a short, strange laugh. “Do you need my -friendship now, then?” - -Kristin grew red. - -“You are a man,” said she softly. “And old enough now—you can choose -yourself whom you will wed—” - -Simon looked at her sharply. Then he laughed as before: - -“I understand. You would have me say ’tis I who—I am to take the blame -for the breaking of our bond? - -“If so be that your mind is fixed—if you have the will and the boldness -to try to carry through your purpose—then I will do it,” he said low. -“At home with all my own folks and before all your kin—save one. To your -father you must tell the truth, even as it is. If you would have it so, -I will bear your message to him, and spare you, in giving it, in so far -as I can—but Lavrans Björgulfsön shall know that never, with my will, -would I go back from one word that I have spoken to him.” - -Kristin clutched the edge of the bench with both hands: this was harder -for her to bear than all else that Simon Darre had said. Pale and -fearful, she stole a glance at him. - -Simon rose: - -“Now must we go in,” said he. “Methinks we are nigh frozen, both of us, -and the sister is sitting waiting with the key.—I will give you a week -to think upon the matter—I have business in the town here. I shall come -hither and speak with you when I am ready to go, but you will scarce -care to see aught of me meanwhile.” - - - 8 - -Kristin said to herself: now that at least is over. But she felt broken -with weariness and sick for Erlend’s arms. - -She lay awake most of the night, and she resolved to do what she never -dared think of before—send word to Erlend. It was not easy to find -anyone who could go such an errand for her. The lay-sisters never went -out alone, nor did she know of any of them she thought would be willing; -the men who did the farm work were elder folk and but seldom came near -the dwellings of the nuns save to speak with the Abbess herself. There -was only Olav—He was a half-grown lad, who worked in the gardens; he had -been Lady Groa’s foster-son from the time when he was found, a new-born -babe, upon the church steps one morning. Folk said one of the -lay-sisters was his mother; she was to have been a nun; but after she -had been kept in the dark cell for six months—for grave disobedience, as -’twas said—and it was about that time the child was found—she had been -given the lay-sisters’ habit and had worked in the farmyard ever since. -Kristin had often thought of Sister Ingrid’s fate throughout these -months, but she had had few chances to speak with her. It was -venturesome to trust to Olav—he was but a child, and Lady Groa and all -the nuns were wont to chat and jest with him, when they saw the boy. But -Kristin deemed it mattered little what risks she took now. And a day or -two later, when Olav was for the town one morning Kristin sent word by -him to Akersnes, that Erlend must find some way whereby they might meet -alone. - -That same afternoon Erlend’s own man, Ulv, came to the grille. He said -he was Aasmund Björgulfsön’s man, and was to pray, on his master’s -behalf, that his brother’s daughter might go down to the town for a -little, for Aasmund had not time to come to Nonneseter. Kristin thought -this device must surely fail—but when Sister Potentia asked if she knew -the bearer of the message, she said: “Yes.” So she went with Ulv to -Brynhild Fluga’s house. - -Erlend awaited her in the loft-room—he was uneasy and anxious, and she -knew at once, ’twas that he was afraid again of what he seemed to fear -the most. - -Always it cut her to the soul he should feel such a haunting dread that -she might be with child—when yet they could not keep apart. Harassed as -she was this evening, she said this to him—hotly enough. Erlend’s face -flushed darkly, and he laid his head down upon her shoulder: - -“You are right,” said he. “I must try to let you be, Kristin,—not to put -your happiness in such jeopardy. If you will—” - -She threw her arms around him and laughed, but he caught her round the -waist, forced her down upon a bench and seated himself on the further -side of the board. When she stretched her hand over to him, he covered -the palm with vehement kisses: - -“I have tried more than you,” said he with passion. “You know not, how -much I deem it means for both of us, that we should be wed with all -honour—” - -“Then you should not have made me yours—” said Kristin. - -Erlend hid his face in his hands. - -“Aye, would to God I had not done you that wrong,” he said. - - * * * * * - -“Neither you nor I wish that,” said Kristin, laughing boldly. “And if I -may but be forgiven and make my peace at last with my kindred and with -God, then shall I not sorrow overmuch though I must wear the woman’s -hood when I am wed. Aye, and often it seems to me, I could do without -peace even, if only I may be with you.” - -“You shall bring honour with you into my house once more,” said Erlend, -“not I drag _you_ down into dishonour.” - -Kristin shook her head. Then she said: - -“’Tis like you will be glad then, when you hear that I have talked with -Simon Andressön—and he will not hold me to the pact that was made for us -by our fathers before I met you.” - -At once Erlend was wild with joy, and Kristin was made to tell him all. -Yet she told not of the scornful words Simon had spoken of Erlend, -though she said that before Lavrans he would not take the blame upon -himself. - -“’Tis but reason,” said Erlend shortly. “They like each other well, your -father and he? Aye, me he will like less, I trow—Lavrans.” - -Kristin took these words as a sign that Erlend felt with her she had -still a hard road to travel ere yet they reached their journey’s end; -and she was thankful to him for it. But he did not come back to this -matter; he was glad above measure, saying he had feared so that she -would not have courage to speak with Simon. - -“You like him after a fashion, I mark well,” said he. - -“Can it be aught to you,” asked Kristin,“—after all that has come and -gone between you and me, that I can see that Simon is an honest man and -a stout.” - -“Had you never met me,” said Erlend, “you might well have had good days -with him, Kristin. Why laugh you?” - -“Oh, I did but call to mind somewhat Lady Aashild said once,” answered -Kristin. “I was but a child then—but ’twas somewhat about good days -falling to wise folk, but the best days of all to those who dare be -unwise.” - -“God bless my kinswoman, if she taught you that,” said Erlend and took -her upon his knee. “’Tis strange, Kristin, never have I marked that you -were afraid.” - -“Have you never marked it?” she asked as she nestled close to him. - -He seated her on the bed-side and drew off her shoes, but then drew her -back again to the table. - -“Oh, my Kristin—now at last it looks as if bright days might come for us -two. Methinks I had never dealt with you as I have done,” he said -stroking and stroking her hair, “had it not been that each time I saw -you, I thought ever ’twas not reason that they should give so fine and -fair a wife to _me_.—Sit you down here and drink to me,” he begged. - - * * * * * - -A moment after came a knock on the door—it sounded like the stroke of a -sword hilt. - -“Open, Erlend Nikulaussön, if you are within.” - -“’Tis Simon Darre,” said Kristin in a low voice. - -“Open, man, in the devil’s name—if you be a man!” shouted Simon and beat -on the door again. - -Erlend went to the bed and took his sword down from the peg in the wall. -He looked round, at a loss what to do: “There is nowhere here you can -hide—” - -“’Twould scarce make things better if I hid,” said Kristin. She had -risen to her feet; she spoke very quietly, but Erlend saw that she was -trembling. “You must open,” she said in the same tone. Simon hammered on -the door again. - -Erlend went and drew the bolt. Simon stepped in; he had a drawn sword in -his hand, but he thrust it back into its sheath at once. - -For a while the three stood in silence. Kristin trembled; but yet, in -this first moment, she felt a strange, sweet thrill—from deep within her -something rose, scenting the combat between two men—she drew a deep -breath; here was an end to these endless months of dumb waiting and -longing and dread. She looked from one to the other, pale and with -shining eyes—then the strain within her broke in a chill, unfathomable -despair. There was more of cold scorn than of rage or jealousy in Simon -Darre’s eyes and she saw that Erlend, behind his defiant bearing, burned -with shame. It dawned upon her, how other men would think of him, who -had let her come to him in such a place, and she saw ’twas as though he -had had to suffer a blow in the face; she knew he burned to draw his -sword and fall upon Simon. - -“Why have you come hither, Simon?” she cried aloud in dread. - -Both men turned toward her. - -“To fetch you home,” said Simon. “Here you cannot be—” - -“’Tis not for you, any more, to lay commands on Kristin Lavransdatter,” -said Erlend fiercely, “she is mine now—” - -“I doubt not she is,” said Simon savagely, “and a fair bridal bower have -you brought her to—” He stood a little, panting; then he mastered his -voice and spoke quietly: “But so it is that I am her betrothed -still—till her father can come for her. And for so long I mean to guard -with edge and point so much of her honour as can be saved—in others’ -eyes—” - -“What need of _you_ to guard her; I can—” he flushed red as blood under -Simon’s eyes. Then, flying out: “Think you I will suffer threats from a -boy like you,” he cried, laying his hand on his sword-hilt. - -Simon clapped both hands behind him. - -“I am not such a coward as to be afraid you should deem me afraid,” said -he as before. “I will fight you, Erlend Nikulaussön, you may stake your -soul upon that, if within due time, you have not made suit for Kristin -to her father—” - -“That will I never do at your bidding, Simon Andressön,” said Erlend -angrily; the blood rushed into his face again. - -“Nay—do you it to set right the wrong you have done so young a maid,” -answered Simon, unmoved, “’twill be better so for Kristin.” - -Kristin gave a loud cry, in pain at Erlend’s pain. She stamped upon the -floor: - -“Go, then, Simon, go—what have you to do with our affairs?” - -“I told you but now,” said Simon. “You must bear with me till your -father has loosed you and me from each other.” - -Kristin broke down utterly: - -“Go, go, I will follow straightway—. Jesus! why do you torture me so, -Simon—you know you deem not yourself I am worthy that you should trouble -about me—” - -“’Tis not for your sake I do it,” answered Simon. “Erlend—will you not -tell her to go with me?” - -Erlend’s face quivered. He touched her on the shoulder: - -“You must go, Kristin. Simon Darre and I will speak of this at another -time—” - -Kristin got up obediently and fastened her cloak about her. Her shoes -stood by the bed-side—She remembered them, but she could not put them on -under Simon’s eyes. - - * * * * * - -Outside, the fog had come down again. Kristin flew along, with head bent -and hands clutched tight in the folds of her cloak. Her throat was -bursting with tears—wildly she longed for some place where she could be -alone, and sob and sob. The worst, the worst was still before her; but -she had proved a new thing this evening, and she writhed under it—she -had proved how it felt to see the man to whom she had given herself -humbled. - -Simon was at her elbow as she hurried through the lanes, over the common -lands and across the open places, where the houses had vanished and -there was naught but fog to be seen. Once when she stumbled over -something, he caught her arm and kept her from falling: - -“No need to run so fast,” said he. “Folk are staring after us.—How you -are trembling!” he said more gently. Kristin held her peace and walked -on. - -She slipped in the mud of the street, her feet were wet through and icy -cold—the hose she had on were leather, but they were thin; she felt they -were giving way, and the mud was oozing through to her naked feet. - -They came to the bridge over the convent beck, and went more slowly up -the slopes on the other side. - -“Kristin,” said Simon of a sudden, “your father must never come to know -of this.” - -“How knew you that I was—there?” asked Kristin. - -“I came to speak with you,” answered Simon shortly. “Then they told me -of this man of your uncle’s coming. I knew Aasmund was in Hadeland. You -two are not over cunning at making up tales—Heard you what I said but -now?” - -“Aye,” said Kristin.—“It was I who sent word to Erlend that we should -meet at Fluga’s house; I knew the woman—” - -“Then shame upon you! But, oh, you could not know what she is—and he—Do -you hear,” said Simon harshly, “if so be it _can_ be hidden, you must -hide from Lavrans what you have thrown away. And if you cannot hide it, -then you must strive to spare him the worst of the shame.” - -“You are ever so marvellous careful for my father,” said Kristin, -trembling. She strove to speak defiantly, but her voice was ready to -break with sobs. - -Simon walked on a little. Then he stopped—she caught a glimpse of his -face, as they stood there alone together in the midst of the fog. He had -never looked like this before. - -“I have seen it well, each time I was at your home,” said he, “how -little you understood, you his women-folk, what a man Lavrans is. Knows -not how to rule you, says yonder Trond Gjesling—and ’twere like he -should trouble himself with such work—he who was born to rule over -_men_. He was made for a leader, aye, and one whom men would have -followed—gladly. These are no times for such men as he—my father knew -him at Baagahus—But, as things are, he has lived his life up there in -the Dale, as he were little else but a farmer—He was married off all too -young—and your mother, with her heavy mood, was not the one to make it -lighter for him to live that life. So it is that he has many friends—but -think you there is _one_ who is his fellow—His sons were taken from -him—’twas you, his daughters, who were to build up his race after -him—must he live now to see the day when one is without health and the -other without honour—” - -Kristin pressed her hands tightly over her heart—she felt she must hold -it in to make herself as hard as she had need to be. - -“Why say you this?” she whispered after a time. “It cannot be that you -would ever wish to wed me now—” - -“That—would I—not,” said Simon unsteadily. “God help me, Kristin—I think -of you that evening in the loft-room at Finsbrekken.—But may the foul -fiend fly away with me living the day I trust a maiden’s eyes again! - -“—Promise me, that you will not see Erlend before your father comes,” -said he when they stood at the gate. - -“That will I not promise,” answered Kristin. - -“Then _he_ shall promise,” said Simon. - -“I will not see him,” said Kristin quickly. - -“The little dog I sent you once,” said Simon before they parted, “him -you can let your sisters have—they are grown so fond of him—if you -mislike not too much to see him in the house. - -“—I ride north to-morrow early,” said he, and then he took her hand in -farewell, while the sister who kept the door looked on. - - * * * * * - -Simon Darre walked downwards towards the town. He flung out a clenched -fist as he strode along, talked half aloud, and swore out into the fog. -He swore to himself that he grieved not over _her_. Kristin—’twas as -though he had deemed a thing pure gold—and when he saw it close at hand, -it was naught but brass and tin. White as a snow flake had she knelt and -thrust her hand into the flame—that was last year; this year she was -drinking wine with an outcast ribald in Fluga’s loft-room—The devil, no! -’Twas for Lavrans Björgulfsön he grieved, sitting up there on -Jörundgaard believing—full surely never had it come into Lavran’s mind -that he could be so betrayed by his own. And now he himself was to bear -the tidings, and help to lie to _that_ man—it was for this that his -heart burned with sorrow and wrath. - -Kristin had not meant to keep her promise to Simon Darre, but, as it -befell, she spoke but a few words with Erlend—one evening up on the -road. - -She stood and held his hand, strangely meek, while he spoke of what had -befallen in Brynhild’s loft-room at their last meeting. With Simon -Andressön he would talk another time. “Had we fought there, ’twould have -been all over the town,” said Erlend hotly. “And that he too knew full -well—this Simon.” - -Kristin saw how this thing had galled him. She too, had thought of it -unceasingly ever since—there was no hiding the truth, Erlend came out of -this business with even less honour than she herself. And she felt that -now indeed they were one flesh—that she must answer for all he did, even -though she might mislike his deeds, and that she would feel it in her -own flesh when so much as Erlend’s skin was scratched. - - * * * * * - -Three weeks later Lavrans Björgulfsön came to Oslo to fetch his -daughter. - -Kristin was afraid, and she was sore of heart as she went to the parlour -to meet her father. What first struck her, when she saw him standing -there speaking to Sister Potentia, was that he did not look as she -remembered him. Maybe he was but little changed since they parted a year -ago—but she had seen him all her years at home as the young lusty, -comely man she had been so proud to have for father when she was little. -Each winter and each summer that passed over their heads up there at -home, had doubtless marked him with the marks of growing age, as they -had unfolded her into a full-grown young woman—but she had not seen it. -She had not seen that his hair was fading here and there and had taken -on a tinge of rusty red near the temples—as yellow hair does when ’tis -turning grey. His cheeks had shrunken and grown longer so that the -muscles ran in harder lines down to the mouth; his youthful white and -red had faded to one weather-beaten shade. His back was not bowed—but -yet his shoulder-blades had an unaccustomed curve beneath his cloak. His -step was light and firm, as he came toward her with outstretched hand, -but yet ’twas not the old brisk and supple motion. Doubtless all these -things had been there last year, only she had not seen them. Perhaps -there had been added a little touch—of sadness—which made her see them -now. She burst into weeping. - -Lavrans put his arm about her shoulder and laid his hand against her -cheek. - -“Come, come, be still now, child,” he said gently. - -“Are you angry with me, father?” she asked low. - -“Surely you must know that I am,” he answered—but he went on stroking -her cheek. “Yet so much, too, you sure must know, that you have no need -to be afraid of me,” said he sadly. “Nay, now you must be still, -Kristin: are you not ashamed to bear you in such childish wise.”—For she -was weeping so that she had to seat herself upon the bench. “We will not -speak of these things here, where folk go out and in,” said he, and he -sat himself down by her side and took her hand. “Will you not ask after -your mother then—and your sisters—?” - -“What does my mother say of this?” asked his daughter. - -“Oh, that you can have no need to ask—but we will not talk of it now,” -he said again. “Else she is well—” and he set to telling this and that -of the happenings at home on the farm, till Kristin grew quieter little -by little. - -But it seemed to her that the strain did but grow worse because her -father said naught of her breach of troth. He gave her money to deal out -among the poor of the convent and to make gifts to her fellow-pupils, he -himself gave rich gifts to the cloister and the Sisters; and no one in -Nonneseter knew aught else than that Kristin was now to go home for her -betrothal and her wedding. They both ate the last meal at Lady Groa’s -board in the Abbess’s room, and the Lady spoke of Kristin with high -praise. - -But all this came to an end at last. She had said her last farewell to -the Sisters and her friends at the convent gate; Lavrans led her to her -horse and lifted her into the saddle. ’Twas so strange to ride with her -father and the men from Jörundgaard down to the bridge, along this road, -down which she had stolen in the dark; wonderful, too, it seemed to ride -through the streets of Oslo freely and in honour. She thought of their -splendid wedding train, that Erlend had talked of so often—her heart -grew heavy; ’twould have been easier had he carried her away with him. -There was yet such a long time before her in which she must live one -life in secret and another openly before folks. But then her eye fell on -her father’s grave, ageing face, and she tried to think, that after all -Erlend was right. - - * * * * * - -There were a few other travellers in the inn. At eventide they all -supped together in a little hearth-room, where there were two beds only; -Lavrans and Kristin were to sleep there, for they were the first in rank -among the guests. Therefore, when the night drew on a little, the others -bade them a friendly good-night as they broke up and went to seek their -sleeping places. Kristin thought how it was she who had stolen to -Brynhild Fluga’s loft-room to Erlend’s arms—sick with sorrow and with -fear that she might never more be his, she thought: no, there was no -place for her any more amongst these others. - -Her father was sitting on the further bench, looking at her. - -“We are not to go to Skog this time?” asked Kristin, to break the -silence. - -“No,” answered Lavrans. “I have had enough for some time with what your -mother’s brother made me listen to—because I would not constrain you,” -he added, as she looked up at him questioningly. - -“And, truly, I would have made you keep your word,” said he a little -after, “had it not been that Simon said, he would not have an unwilling -wife.” - -“I have never given my word to Simon,” said Kristin quickly. “You have -ever said before, that you would never force me into wedlock—” - -“’Twould not have been force if I had held you to a bargain that had -been published long since and was known to all men,” answered Lavrans. -“These two winters past you two have borne the name of handfasted folk, -and you have said naught against it, nor shown yourself unwilling, till -now your wedding-day was fixed. If you would plead that the business was -put off last year, so that you have not yet given Simon your troth; then -that I call not upright dealing.” - -Kristin stood gazing down into the fire. - -“I know not which will seem the worse,” went on her father, “that it be -said that you have cast off Simon, or that he has cast you off. Sir -Andres sent me word—” Lavrans flushed red as he said it, “—he was wroth -with the lad, and bade me crave such amends as I should think fit. I had -to say what was true—I know not if aught else had been better—that, -should there be amends to make, ’twas rather for us to make them. We are -shamed either way.” - -“I cannot think there is such great shame,” said Kristin low. “Since -Simon and I are of one mind.” - -“Of one mind?” repeated Lavrans. “He did not hide from me that he was -unhappy, but he said, after you had spoken together, he deemed naught -but misfortune could come of it if he held you to the pact.—But now must -you tell me how this has come over you.” - -“Has Simon said naught?” asked Kristin. - -“It seemed as though he thought,” said her father, “that you have given -your love to another man—Now must you tell me how this is, Kristin.” - -Kristin thought for a little. - -“God knows,” said she in a low voice, “I see well, Simon might be good -enough for me, and maybe too good. But ’tis true that I came to know -another man; and then I knew I would never have one happy hour more in -all my life, were I to live it out with Simon—not if all the gold in -England were his to give—I would rather have the other if he owned no -more than a single cow—” - -“You look not that I should give you to a serving-man, I trow?” said her -father. - -“He is as well born as I, and better,” answered Kristin. “I meant but -this—he has enough both of lands and goods, but I would rather sleep -with him on the bare straw than with another man in a silken bed—” - -Her father was silent for a while. - -“’Tis one thing, Kristin, that I will not force you to take a man that -likes you not—though God and St. Olav alone know what you can have -against the man I had promised you to. But ’tis another thing whether -the man you have set your heart upon is such as I can wed you to. You’re -young yet, and not over wise—and to cast his eyes upon a maid who is -promised to another—’tis not the wont of an upright man—” - -“No man can rule himself in that matter,” broke in Kristin. - -“Aye, but he can. But so much you can understand, I trow: I will not do -such offence to the Dyfrin folk as to betroth you to another the moment -you have turned your back on Simon—and least of all to a man who might -be more high in rank or richer—You must say who this man is,” he said -after a little. - -Kristin pressed her hands together and breathed deeply. Then she said -very slowly: - -“I cannot, father. Thus it stands, that should I not get this man, then -you can take me back to the convent and never take me from it again—I -shall not live long there, I trow. But it would not be seemly that I -should name his name, ere yet I know he bears as good a will toward me -as I have to him. You—you must not force me to say who he is, -before—before ’tis seen whether—whether he is minded to make suit for me -through his kin.” - -Lavrans was a long time silent. He could not but be pleased that his -daughter took the matter thus; he said at length: - -“So be it then. ’Tis but reason that you would fain keep back his name, -if you know not more of his purposes.” - -“Now must you to bed, Kristin,” he said a little after. He came and -kissed her: - -“You have wrought sorrow and pain to many by this waywardness of yours, -my daughter—but this you know, that your good lies next my heart—God -help me, ’twould be so, I fear me, whatever you might do—He and His -gentle Mother will surely help us, so that this may be turned to the -best—Go now, and see that you sleep well.” - -After he had lain down, Lavrans thought he heard a little sound of -weeping from the bed by the other wall, where his daughter lay. But he -made as though he slept. He had not the heart to say to her that he -feared the old talk about her and Arne and Bentein would be brought up -again now, but it weighed heavily upon him that ’twas but little he -could do to save the child’s good name from being besmirched behind his -back. And the worst was that he must deem much of the mischief had been -wrought by her own thoughtlessness. - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - BOOK THREE - - - - - - - LAVRANS BJÖRGULFSÖN - - - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - 1 - -KRISTIN came home when the spring was at fairest. The Laagen rushed -headlong round its bend past the farmstead and the fields; through the -tender leaves of the alder thickets its current glittered and sparkled -with flashes of silver. ’Twas as though the gleams of light had a voice -of their own and joined in the river’s song, for when the evening -twilight fell, the waters seemed to go by with a duller roar. But day -and night the air above Jörundgaard was filled with the rushing sound, -till Kristin thought she could feel the very timbers of the houses -quivering like the sound box of a cithern. - -Small threads of water shone high up on the fell-sides, that stood -wrapped in blue haze day after day. The heat brooded and quivered over -the fields; the brown earth of the plough-lands was nigh hidden by the -spears of corn; the meadows grew deep with grass, and shimmered like -silk where the breaths of wind passed over. Groves and hill sward smelt -sweet; and as soon as the sun was down there streamed out all around the -strong, cool, sourish breath of sap and growing things—it was as though -the earth gave out a long, lightened sigh. Kristin thought, trembling, -of the moment when Erlend’s arms released her. Each evening she lay -down, sick with longing, and in the mornings she awoke, damp with sweat -and tired out with her dreams. - -’Twas more than she could understand how the folks at home could forbear -to speak ever a word of the one thing that was in her thoughts. But week -went by after week, and naught was said of Simon and her broken faith, -and none asked what was in her heart. Her father lay much out in the -woods, now he had the spring ploughing and sowing off his hands—he went -to see his tar burners’ work, and he took hawks and hounds with him and -was away many days together. When he was at home, he spoke to his -daughter kindly as ever—but it was as though he had little to say to -her, and never did he ask her to go with him when he rode out. - -Kristin had dreaded to go home to her mother’s chidings; but Ragnfrid -said never a word—and this seemed even worse. - - * * * * * - -Every year when he feasted his friends at St. John’s Mass, it was -Lavrans Björgulfsön’s wont to give out among the poor folks of the -parish the meat and all sorts of food that had been saved in his -household in the last week of the Fast. Those who lived nighest to -Jörundgaard would come themselves to fetch away the alms; these poor -folks were ever welcomed and feasted, and Lavrans and his guests and all -the house servants would gather round them: for some of them were old -men who had by heart many sagas and lays. They sat in the hearth-room -and whiled the time away with the ale-cup and friendly talk; and in the -evening they danced in the courtyard. - -This year the Eve of St. John was cloudy and cold; but none was sorry -that it was so, for by now the farmers of the Dale had begun to fear a -drought. No rain had fallen since St. Halvard’s Wake, and there had been -little snow in the mountains; not for thirteen years could folk remember -to have seen the river so low at mid-summer. - -So Lavrans and his guests were of good cheer when they went down to -greet the almsmen in the hearth-room. The poor folks sat round the board -eating milk porridge and washing it down with strong ale; and Kristin -stood by the table, and waited on the old folk and the sick. - -Lavrans greeted his poor guests, and asked if they were content with -their fare. Then he went about the board to bid welcome to an old -bedesman, who had been brought thither that day for his term at -Jörundgaard. The man’s name was Haakon; he had fought under King Haakon -the Old, and had been with the King when he took the field for the last -time in Scotland. He was the poorest of the poor now, and was all but -blind; the farmers of the Dale had offered to set him up in a cottage of -his own, but he chose rather to be handed on as bedesman from farm to -farm, for everywhere folk welcomed him more like an honoured guest, -since he had seen so much of the world and had laid up great store of -knowledge. - -Lavrans stood by with a hand on his brother’s shoulder; for Aasmund -Björgulfsön had come to Jörundgaard on a visit. - -He asked Haakon, too, how the food liked him. - -“The ale is good, Lavrans Björgulfsön,” said Haakon, “But methinks a -jade has cooked our porridge for us to-day. While the cook cuddles, the -porridge burns, says the byword; and this porridge is singed.” - -“An ill thing indeed,” said Lavrans, “that I should give you singed -porridge. But I wot well the old byword doth not always say true, for -’tis my daughter, herself, who cooked the porridge for you.” He laughed, -and bade Kristin and Tordis make haste to bring in the trenchers of -meat. - -Kristin slipped quickly out and made across to the kitchen. Her heart -was beating hard—she had caught a glimpse of Aasmund’s face when Haakon -was speaking. - -That evening she saw her father and his brother walking and talking -together in the courtyard long and late. She was dizzy with fear; and it -was no better with her the next day when she marked that her father was -silent and joyless. But he said no word. - -Nor did he say aught after his brother was gone. But Kristin marked well -that he spoke less with Haakon than was his wont, and, when their turn -for harbouring the old warrior was over, Lavrans made no sign towards -keeping him a while longer, but let him move on to the next farm. - - * * * * * - -For the rest, Lavrans Björgulfsön had reason enough this summer to be -moody and downcast, for now all tokens showed that the year would be an -exceedingly bad one in all the country round; and the farmers were -coming together time and again to take counsel how they should meet the -coming winter. As the late summer drew on, it was plain to most, that -they must slaughter great part of their cattle or drive them south for -sale, and buy corn to feed their people through the winter. The year -before had been no good corn year, so that the stocks of old corn were -but scanty. - -One morning in early autumn Ragnfrid went out with all her three -daughters to see to some linen she had lying out on the bleach field. -Kristin praised much her mother’s weaving. Then the mother stroked -little Ramborg’s hair and said: - -“We must save this for your bride-chest, little one.” - -“Then, mother,” said Ulvhild, “shall I not have any bride-chest when I -go to the nunnery?” - -“You know well,” said Ragnfrid, “your dowry will be nowise less than -your sisters. But ’twill not be such things as they need that you will -need. And then you know full well, too, that you are to bide with your -father and me as long as we live—if so be you will.” - -“And when you come to the nunnery,” said Kristin, unsteadily, “it may -be, Ulvhild, that I shall have been a nun there for many years.” - -She looked across at her mother, but Ragnfrid held her peace. - -“Had I been such an one that I could marry,” said Ulvhild, “never would -I have turned away from Simon—he was so kind, and he was so sorrowful -when he said farewell to us all.” - -“You know your father bade us not speak of this,” said Ragnfrid—but -Kristin broke in defiantly: - -“Aye; well I know that ’twas far more sorrow for him parting from you -than from me.” - -Her mother spoke in anger: - -“And little must his pride have been, I wot, had he shown his sorrow -before you—you dealt not well and fairly by Simon Andressön, my -daughter. Yet did he beg us to use neither threats nor curses with you—” - -“Nay,” said Kristin as before, “he thought, maybe, he had cursed me -himself so much, there was no need for any other to tell me how vile I -was. But I marked not ever that Simon had much care for me, till he saw -that I loved another more than him.” - -“Go home, children,” said Ragnfrid to the two little ones. She sat -herself down on a log that lay by the green, and drew Kristin down -beside her. - -“You know, surely,” said she then, “that it has ever been held seemly -and honourable, that a man should not talk overmuch of love to his -betrothed maiden—nor sit with her much alone, nor woo too hotly—” - -“Oh!” said Kristin, “much I wonder whether young folk that love one -another bear ever in mind what old folk count for seemly, and forget not -one time or another all such things.” - -“Be you ware, Kristin,” said her mother, “that you forget them not.” She -sat a little while in silence: “What I see but too well now is that your -father goes in fear that you have set your heart on a man he can never -gladly give you to.” - -“What did my uncle say?” asked Kristin in a little while. - -“Naught said he,” answered her mother, “but that Erlend of Husaby is -better of name than of fame. Aye, for he spoke to Aasmund, it seems, to -say a good word for him to Lavrans. Small joy was it to your father when -he heard this.” - -But Kristin sat beaming with gladness. Erlend had spoken to her father’s -brother. And she had been vexing her heart because he made no sign! - -Then her mother spoke again: - -“Yet another thing is: that Aasmund said somewhat of a waif word that -went about in Oslo, that folk had seen this Erlend hang about in the -by-ways near by the convent, and that you had gone out and spoken with -him by the fences there.” - -“What then?” asked Kristin. - -“Aasmund counselled us, you understand, to take this proffer,” said -Ragnfrid. “But at that Lavrans grew more wroth than I can call to mind I -saw him ever before. He said that a wooer who tried to come to his -daughter by that road should find him in his path, sword in hand. ’Twas -little honour enough to us to have dealt as we had with the Dyfrin folk; -but were it so that Erlend had lured you out to gad about the ways in -the darkness with him, and that while you were dwelling in a cloister of -holy nuns, ’twas a full good token you would be better served by far by -missing such a husband.” - -Kristin crushed her hands together in her lap—the colour came and went -in her face. Her mother put an arm about her waist—but the girl shrank -away from her, beside herself with the passion of her mood, and cried: - -“Let me be, mother! Would you feel, maybe, if my waist hath grown—” - -The next moment she was standing up, holding her hand to her cheek—she -looked down bewildered at her mother’s flashing eyes. None had ever -struck her before since she was a little child. - -“Sit down,” said Ragnfrid. “Sit down,” she said again, and the girl was -fain to obey. The mother sat a while silent; when she spoke, her voice -was shaking: - -“I have seen it full well, Kristin—much have you never loved me. I told -myself, maybe ’twas that you thought I loved not you so much—not as your -father loves you. I bided my time—I thought when the time came that you -had borne a child yourself, you would surely understand— - -“While yet I was suckling you, even then was it so, that when Lavrans -came near us two, you would let go my breast and stretch out towards -him, and laugh so that my milk ran over your lips. Lavrans thought ’twas -good sport—and God knows I was well content for his sake. I was well -content, too, for your sake, that your father laughed and was merry each -time he laid eyes on you. I thought my own self ’twas pity of you, you -little being, that I could not have done with all that much weeping. I -was ever thinking more whether I was to lose you too, than joying that I -had you. But God and His Holy Mother know that I loved you no whit less -than Lavrans loved.” - -The tears were running down over Ragnfrid’s cheeks, but her face was -quite calm now, and so too was her voice: - -“God knows I never bore him or you a grudge for the love that was -between you. Methought ’twas little enough joy I had brought him in the -years we had lived together; I was glad that he had joy in you. I -thought, too, that had my father, Ivar, been such a father to me— - -“There are many things, Kristin, that a mother should have taught her -daughter to beware of. But methought there was little need of this with -you, who have followed about with your father all these years—you should -know, if any know, what right and honour are. That word you spoke but -now—think you I could believe you would have the heart to bring on -Lavrans such a sorrow—? - -“I would say but this to you—my wish is that you may win for husband a -man you can love well. But that this may be, you must bear you -wisely—let not Lavrans have cause to think that he you have chosen is a -breeder of trouble, and one that regards not the peace of women, nor -their honour. For to such an one he will never give you—not if it were -to save you from open shame. Rather would Lavrans let the steel do -judgment between him and the man who had marred your life—” - -And with this the mother rose and went from her. - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - 2 - -At the Haugathing field on the day of Bartholomew’s Mass, the 24th of -August, the daughter’s son of King Haakon of happy memory was hailed as -King. Among the men sent thither from Northern Gudbrandsdal was Lavrans -Björgulfsön. He had had the name of kingsman since his youth, but in all -these years he had seldom gone nigh the Household, and the good name he -had won in the war against Duke Eirik he had never sought to turn to -account. Nor had he now much mind to this journey to the homaging, but -he could not deny himself to the call. Besides, he and the other -Thing-men from the upper valley were charged to try and buy corn in the -South and send it round by ship to Romsdal. - -The folk of the parishes round about were heartless now, and went in -dread of the winter that was at hand. An ill thing, too, the farmers -deemed it that once again a child would be King in Norway. Old folks -called to mind the time when King Magnus was dead and his sons were -little children, and Sira Eirik said: - -“_Vae terræ, ubi puer rex est._ Which in the Norse tongue is: No resting -o’ nights for rats in the house where the cat’s a kitten.” - -Ragnfrid Ivarsdatter managed all things on the manor while her husband -was gone, and it was good both for Kristin and for her that they had -their heads and hands full of household cares and work. All over the -parish the folks were busy gathering in moss from the hills and -stripping bark from the trees, for the hay-crop had been but light, and -of straw there was next to none; and even the leaves gathered after St. -John’s Eve were yellow and sapless. On Holy Cross day, when Sira Eirik -bore the crucifix about the fields, there were many in the procession -who wept and prayed aloud to God to have mercy on the people and the -dumb beasts. - -A week after Holy Cross Lavrans Björgulfsön came home from the Thing. - -It was long past the house-folks’ bedtime, but Ragnfrid still sat in the -weaving-house. She had so much to see to in the day-time now, that she -often worked on late into the night at weaving and sewing. Ragnfrid -liked the house well too. It had the name of being the oldest on the -farm; it was called the Mound-house, and folk said it had stood there -ever since the old heathen ages. Kristin and the girl called Astrid were -with Ragnfrid; they were sitting spinning by the hearth. - -They had been sitting for a while sleepy and silent, when they heard the -hoof-beats of a single horse—a man came riding at a gallop into the wet -farm-place. Astrid went to the outer room to look out—in a moment she -came in again, followed by Lavrans Björgulfsön. - -Both his wife and his daughter saw at once that he had been drinking -more than a little. He reeled in his walk, and held to the pole of the -smoke-vent while Ragnfrid took from him his dripping wet cloak and hat -and unbuckled his sword-belt. - -“What have you done with Halvdan and Kolbein?” she said, in some fear; -“have you left them behind on the road?” - -“No, I left them behind at Loptsgaard,” he said with a little laugh. “I -had such a mind to come home again—there was no rest for me till I -did—the men went to bed down at Loptsgaard, but I took Guldsveinen and -galloped home—” - -“You must find me a little food, Astrid,” he said to the servant. “Bring -it in here, girl; then you need not go so far in the rain. But be quick, -for I have eaten no food since early morning—” - -“Had you no food at Loptsgaard, then?” asked his wife in wonder. - -Lavrans sat rocking from side to side on the bench, laughing a little: - -“Food there was, be sure—but I had no stomach for it when I was there. I -drank a while with Sigurd—but—methought then ’twas as well I should come -home at once as wait till to-morrow—” - -Astrid came back bearing food and ale; she brought with her, too, a pair -of dry shoes for her master. - -Lavrans fumbled with his spur-buckles to unloosen them; but came near to -falling on his face. - -“Come hither, Kristin, my girl,” he said, “and help your father. I know -you will do it from a loving heart—aye, a loving heart—to-day.” - -Kristin kneeled down to obey. Then he took her head between his two -hands and turned her face up: - -“One thing I trow you know, my daughter—I wish for naught but your good. -Never would I give you sorrow, except I see that thereby I save you from -many sorrows to come. You are full young yet, Kristin—’twas but -seventeen years old you were this year—three days after Halvard’s -Mass—but seventeen years old—” - -Kristin had done with her service now. She was a little pale as she rose -from her knees and sat down again on her stool by the hearth. - -Lavran’s head seemed to grow somewhat clearer as he ate and was filled. -He answered his wife’s questions and the servant maid’s about the -Haugathing—Aye, ’twas a fair gathering. They had managed to buy corn, -and some flour and malt, part at Oslo and part at Tunsberg; the wares -were from abroad—they might have been better, but they might have been -worse too. Aye, he had met many, both kinsfolk and friends, and they had -sent their greetings home with him—But the answers dropped from him, one -by one, as he sat there. - -“I spoke with Sir Andres Gudmundsön,” he said, when Astrid was gone out. -“Simon marries the young widow at Manvik; he has held his betrothal -feast. The wedding will be at Dyfrin at St. Andrew’s Mass. He has chosen -for himself this time, has the boy. I held aloof from Sir Andres at -Tunsberg, but he sought me out—’twas to tell me he knew for sure that -Simon saw Lady Halfrid for the first time this mid-summer. He feared -that I should think Simon had this rich marriage in mind when he broke -with us.” Lavrans paused a little and laughed joylessly. “You -understand—that good and worthy man feared much that we should believe -such a thing of his son.” - -Kristin breathed more freely. She thought it must be this that had -troubled her father so sorely. Maybe he had been hoping all this time -that it might come to pass after all, her marriage with Simon Andressön. -At first she had been in dread lest he had heard some tidings of her -doings in the south at Oslo. - -She rose up and said good-night; but her father bade her stay yet a -little. - -“I have one more thing to tell,” said Lavrans. “I might have held my -peace about it before you—but ’tis better you should know it. This it -is, Kristin—the man you have set your heart on, him must you strive to -forget.” - -Kristin had been standing with arms hanging down and bent head. She -looked up now into her father’s face. She moved her lips, but no sound -came forth that could be heard. - -Lavrans looked away from his daughter’s eyes; he struck out sideways -with his hand: - -“I wot well you know that never would I set myself against it, could I -anyways believe ’twould be for your good.” - -“What are the tidings that have been told you on this journey, father?” -said Kristin in a clear voice. - -“Erlend Nikulaussön and his kinsman, Sir Munan Baardsön, came to me at -Tunsberg,” answered Lavrans. “Sir Munan asked for you for Erlend, and I -answered him: no.” - -Kristin stood a while, breathing heavily. - -“Why will you not give me to Erlend Nikulaussön?” she asked. - -“I know not how much you know of the man you would have for husband,” -said Lavrans. “If you cannot guess the reason for yourself, ’twill be no -pleasing thing for you to hear from my lips.” - -“Is it because he has been outlawed, and banned by the Church?” asked -Kristin as before. - -“Know you what was the cause that King Haakon banished his near kinsman -from his Court—and how at last he fell under the Church’s ban for -defying the Archbishop’s bidding—and that when he fled the land ’twas -not alone?” - -“Aye,” said Kristin. Her voice grew unsteady: “I know, too, that he was -but eighteen years old when he first knew her—his paramour.” - -“No older was I when I was wed,” answered Lavrans. “We reckoned, when I -was young, that at eighteen years a man was of age to answer for -himself, and care for others’ welfare and his own.” - -Kristin stood silent. - -“You called her his paramour, the woman he has lived with for ten years, -and who has borne him children,” said Lavrans after a while. “Little joy -would be mine the day I sent my daughter from her home with a husband -who had lived openly with a paramour year out year in before ever he was -wed. But you know that ’twas not loose life only, ’twas life in -adultery.” - -Kristin spoke low: - -“You judged not so hardly of Lady Aashild and Sir Björn.” - -“Yet can I not say I would be fain we should wed into their kindred,” -answered Lavrans. - -“Father,” said Kristin, “have you been so free from sin all your life, -that you can judge Erlend so hardly—?” - -“God knows,” said Lavrans sternly, “I judge no man to be a greater -sinner before Him than I am myself. But ’tis no just reckoning that I -should give away my daughter to any man that pleases to ask for her, -only because we all need God’s forgiveness.” - -“You know I meant it not so,” said Kristin hotly. “Father—mother—you -have been young yourselves—have you not your youth so much in mind that -you know ’tis hard to keep oneself from the sin that comes of love—?” - -Lavrans grew red as blood: - -“No,” he said curtly. - -“Then you know not what you do,” cried Kristin wildly, “if you part -Erlend Nikulaussön and me.” - -Lavrans sat himself down again on the bench. - -“You are but seventeen, Kristin,” he began again. “It may be so that you -and he—that you have come to be more dear to each other than I thought -could be. But he is not so young a man but he should have known—had he -been a good man, he had never come near a young, unripe child like you -with words of love—That you were promised to another, seemed to him, -mayhap, but a small thing. - -“But I wed not my daughter to a man who has two children by another’s -wedded wife. You know that he has children?” - -“You are too young to understand that such a wrong breeds enmity in a -kindred—and hatred without end. The man cannot desert his own offspring, -and he cannot do them right—hardly will he find a way to bring his son -forth among good folk, or to get his daughter married with any but a -serving-man or a cottar. They were not flesh and blood, those children, -if they hated not you and your children with a deadly hate— - -“See you not, Kristin—such sins as these—it may be that God may forgive -such sins more easily than many others—but they lay waste a kindred in -such wise that it can never be made whole again. I thought of Björn and -Aashild too—there stood this Munan, her son; he was blazing with gold; -he sits in the Council of the King’s Counsellors; they hold their -mother’s heritage, he and his brothers; and he hath not come once to -greet his mother in her poverty in all these years. Aye, and ’twas this -man your lover had chosen to be his spokesman. - -“No, I say—no. Into that kindred you shall never come, while my head is -above the ground.” - -Kristin buried her face in her hands and broke into weeping: - -“Then will I pray God night and day, night and day, that if you change -not your will, He may take me away from this earth.” - -“It boots not to speak more of this to-night,” said her father, with -anguish in his voice. “You believe it not now, maybe; but I must needs -guide your life so as I may hope to answer it hereafter. Go now, child, -and rest.” - -He held out his hand toward her; but she would not see it and went -sobbing from the room. - - * * * * * - -The father and mother sat on a while. Then Lavrans said to his wife: - -“Would you fetch me in a draught of ale?—no, bring in a little wine,” he -asked. “I am weary—” - -Ragnfrid did as he asked. When she came back with the tall wine stoup, -her husband was sitting with his face hidden in his hands. He looked up, -and passed his hand over her head-dress and her sleeves: - -“Poor wife, now you are wet—Come, drink to me, Ragnfrid.” - -She barely touched the cup with her lips. - -“Nay now, drink with me,” said Lavrans vehemently, and tried to draw her -down on his knee. Unwillingly the woman did as he bade. Lavrans said: -“You will stand by me in this thing, wife of mine, will you not? Surely -’twill be best for Kristin herself that she understand from the very -outset she must drive this man from her thoughts.” - -“’Twill be hard for the child,” said the mother. - -“Aye; well do I see it will,” said Lavrans. - -They sat silent awhile, then Ragnfrid asked: - -“How looks he, this Erlend of Husaby?” - -“Oh,” said Lavrans slowly, “a proper fellow enough—after a fashion. But -he looks not a man that is fit for much but to beguile women.” - -They were silent again for a while then Lavrans said: - -“The great heritage that came to him from Sir Nikulaus—with that I trow -he has dealt so that it is much dwindled. ’Tis not for such a son-in-law -that I have toiled and striven to make my children’s lives sure.” - -The mother wandered restlessly up and down the room. Lavrans went on: - -“Least of all did it like me that he sought to tempt Kolbein with -silver—to bear a secret letter to Kristin.” - -“Looked you what was in the letter?” asked Ragnfrid. - -“No, I did not choose,” said Lavrans curtly. “I handed it back to Sir -Munan, and told him what I thought of such doings. Erlend had hung his -seal to it too—I know not what a man should say of such child’s tricks. -Sir Munan would have me see the device of the seal; that ’twas King -Skule’s privy seal, come to Erlend through his father. His thought was, -I trow, that I might bethink me how great an honour they did me to sue -for my daughter. But ’tis in my mind that Sir Munan had scarce pressed -on this matter for Erlend so warmly, were it not that in this man’s -hands ’tis downhill with the might and honour of the Husaby kindred, -that it won in Sir Nikulaus’ and Sir Baard’s days—No longer can Erlend -look to make such a match as befitted his birth.” - -Ragnfrid stopped before her husband: - -“Now I know not, husband, if you are right in this matter. First must it -be said that, as times are now many men round about us on the great -estates have had to be content with less of power and honour than their -fathers had before them. And you yourself best know that ’tis less easy -now for a man to win riches either from land or from merchantry than it -was in the old world—” - -“I know, I know,” broke in Lavrans impatiently. “All the more does it -behoove a man to guide warily the goods that have come down to him—” - -But his wife went on: - -“And this, too, is to be said: I see not that Kristin can be an uneven -match for Erlend. In Sweden your kin sit among the best, and your -father, and his father before him bore the name of knights in this land -of Norway. My forefathers were Barons of shires, son after father, many -hundred years, down to Ivar the Old; my father and my father’s father -were Wardens. True it is, neither you nor Trond have held titles or -lands under the Crown. But, as for that, methinks it may be said that -’tis no otherwise with Erlend Nikulaussön than with you.” - -“’Tis not the same,” said Lavrans hotly. “Power and the knightly name -lay ready to Erlend’s hand, and he turned his back on them to go -a-whoring. But now I see you are against me too. Maybe you think, like -Aasmund and Trond, ’tis an honour for me that these great folks would -have my daughter for one of their kinsmen—” - -Ragnfrid spoke in some heat: “I have told you, I see not that you need -be so overnice as to fear that Erlend’s kinsmen should think they stoop -in these dealings. But see you not what all things betoken—a gentle and -a biddable child to find courage to set herself up against us and turn -away Simon Darre—have you not seen that Kristin is nowise herself since -she came back from Oslo—see you not she goes around like one -bewitched—Will you not understand, she loves this man so sorely, that, -if you yield not, a great misfortune may befall?” - -“What mean you by that?” asked the father, looking up sharply. - -“Many a man greets his son-in-law and knows not of it,” said Ragnfrid. - -The man seemed to stiffen where he sat; his face grew slowly white: - -“You that are her mother!” he said hoarsely. “Have you—have you -seen—such sure tokens—that you dare charge your own daughter—” - -“No, no,” said Ragnfrid quickly. “I meant it not as you think. But when -things are thus, who can tell what has befallen, or what may befall? I -have seen her heart; not one thought hath she left but her love for this -man—’twere no marvel if one day she showed us that he is dearer to her -than her honour—or her life.” - -Lavrans sprang up: - -“Oh, you are mad! Can you think such things of our fair, good child? No -harm, surely, can have come to her where she was—with the holy nuns. I -wot well she is no byre-wench to go clipping behind walls and fences. -Think but of it: ’tis not possible she can have seen this man or talked -with him so many times—be sure it will pass away; it cannot be aught but -a young maid’s fancy. God knows ’tis a heavy sight enough for me to see -her sorrow so; but be sure it must pass by in time. - -“Life, you say, and honour—. At home here by my own hearthstone ’twill -go hard if I cannot guard my own maiden. Nor do I deem that any maid -come of good people and bred up Christianly in shamefastness will be so -quick to throw away her honour—nor yet her life. Aye, such things are -told of in songs and ballads, sure enough—but methinks ’tis so that when -a man or a maid is tempted to do such a deed, they make up a song about -it, and ease their hearts thereby—but the deed itself they forbear to -do— - -“You yourself,” he said, stopping before his wife: “There was another -man you would fain have wed, in those days when we were brought -together. How think you it would have gone with you, had your father let -you have your will on that score?” - -It was Ragnfrid now that was grown deadly pale: - -“Jesus, Maria! who hath told—” - -“Sigurd of Loptsgaard said somewhat—’twas when we were just come hither -to the Dale,” said Lavrans. “But answer me what I asked—Think you your -life had been gladder had Ivar given you to that man?” - -His wife stood with head bowed low: - -“That man,” she said—he could scarce hear the words: “’Twas _he_ would -not have _me_.” A throb seemed to pass through her body—she struck out -before her with her clenched hand. - -The husband laid his hands softly on her shoulders: - -“Is it _that_,” he asked as if overcome, and a deep and sorrowful wonder -sounded in his voice; “—is it _that_—through all these years—have you -been sorrowing for _him_—Ragnfrid?” - -She trembled much, but she said nothing. - -“Ragnfrid?” he asked again. “Aye, but afterward—when Björgulf was -dead—and afterward—when you—when you would have had me be to you as—as I -could not be. Were you thinking then of that other?” he spoke low, in -fear and bewilderment and pain. - -“How can you have such thoughts?” she whispered, on the verge of -weeping. - -Lavrans pressed his forehead against hers and moved his head gently from -side to side. - -“I know not. You are so strange—and all you have said to-night. I was -afraid, Ragnfrid. Like enough I understand not the hearts of women—” - -Ragnfrid smiled palely and laid her arms about his neck. - -“God knows, Lavrans—I was a beggar to you because I loved you more than -’tis good that a human soul should love.—And I hated that other so that -I felt the devil joyed in my hate.” - -“I have held you dear, my wife,” said Lavrans, kissing her, “aye, with -all my heart have I held you dear. You know that, surely? Methought -always that we two were happy together—Ragnfrid?” - -“You were the best husband to me,” said she with a little sob, and clung -close to him. - -He pressed her to him strongly: - -“To-night I would fain sleep with you, Ragnfrid. And if you would be to -me as you were in the old days, I should not be—such a fool—” - -The woman seemed to stiffen in his arms—she drew away a little: - -“’Tis Fast-time.” She spoke low,—in a strange, hard voice. - -“It is so.” He laughed a little. “You and I, Ragnfrid—we have kept all -the fasts, and striven to do God’s bidding in all things. And now almost -I could think—maybe we had been happier had we more to repent—” - -“Oh, speak not so—_you_,” she begged wildly, pressing her thin hands to -his temples. “You know well I would not you should do aught but what you -feel yourself is the right.” - -He drew her to him closely once more—and groaned aloud: “God help her. -God help us all, my Ragnfrid—” - -Then: “I am weary,” he said, and let her go. “And ’tis time, too, for -you to go to rest.” - -He stood by the door waiting, while she quenched the embers on the -hearth, blew out the little iron lamp by the loom, and pinched out the -glowing wick. Together they went across through the rain to the hall. - -Lavrans had set foot already on the loft-room stair, when he turned to -his wife, who was still standing in the entry-door. - -He crushed her in his arms again, for the last time, and kissed her in -the dark. Then he made the sign of the cross over his wife’s face, and -went up the stair. - -Ragnfrid flung off her clothes and crept into bed. A while she lay and -listened to her husband’s steps in the loft-room above; then she heard -the bed creak, and all was still. Ragnfrid crossed her thin arms over -her withered breasts: - -Aye, God help her. What kind of a woman was she, what kind of mother? -She would soon be old now. Yet was she the same; though she no longer -begged stormily for love, as when they were young and her passion had -made this man shrink and grow cold when she would have had him be lover -and not only husband. So had it been—and so, time after time, when she -was with child, had she been humbled, beside herself with shame, that -she had not been content with his lukewarm husband-love. And then, when -things were so with her, and she needed goodness and tenderness—then he -had so much to give; the man’s tireless, gentle thought for her, when -she was sick and tormented, had fallen on her soul like dew. Gladly did -he take up all she laid on him and bear it—but there was ever something -of his own he would not give. She had loved her children, so that each -time she lost one, ’twas as though the heart was torn from her—God, God! -what woman was she then, that even then, in the midst of her torments, -she could feel it as a drop of sweetness that he took her sorrow in to -his heart and laid it close beside his own. - -Kristin—gladly would she have passed through the fire for her -daughter—they believed it not, neither Lavrans nor the child—but ’twas -so. Yet did she feel toward her now an anger that was near to hate—’twas -to forget his sorrow for the child’s sorrow that he had wished to-night -that he could give himself up to his wife— - -Ragnfrid dared not rise, for she knew not but that Kristin might be -lying awake in the other bed. But she raised herself noiselessly to her -knees, and with forehead bent against the footboard of the bed she -strove to pray. For her daughter, for her husband and for herself. While -her body, little by little, grew stiff with the cold, she set out once -more on one of the night-wanderings she knew so well, striving to break -her way through to a home of peace for her heart. - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - 3 - -Haugen lay high up in the hills on the west side of the valley. This -moonlight night the whole world was white. Billow after billow, the -white fells lay domed under the pale-blue heavens with their thin-strewn -stars. Even the shadows that peaks and domes stretched forth over the -snow-slopes seemed strangely thin and light, the moon was sailing so -high. - -Downward, toward the valley, the woods stood fleecy-white with snow and -rime, round the white fields of crofts scrolled over with tiny huts and -fences. But far down in the valley-bottom the shadows thickened into -darkness. - -Lady Aashild came out of the byre, shut the door after her, and stood a -while in the snow. White—the whole world; yet it was more than three -weeks still to Advent. Clementsmass cold—’twas like winter had come in -earnest already. Aye, aye; in bad years it was often so. - -The old woman sighed heavily in the desolate air. Winter again, and cold -and loneliness—Then she took up the milkpail and went towards the -dwelling-house. She looked once again down over the valley. - -Four black dots came out of the woods half-way up the hillside. Four men -on horseback—and the moonlight glanced from a spear-head. They were -ploughing heavily upward—none had come that way since the snowfall. Were -they coming hither? - -Four armed men—’Twas not like that any who had a lawful errand here -would come so many in company. She thought of the chest with her goods -and Björn’s in it. Should she hide in the outhouse? - -She looked out again over the wintry waste about her. Then she went into -the living-house. The two old hounds that lay before the smoky fireplace -smote the floor-boards with their tails. The young dogs Björn had with -him in the hills. - -Aashild blew the embers of the fire into flame, and laid more wood on -them; filled the iron pot with snow and set it on the fire; then poured -the milk into a wooden bowl and bore it to the closet beside the outer -room. - -Then she doffed her dirty, undyed, wadmal gown, that smelt of the byre -and of sweat, put on a dark-blue garment, and changed her tow-linen hood -for a coif of fine white linen, which she smoothed down fairly round her -head and neck. Her shaggy boots of skin she drew off, and put on -silver-buckled shoes. Then she fell to setting her room in -order—smoothed the pillows and the skins in the bed where Björn had lain -that day, wiped the long-board clean, and laid the bench-cushions -straight. - -When the dogs set up their warning barking, she was standing by the -fireplace, stirring the supper-porridge. She heard horses in the yard, -and the tread of men in the outer room; some one knocked on the door -with a spear-butt. Lady Aashild lifted the pot from the fire, settled -her dress about her, and, with the dogs at her side, went forward to the -door and opened. - -Out in the moonlit yard were three young men holding four horses white -with rime. A man that stood before her in the porch cried out joyfully: - -“Moster Aashild! come you yourself to open to us? Nay, then must I say -_Ben trouvè_!” - -“Sister’s son, is it you indeed! Then the same say I to you! Go into the -room, while I show your men the stable.” - -“Are you all alone on the farm?” asked Erlend. He followed her while she -showed the men where to go. - -“Aye; Sir Björn and our man are gone into the hills with the sleigh—they -are to see and bring home some fodder we have stacked up there,” said -Lady Aashild. “And serving-woman I have none,” she said, laughing. - -A little while after, the four young men were sitting on the outer bench -with their backs to the board, looking at the old lady, as, busily but -quietly, she went about making ready their supper. She laid a cloth on -the board, and set on it a lighted candle; then brought forth butter, -cheese, a bear-ham and a high pile of thin slices of fine bread. She -fetched ale and mead up from the cellar below the room, and then poured -out the porridge into a dish of fine wood, and bade them sit in to the -board and fall to. - -“’Tis but little for you young folk,” she said laughing. “I must boil -another pot of porridge. To-morrow you shall fare better—but I shut up -the kitchen-house, in the winter save when I bake or brew. We are few -folks on the farm, and I begin to grow old, kinsman.” - -Erlend laughed and shook his head. He had marked that his men behaved -before the old woman seemly and modestly as he had scarce ever seen them -bear themselves before. - -“You are a strange woman, Moster. Mother was ten years younger than you, -and she looked older when last we were in your house than you look -to-day.” - -“Aye, Magnhild’s youth left her full early,” said Lady Aashild softly. -“Where are you come from, now?” she asked after a while. - -“I have been for a season at a farmstead up north in Lesja,” said -Erlend, “I had hired me lodging there. I know not if you can guess what -errand has brought me to this countryside?” - -“You would ask: know I that you have had suit made to Lavrans -Björgulfsön of Jörundgaard for his daughter?” - -“Aye,” said Erlend. “I made suit for her in seemly and honourable wise, -and Lavrans Björgulfsön answered with a churlish: no. Now see I no -better way, since Kristin and I will not be forced apart, than that I -bear her off by the strong hand. I have—I have had a spy in this -country-side, and I know that her mother was to be at Sundbu at -Clementsmass and for a while after, and Lavrans is gone to Romsdal with -the other men to fetch across the winter stores to Sil.” - -Lady Aashild sat silent a while: - -“That counsel, Erlend, you had best let be,” said she. “I deem not -either that the maid will go with you willingly; and I trow you would -not use force?” - -“Aye, but she will. We have spoken of it many times—she has prayed me -herself many times to bear her away.” - -“Kristin has—?” said Lady Aashild. Then she laughed: “None the less I -would not have you make too sure that the maid will follow when you come -to take her at her word.” - -“Aye, but she will,” said Erlend. “And, Moster, my thought was this: -that you send word to Jörundgaard and bid Kristin come and be your -guest—a week or so, while her father and mother are from home. Then -could we be at Hamar before any knew she was gone,” he added. - -Lady Aashild answered, still smiling: - -“And had you thought as well what we should answer, Sir Björn and I, -when Lavrans comes and calls us to account for his daughter.” - -“Aye,” said Erlend. “We were four well-armed men and the maid was -willing.” - -“I will not help you in this,” said the lady hotly. “Lavrans has been a -trusty man to us for many a year—he and his wife are honourable folk, -and I will not be art or part in deceiving them or beshaming their -child. Leave the maid in peace, Erlend. ’Twill soon be high time, too, -that your kin should hear of other deeds of yours than running in and -out of the land with stolen women.” - -“I must speak with you alone, lady,” said Erlend, shortly. - -Lady Aashild took a candle, led him to the closet, and shut the door -behind them. She sat herself down on a corn-bin: Erlend stood with his -hands thrust into his belt, looking down at her. - -“You may say this, too, to Lavrans Björgulfsön: that Sira Jon of -Gerdarud joined us in wedlock ere we went on our way to Lady Ingebjörg -Haakonsdatter in Sweden.” - -“Say you so?” said Lady Aashild. “Are you well assured that Lady -Ingebjörg will welcome you, when you come thither?” - -“I spoke with her at Tunsberg,” said Erlend. “She greeted me as her dear -kinsman, and thanked me when I proffered her my service either here or -in Sweden. And Munan hath promised me letters to her.” - -“And know you not,” said Aashild, “that even should you find a priest -that will wed you, yet will Kristin have cast away all right to the -heritage of her father’s lands and goods? Nor can her children be your -lawful heirs. Much I doubt if she will be counted as your lawfully -wedded wife.” - -“Not in this land, maybe. ’Tis therefore we fly to Sweden. Her -forefather, Laurentius Lagmand, was never wed to the Lady Bengta in any -other sort—they could never win her brother’s consent. Yet was she -counted as a wedded lady—” - -“There were no children,” said Aashild. “Think you my sons will hold -their hands from your heritage, if Kristin be left a widow with -children, and their lawful birth can be cast in dispute?” - -“You do Munan wrong,” said Erlend. “I know but little of your other -children—I know indeed that you have little cause to judge them kindly. -But Munan has ever been my trusty kinsman. He is fain to have me wed; -’twas he went to Lavrans with my wooing—Besides, afterwards, by course -of law, I can assure our children their heritage and rights.” - -“Aye, and thereby mark their mother as your concubine,” said Lady -Aashild. “But ’tis past my understanding how that meek and holy man, Jon -Helgesön, will dare to brave his Bishop by wedding you against the law.” - -“I confessed—_all_—to him last summer,” said Erlend in a low voice. “He -promised then to wed us, if all other ways should fail.” - -“Is it even so?” said Lady Aashild, slowly—“A heavy sin have you laid -upon your soul, Erlend Nikulaussön. ’Twas well with Kristin at home with -her father and mother—a good marriage was agreed for her with a comely -and honourable man of good kindred—” - -“Kristin hath told me herself how you said once that she and I would -match well together. And that Simon Andressön was no husband for her—” - -“Oh—I have said, and I have said!” Aashild broke in. “I have said so -many things in my time—Neither can I understand at all that you can have -gained your will with Kristin so lightly. So many times you cannot have -met together. And never could I have thought that maid had been so light -to win—” - -“We met at Oslo,” said Erlend. “Afterward she was dwelling out at -Gerdarud with her father’s brother. She came out and met me in the -woods.” He looked down and spoke very low: “I had her alone to myself -out there—” - -Lady Aashild started up. Erlend bent his head yet lower. - -“And after that—she still was friends with you?” she asked, -unbelievingly. - -“Aye,” Erlend smiled a weak, wavering smile. “We were friends still. And -’twas not so bitterly against her—but no blame lies on her. ’Twas then -she would have had me take her away—she was loth to go back to her kin—” - -“But you would not?” - -“No. I was minded to try to win her for my wife with her father’s will.” - -“Is it long since?” asked Lady Aashild. - -“’Twas a year last Lawrencemass,” answered Erlend. - -“You have not hasted overmuch with your wooing,” said the other. - -“She was not free before from her first betrothal.” - -“And since then you have not come nigh her?” asked Aashild. - -“We managed so that we met once and again.” Once more the wavering smile -flitted over the man’s face. “In a house in the town.” - -“In God’s name!” said Lady Aashild.—“I will help you and her as best I -may. I can see it well: not long could Kristin bear to live there with -her father and mother, hiding such a thing as this.—Is there yet more?” -she asked of a sudden. - -“Not that I have heard,” said Erlend shortly. - -“Have you bethought you,” asked the lady in a while, “that Kristin has -friends and kinsmen dwelling all down the Dale?” - -“We must journey as secretly as we can,” said Erlend. “And therefore it -behooves us to make no delay in setting out, that we may be well on the -way before her father comes home. You must lend us your sleigh, Moster.” - -Aashild shrugged her shoulders: - -“Then is there her uncle at Skog—what if he hear that you are holding -your wedding with his brother’s daughter at Gerdarud?” - -“Aasmund has spoken for me to Lavrans,” said Erlend. “He would not be -privy to our counsels, but ’tis like he will wink an eye—we must come to -the priest by night, and journey onward by night. And afterward, I trow -well Aasmund will put it to Lavrans that it befits not a God-fearing man -like him to part them that a priest has wedded—and that ’twill be best -for him to give his consent, that we may be lawful wedded man and wife. -And you must say the like to the man, Moster. He may set what terms he -will for atonement between us, and ask all such amends as he deems -just.” - -“I trow Lavrans Björgulfsön will be no easy man to guide in this -matter,” said Lady Aashild. “And God and St. Olav know, sister’s son, I -like this business but ill. But I see well ’tis the last way left you to -make good the harm you have wrought Kristin. To-morrow will I ride -myself to Jörundgaard, if so be you will lend me one of your men, and I -must get Ingrid of the croft above us here to see to my cattle.” - - * * * * * - -Lady Aashild came to Jörundgaard next evening just as the moonlight was -struggling with the last gleams of day. She saw how pale and -hollow-cheeked Kristin was, when the girl came out into the courtyard to -meet her guest. - -The Lady sat by the fireplace playing with the two children. Now and -then she stole keen glances at Kristin, as she went about and set the -supper-board. Thin she was truly, and still in her bearing. She had ever -been still, but it was a stillness of another kind that was on the girl -now. Lady Aashild guessed at all the straining and the stubborn defiance -that lay behind. - -“’Tis like you have heard,” said Kristin, coming over to her, “what -befell here this last autumn.” - -“Aye—that my sister’s son has made suit for you.” - -“Mind you,” asked Kristin, “how you said once he and I would match well -together? Only that he was too rich and great of kin for me?” - -“I hear that Lavrans is of another mind,” said the lady drily. - -There was a gleam in Kristin’s eyes, and she smiled a little. She will -do, no question, thought Lady Aashild. Little as she liked it, she must -hearken to Erlend, and give the helping hand he had asked. - - * * * * * - -Kristin made ready her parents’ bed for the guest, and Lady Aashild -asked that the girl should sleep with her. After they had lain down and -the house was silent, Lady Aashild brought forth her errand. - -She grew strangely heavy at heart as she saw that this child seemed to -think not at all on the sorrow she would bring on her father and mother. -Yet _I_ lived with Baard for more than twenty years in sorrow and -torment, she thought. Well, maybe ’tis so with all of us. It seemed -Kristin had not even seen how Ulvhild had fallen away this autumn—’tis -little like, thought Aashild, that she will see her little sister any -more. But she said naught of this—the longer Kristin could hold to this -mood of wild and reckless gladness, the better would it be, no doubt. - -Kristin rose up in the dark, and gathered together her ornaments in a -little box which she took with her into the bed. Then Lady Aashild could -not keep herself from saying: - -“Yet methinks, Kristin, the best way of all would be that Erlend ride -hither, when your father comes home—that he confess openly he hath done -you a great wrong—and put himself in Lavrans’ hands.” - -“I trow that, then, father would kill Erlend,” said Kristin. - -“That would not Lavrans, if Erlend refuse to draw steel against his -love’s father.” - -“I have no mind that Erlend should be humbled in such wise,” said -Kristin. “And I would not father should know that Erlend had touched me, -before he asked for me in seemliness and honour.” - -“Think you Lavrans will be less wroth,” asked Aashild, “when he hears -that you have fled from his house with Erlend; and think you ’twill be a -lighter sorrow for him to bear? So long as you live with Erlend, and -your father has not given you to him, you can be naught but his paramour -before the law.” - -“’Tis another thing,” said Kristin, “if I be Erlend’s paramour after he -has tried in vain to win me for his lawful wife.” - -Lady Aashild was silent. She thought of her meeting with Lavrans -Björgulfsön when he came home and learnt that his daughter had been -stolen away. - -Then Kristin said: - -“I see well, Lady Aashild, I seem to you an evil, thankless child. But -so has it been in this house ever since father came from the Haugathing, -that every day has been a torment to him and to me. ’Tis best for all -that there be an end of this matter.” - - * * * * * - -They rode from Jörundgaard betimes the next day, and came to Haugen a -little after nones. Erlend met them in the courtyard, and Kristin threw -herself into his arms, paying no heed to the man who was with her and -Lady Aashild. - -In the house she greeted Björn Gunnarsön; and then greeted Erlend’s two -men, as though she knew them well already. Lady Aashild could see no -sign in her of bashfulness or fear. And after, when they sat at the -board, and Erlend set forth his plan, Kristin put her word in with the -others and gave counsel about the journey: that they should ride forth -from Haugen next evening so late that they should come to the gorge when -the moon was setting, and should pass in the dark through Sil to beyond -Loptsgaard, thence up along the Otta stream to the bridge, and from -thence along the west side of the Otta and the Laagen over bypaths -through the waste as far as the horses could bear them. They must lie -resting through the day at one of the empty spring sæters on the -hillside there; “for till we are out of the Holledis country there is -ever fear that we may come upon folk that know me.” - -“Have you thought of fodder for the horses?” said Aashild. “You cannot -rob folks’ sæter in a year like this—even if so be there is fodder -there—and you know none in all the Dale has fodder to sell this year.” - -“I have thought of that,” answered Kristin. “You must lend us three -days’ food and fodder. ’Tis a reason the more why we must not journey in -so strong a troop.—Erlend must send Jon back to Husaby. The year has -been better on the Trondheim side, and surely some loads can be got -across the hills before the Yule-tide snows. There are some poor folk -dwelling southward in the parish, Lady Aashild, that I would fain you -should help with a gift of fodder for Erlend and me.” - -Björn set up an uncanny, mirthless horse-laugh. Lady Aashild shook her -head. But Erlend’s man Ulv lifted his keen, swarthy visage and looked at -Kristin with his bold smile: - -“At Husaby there is never abundance, Kristin Lavransdatter, neither in -good years nor in bad. But maybe things will be changed when you come to -be mistress there. By your speech a man would deem you are the housewife -that Erlend needs.” - -Kristin nodded to the man calmly, and went on. They must keep clear of -the high-road as far as might be. And she deemed it not wise to take the -way that led through Hamar. But, Erlend put in, Munan was there—and the -letter to the Duchess they must have. - -“Then Ulv must part from us at Fagaberg and ride to Sir Munan, while we -hold on west of Mjösen and make our way by Land and the by-roads through -Hadeland down to Hakedal. Thence there goes a waste way south to -Magretadal, I have heard my uncle say. ’Twere not wise for us to pass -through Raumarike in these days, when a great wedding-feast is toward at -Dyfrin,” she said with a smile. - -Erlend went round and laid his arm about her shoulders, and she leaned -back to him, paying no heed to the others who sat by looking on. Lady -Aashild said angrily: - -“None would believe aught else than that you are well-used to running -away”; and Sir Björn broke again into his horse-laugh. - -In a little while Lady Aashild stood up to go to the kitchen-house and -see to the food. She had made up the kitchen fire so that Erlend’s men -could sleep there at night. She bade Kristin go with her: “for I must be -able to swear to Lavrans Björgulfsön that you were never a moment alone -together in my house,” she said wrathfully. - -Kristin laughed and went with the Lady. Soon after, Erlend came -strolling in after them, drew a stool forward to the hearth, and sat -there hindering the women in their work. He caught hold of Kristin every -time she came nigh him, as she hurried about her work. At last he drew -her down on his knee: - -“’Tis even as Ulv said, I trow; you are the housewife I need.” - -“Aye, aye,” said Aashild, with a vexed laugh. “She will serve your turn -well enough. ’Tis she that stakes all in this adventure—you hazard not -much.” - -“You speak truth,” said Erlend. “But I wot well I have shown I had the -will to come to her by the right road. Be not so angry, Moster Aashild.” - -“I do well to be angry,” said the lady. “Scarce have you set your house -in order, but you must needs guide things so that you have to run from -it all again with a woman.” - -“You must bear in mind, kinswoman—so hath it ever been, that ’twas not -the worst men who fell into trouble for a woman’s sake—all sagas tell us -that.” - -“Oh, God help us all!” said Aashild. Her face grew young and soft. “That -tale have I heard before, Erlend,” she laid her hand on his head and -gave his hair a little tug. - -At that moment Ulv Haldorson tore open the door, and shut it quickly -behind him: - -“Here is come yet another guest, Erlend—the one you are least fain to -see, I trow.” - -“Is it Lavrans Björgulfsön?” said Erlend starting up. - -“Well if it were,” said the man. “’Tis Eline Ormsdatter.” - - * * * * * - -The door was opened from without; the woman who came in thrust Ulv aside -and came forward into the light. Kristin looked at Erlend; at first he -seemed to shrivel and shrink together; then he drew himself up, with a -dark flush on his face: - -“In the devil’s name, where come you from—what would you here?” - -Lady Aashild stepped forward and spoke: - -“You must come with us to the hall, Eline Ormsdatter. So much manners at -least we have in this house, that we welcome not our guests in the -kitchen.” - -“I look not, Lady Aashild,” said the other, “to be welcomed as a guest -by Erlend’s kinsfolk—Asked you from whence I came?—I come from Husaby, -as you might know, I bear you greetings from Orm and Margret; they are -well.” - -Erlend made no answer. - -“When I heard that you had had Gissur Arnfinsön raise money for you, and -that you were for the south again,” she went on, “I thought ’twas like -you would bide a while this time with your kinsfolk in Gudbrandsdal. I -knew that you had made suit for the daughter of a neighbour of theirs.” - -She looked across at Kristin for the first time, and met the girl’s -eyes. Kristin was very pale, but she looked calmly and keenly at the -other. - -She was stony-calm. She had known it from the moment she heard who was -come—this was the thought she had been fleeing from always; this thought -it was she had tried to smother under impatience, restlessness and -defiance; the whole time she had been striving not to think whether -Erlend had freed himself wholly and fully from his former paramour. Now -she was overtaken—useless to struggle any more. But she begged not nor -beseeched for herself. - -She saw that Eline Ormsdatter was fair. She was young no longer; but she -was fair—once she must have been exceeding fair. She had thrown back her -hood; her head was round as a ball, and hard; the cheekbones stood -out—but none the less it was plain to see—once she had been very fair. -Her coif covered but the back part of her head; while she was speaking, -her hands kept smoothing the waving, bright-gold front-hair beneath the -linen. Kristin had never seen a woman with such great eyes; they were -dark brown, round and hard; but under the narrow coal-black eyebrows and -the long lashes they were strangely beautiful against her golden hair. -The skin of her cheeks and lips was chafed and raw from her ride in the -cold, but it could not spoil her much; she was too fair for that. The -heavy riding-dress covered up her form, but she bore herself in it as -does only a woman most proud and secure in the glory of a fair body. She -was scarce as tall as Kristin; but she held herself so well that she -seemed yet taller than the slender, spare-limbed girl. - -“Hath she been with you at Husaby the whole time?” asked Kristin in a -low voice. - -“I have not been at Husaby,” said Erlend curtly, flushing red again. “I -have dwelt at Hestnæs the most of the summer.” - -“Here now are the tidings I came to bring you, Erlend,” said Eline. “You -need not any longer take shelter with your kinsfolk and try their -hospitality for that I am keeping your house. Since this autumn I have -been a widow.” Erlend stood motionless. - -“It was not I that bade you come to Husaby last year, to keep my house,” -said he with effort. - -“I heard that all things were going to waste there,” said Eline. “I had -so much kindness left for you from old days Erlend, that methought I -should lend a hand to help you—although God knows you have not dealt -well with our children or with me.” - -“For the children I have done what I could,” said Erlend. “And well you -know, ’twas for their sake I suffered you to live on at Husaby. That you -profited them or me by it you scarce can think yourself, I trow,” he -added, smiling scornfully. “Gissur could guide things well enough -without your help.” - -“Aye, you have ever had such mighty trust in Gissur,” said Eline, -laughing softly. “But now the thing is this, Erlend now I am free. And -if so be you will, you can keep the promise now you made me once.” - -Erlend stood silent. - -“Mind you,” asked Eline, “the night I bore your son? You promised then -that you would wed me when Sigurd died.” - -Erlend passed his hand up under his hair, that hung damp with sweat. - -“Aye,—I remember,” he said. - -“Will you keep that promise now?” asked Eline. - -“No,” said Erlend. - -Eline Ormsdatter looked across at Kristin—then smiled a little and -nodded. Then she looked again at Erlend. - -“It is ten years since, Eline,” said the man. “And since that time you -and I have lived together year in year out like two damned souls in -Hell.” - -“But not only so, I trow!” said she with the same smile. - -“It is years and years since aught else has been,” said Erlend dully. -“The children would be none the better off. And you know—you know I can -scarce bear to be in a room with you any more!” he almost screamed. - -“I marked naught of that when you were at home in the summer,” said -Eline with a meaning smile. “Then we were not unfriends—always.” - -“If you deem that we were friends, have it as you will, for me,” said -Erlend wearily. - -“Will you stand here without end?” broke in Lady Aashild. She poured the -porridge from the pot into two great wooden dishes and gave one to -Kristin. The girl took it. “Bear it to the hall—and you, Ulv, take the -other—and set them on the board; supper we must have, whether it be so, -or so.” - -Kristin and the man went out with the dishes. Lady Aashild said to the -two others: - -“Come now, you too; what boots it that you stand here barking at each -other.” - -“’Tis best that Eline and I have our talk out together now,” said -Erlend. - -Lady Aashild said no more, but went out and left them. - - * * * * * - -In the hall Kristin had laid the table and fetched ale from the cellar. -She sat on the outer bench, straight as a wand and calm of face, but she -ate nothing. Nor had the others much stomach to their food, neither -Björn nor Erlend’s men. Only the man that had come with Eline and -Björn’s hired man ate greedily. Lady Aashild sat herself down and ate a -little of the porridge. No one spoke a word. - -At length Eline Ormsdatter came in alone. Lady Aashild bade her sit -between Kristin and herself; Eline sat down and ate a little. Now and -again a gleam as of a hidden smile flitted across her face, and she -stole a glance at Kristin. - -A while after Lady Aashild went out to the kitchen-house. - -The fire on the hearth was almost burnt out. Erlend sat by it on his -stool, crouched together, his head down between his arms. - -Lady Aashild went to him and laid her hand on his shoulder: - -“God forgive you, Erlend, that you have brought things to this pass—” - -Erlend turned up to her a face besmeared with wretchedness: - -“She is with child,” he said, and shut his eyes. - -Lady Aashild’s face flamed up, she gripped his shoulder hard: - -“Which of them?” she asked, roughly and scornfully. - -“My child it is not,” said Erlend, in the same dead voice. “But like -enough you will not believe me—none will believe me—” he sank together -again. - -Lady Aashild sat down in front of him on the edge of the hearth: - -“Now must you try to play the man, Erlend. ’Tis not so easy to believe -you in this matter. Do you swear it is not yours?” - -Erlend lifted his ravaged face: - -“As surely as I needed God’s mercy—as surely as I hope—that God in -Heaven has comforted mother for all she suffered here—I have not touched -Eline since first I saw Kristin!” He cried out the words, so that Lady -Aashild had to hush him. - -“Then I see not that this is so great a misfortune. You must find out -who the father is, and make it worth his while to wed her.” - -“’Tis in my mind that it is Gissur Arnfinsön—my steward at Husaby,” said -Erlend wearily. “We talked together last year—and since then -too—Sigurd’s death has been looked for this long time past. He was -willing to wed her, when she was a widow, if I would give her a fitting -portion—” - -“Well?” said Lady Aashild. Erlend went on: - -“She swears with great oaths she will have none of him. She will name me -as the father. And if I swear I am not—think you any will believe aught -but that I am forsworn—?” - -“You must sure be able to turn her purpose,” said Lady Aashild. “There -is no other way now but that you go home with her to Husaby no later -than to-morrow. And there must you harden your heart and stand firm till -you have this marriage fixed between your steward and Eline.” - -“Aye,” said Erlend. Then he threw himself forward again and groaned -aloud: - -“Can you not see—Moster—what think you Kristin will believe—?” - -At night Erlend lay in the kitchen-house with the men. In the hall -Kristin slept with Lady Aashild in the Lady’s bed, and Eline Ormsdatter -in the other bed that was there. Björn went out and lay in the stable. - -The next morning Kristin went out with Lady Aashild to the byre. While -the lady went to the kitchen to make ready the breakfast, Kristin bore -the milk up to the hall. - -A candle stood burning on the table. Eline was sitting dressed on the -edge of her bed. Kristin greeted her silently, then fetched a milk-pan -and poured the milk into it. - -“Will you give me a drink of milk?” asked Eline. Kristin took a wooden -ladle, filled it and handed it to the other; she drank eagerly, looking -at Kristin over the rim of the cup. - -“So you are that Kristin Lavransdatter, that hath stolen from me -Erlend’s love,” she said as she gave back the ladle. - -“You should know best if there was any love to steal,” said the girl. - -Eline bit her lip. - -“What will _you_ do,” she said, “if Erlend one day grow weary of you, -and offer to wed you to his serving-man? Will you do his will in that as -well?” - -Kristin made no answer. Then the other laughed, and said: - -“You do his will in all things now, I well believe. What think you, -Kristin—shall we throw dice for our man, we two paramours of Erlend -Nikulaussön?” When no answer came, she laughed again and said: “Are you -so simple, that you deny not you are his paramour?” - -“To you I care not to lie,” said Kristin. - -“’Twould profit you but little if you did,” answered Eline, still -laughing. “I know the boy too well. He flew at you like a black-cock, I -trow, the second time you were together. ’Tis pity of you too, fair -child that you are.” - -Kristin’s cheeks grew white. Sick with loathing, she said low: - -“I will not speak with you—” - -“Think you he is like to deal with you better than with me,” went on -Eline. Then Kristin answered sharply: - -“No blame will I ever cast on Erlend, whatever he may do. I went astray -of my own will—I shall not whimper or wail if the path lead out on to -the rocks—” - -Eline was silent for a while. Then she said unsteadily, flushing red: - -“_I_ was a maid too, when he came to me Kristin—even though I had been -wife in name to the old man for seven years. But like enough you could -never understand what the misery of that life was.” - -Kristin began to tremble violently. Eline looked at her. Then from her -travelling-case that stood by her on the step of the bed, she took a -little horn. She broke the seal that was on its mouth and said softly: - -“You are young and I am old, Kristin. I know well it boots not for me to -strive against you—your time is now. Will you drink with me, Kristin?” - -Kristin did not move. Then the other raised the horn to her own lips; -but Kristin marked that she did not drink. Eline said: - -“So much honour you sure can do me, to drink to me—and promise you will -not be a hard step-mother to my children?” - -Kristin took the horn. At that moment Erlend opened the door. He stood a -moment, looking from one to the other of the women. - -“What is this?” he asked. - -Kristin answered, and her voice was wild and piercing: - -“We are drinking to each other—we—your paramours—” - -He gripped her wrist and took the horn from her. - -“Be still,” he said, harshly. “You shall not drink with her.” - -“Why not?” cried Kristin as before. “She was pure as I was, when you -tempted her—” - -“That hath she said so often, that I trow she is come to believe it -herself,” said Erlend. “Mind you, Eline, when you made me go to Sigurd -with that tale, and he brought forth witness that he had caught you -before with another man?” - -White with loathing, Kristin turned away. Eline had flushed darkly—now -she said, defiantly: - -“Yet will it scarce bring leprosy on the girl, if she drink with me!” - -Erlend turned on Eline in wrath—then of a sudden his face seemed to grow -long and hard as stone, and he gasped with horror: - -“Jesus!” he said below his breath. He gripped Eline by the arm: - -“Drink to _her_ then,” he said in a harsh and quivering voice. “Drink -you first; then she shall drink to you.” - -Eline wrenched herself away with a groan. She fled backwards through the -room, the man after her. “Drink,” he said. He snatched the dagger from -his belt and held it as he followed. “Drink out the drink you have -brewed for Kristin!” He seized Eline’s arm again and dragged her to the -table, then forced her head forward toward the horn. - -Eline shrieked once and buried her face on her arm. Erlend released her -and stood trembling. - -“A hell was mine with Sigurd,” shrieked Eline. “You—you promised—but you -have been worst to me of all, Erlend!” - -Then came Kristin forward and grasped the horn: - -“One of us two must drink—both of us you cannot keep—” - -Erlend wrenched the horn from her and flung her from him so that she -reeled and fell near by Lady Aashild’s bed. Again he pushed the horn -against Eline Ormsdatter’s mouth—with one knee on the bench he stood by -her side, and with a hand round her head tried to force the drink -between her teeth. - -She reached out under his arm, snatched his dagger from the table, and -struck hard at the man. The blow did but scratch his flesh through the -clothes. Then she turned the point against her own breast, and the -instant after sank sidelong down into his arms. - -Kristin rose and came to them. Erlend was holding Eline, her head -hanging back over his arm. The rattle came in her throat almost at -once—blood welled up and ran out of her mouth. She spat some of it out -and said: - -“’Twas for you I meant—that drink—for all the times—you deceived me—” - -“Bring Lady Aashild hither,” said Erlend in a low voice. Kristin stood -immovable. - -“She is dying,” said Erlend as before. - -“Then is she better served than we,” said Kristen. Erlend looked at -her—the despair in his eyes softened her. She left the room. - -“What is it?” asked Lady Aashild, when Kristin called her out from the -kitchen. - -“We have killed Eline Ormsdatter,” said Kristin. “She is dying—” - -Lady Aashild set off running to the hall. But Eline breathed her last as -the Lady crossed the threshold. - - * * * * * - -Lady Aashild had laid out the dead woman on the bench, wiped the blood -from her face and covered it with the linen of her coif. Erlend stood -leaning against the wall, behind the body. - -“Know you,” said Aashild, “that this was the worst thing that could -befall?” - -She had filled the fireplace with twigs and firewood; now she thrust the -horn into the midst of them and blew them into a blaze. - -“Can you trust your men?” asked the Lady again. - -“Ulv and Haftor are trusty, methinks—of Jon and the man with Eline I -know but little.” - -“You know, belike,” said the lady, “should it come out that Kristin and -you were together here, and that you two were alone with her when she -died, ’twere as well for Kristin you had let her drink of Eline’s -brew—And should there be talk of poison, all men will call to mind what -once was laid to _my_ charge.—Had she any kindred or friends?” - -“No,” said Erlend in a low voice. “She had none but me.” - -“Yet,” said Lady Aashild again, “it may well be a hard matter to cover -up this thing and hide the body away, without the ugliest of misthought -falling on you.” - -“She shall rest in hallowed ground,” said Erlend, “if it cost me Husaby. -What say you Kristin?” - -Kristin nodded. - -Lady Aashild sat silent. The more she thought, the more hopeless it -seemed to her to find any way out. In the kitchen-house were four -men—even if Erlend could bribe them all to keep silence, even if some of -them, if Eline’s man, could be bribed to leave the country—still, sure -they could never be. And ’twas known at Jörundgaard that Kristin had -been here—if Lavrans heard of this, she feared to think what he would -do. And how to bear the dead woman hence. The mountain path to the west -was not to be thought of now—there was the road to Romsdal, or over the -hills to Trondheim, or south down the Dale. And should the truth come -out, it would never be believed—even if folk let it pass for true. - -“I must take counsel with Björn in this matter,” she said, and rose and -went out to call him. - -Björn Gunnarsön listened to his wife’s story without moving a muscle and -without withdrawing his eyes from Erlend’s face. - -“Björn,” said Aashild desperately. “There is naught for it but that one -must swear he saw her lay hands upon herself.” - -Björn’s dead eyes grew slowly dark, as life came into them; he looked at -his wife, and his mouth drew aside into a crooked smile: - -“And you mean that I should be the one?” - -Lady Aashild crushed her hands together and lifted them towards him: - -“Björn, you know well what it means for these two—” - -“And you think that, whether or no, ’tis all over with me?” he said -slowly. “Or think you there is so much left of the man I once was that I -dare be forsworn to save that boy there from going down to ruin? I that -was dragged down myself—all those years ago. Dragged down, I say,” he -repeated. - -“You say it because I am old now,” whispered Aashild. - -Kristin burst out into such weeping that the piercing sound filled the -room. She had sat in the corner by Aashild’s bed, stark and silent. Now -she began weeping wildly and loud. It was as though Lady Aashild’s voice -had torn her heart open. The voice had been heavy with the memories of -the sweetness of love; it was as though its sound had made her -understand for the first time what her love and Erlend’s had been. The -memory of hot and passionate happiness swept over all else—swept away -the hard despair and hatred of last night. All she knew of now was her -love and her will to hold out. - -They looked at her—all three. Then Sir Björn went across and lifted her -chin with his hand and looked at her: - -“Say _you_, Kristin, she did it herself?” - -“Every word you have heard is true,” said Kristin firmly. “We threatened -her till she did it.” - -“She had meant Kristin should suffer a worst fate,” said Aashild. - -Sir Björn let go the girl. He went over to the body, lifted it up into -the bed where Eline had lain the night before, and laid it close to the -wall, drawing up the coverings well over it: - -“Jon and the man you do not know you must send home to Husaby, with word -that Eline is journeying south with you. Let them ride at midday. Say -that the women are asleep in the hall; they must take their food in the -kitchen. Afterward you must speak with Ulv and Haftor. Hath she -threatened before to do this? So that you can bring witness to it, if -such question should be asked?” - -“Every soul that was at Husaby the last years we lived together there,” -said Erlend wearily, “can witness that she threatened to take her own -life—and mine too sometimes—when I spoke of parting from her.” - -Björn laughed harshly: - -“I thought as much. To-night we must clothe her in her riding-coats and -set her in the sleigh. You must sit beside her—” - -Erlend swayed on his feet where he stood: - -“I cannot!” - -“God knows how much manhood will be left in _you_ when you have gone -your own gait twenty years more,” said Björn. “Think you, then, you can -drive the sleigh? For then will I sit beside her. We must travel by -night and by lonely paths, till we are come down to Fron. In this cold -none can know how long she has been dead. We will drive in to the monk’s -Hospice at Roaldstad. There will you and I bear witness that you two -were together in the sleigh, and it came to bitter words betwixt you. -There is witness enough that you would not live with her since the ban -was taken off you, and that you have made suit for a maiden of birth -that fits your own. Ulv and Haftor must hold themselves aloof the whole -way, so they can swear, if need be, she was alive when last they saw -her. You can bring them to do so much, I trow? At the monastery you can -have the monks lay her in her coffin—and afterward you must bargain with -the priests for grave-peace for her and soul’s peace for yourself.—Aye, -a fair deed it is not? But so as you have guided things, no fairer can -it be. Stand not there like a breeding woman ready to swoon away. God -help you, boy, a man can see _you_ have not proved before what ’tis to -feel the knife-edge at your throat.” - - * * * * * - -A biting blast came rushing down from the mountains, driving a fine -silvery smoke from the snow-wreaths up into the moon-blue air, as the -men made ready to drive away. - -Two horses were harnessed, one in front of the other. Erlend sat in the -front of the sleigh. Kristin went up to him: - -“This time, Erlend, you must try to send me word how this journey goes, -and what becomes of you after.” - -He crushed her hand till she thought the blood must be driven out from -under the nails. - -“Dare you still hold fast to me, Kristin?” - -“Aye, still,” she said; and after a moment—: “Of this deed we are both -guilty—I egged you on—for I willed her death.” - -Lady Aashild and Kristin stood and looked after the sleigh, as it rose -and dipped over the snow-drifts. It went down from sight into a -hollow—then came forth again farther down on a snow-slope. And then the -men passed into the shadow of a fell, and were gone from sight for good. - -The two women sat by the fireplace, their backs to the empty bed, from -which Aashild had borne away all the bedding and straw. Both could feel -it standing there empty and gaping behind them. - -“Would you rather that we should sleep in the kitchen-house to-night,” -asked Lady Aashild at length. - -“’Tis like it will be the same wherever we lie,” said Kristin. - -Lady Aashild went out to look at the weather. - -“Aye, should the wind get up or a thaw come on, they will not journey -far before it comes out,” said Kristin. - -“Here at Haugen it blows ever,” answered Lady Aashild. “’Tis no sign of -a change of weather.” - -They sat on as before. - -“You should not forget,” said the Lady at last, “what fate she had meant -for you two.” - -Kristin answered low: - -“I was thinking, maybe in her place I had willed the same.” - -“Never would you have willed another should be a leper,” said Aashild, -vehemently. - -“Mind you, Moster, you said to me once that ’tis well when we dare not -do a thing we think is not good and fair; but not so well when we think -a thing not good and fair because we dare not do it?” - -“You had not dared to do it, because ’twas sin,” said Lady Aashild. - -“No, I believe not so,” said Kristin. “Much have I done already that I -deemed once I dared not to do because ’twas sin. But I saw not till now -what sin brings with it—that we must tread others underfoot.” - -“Erlend would fain have made an end of his ill life long before he met -you,” said Aashild eagerly. “All was over between those two.” - -“I know it,” said Kristin. “But I trow she had never cause to deem -Erlend’s purposes so firm that she could not shake them.” - -“Kristin,” begged the lady fearfully, “surely you would not give up -Erlend now? You cannot be saved now except you save each other.” - -“So would a priest scorn counsel,” said Kristin, smiling coldly. “But -well I know that never can I give up Erlend now—not if I should tread my -own father underfoot.” - -Lady Aashild rose: - -“We had as well put our hands to some work as sit here thus,” she said. -“Like enough ’twould be vain for us to try to sleep.” - -She fetched the butter-churn from the closet, then bore in some pans of -milk, filled the churn and made ready to begin churning. - -“Let me do it,” Kristin asked. “My back is younger.” - -They worked without speaking; Kristin stood by the closet-door churning, -while Aashild carded wool by the hearth. At last, when Kristin had -emptied the churn and was kneading the butter, the girl asked of a -sudden: - -“Moster Aashild—are you never afraid of the day when you must stand -before God’s judgment?” - -Lady Aashild rose, and came and stood before Kristin in the light: - -“It may be I shall find courage to ask Him that hath made me as I am, if -He will have mercy on me in His own good time. For I have never begged -for His mercy when I broke His commands. And never have I begged God or -man to forgive me a farthing of the price I have paid here in this -mountain hut.” - -A little while after she said softly: - -“Munan, my eldest son, was twenty years old. He was not such an one -then, as I know he is now. They were not such ones then, my children—” - -Kristin answered low: - -“But yet have you had Sir Björn by your side each day and each night in -all these years.” - -“Aye—that too have I had,” said Aashild. - - * * * * * - -In a little while after, Kristin was done with the butter-making. Lady -Aashild said then that they must lie down and try to sleep a little. - -Inside, in the dark bed, she laid her arm round Kristin’s shoulders, and -drew the young head in to her breast. And it was not long before she -heard by her even gentle breathing that Kristin was fallen asleep. - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - 4 - -The frost held on. In every byre in the parish the half-starved beasts -bellowed dolefully with hunger and cold. Already the farmers were -skimping and saving on their fodder, every straw they could. - -There was little visiting round at Yule this year; folks stayed quiet in -their own homes. - -During Yule-tide the cold grew greater—it was as though each day was -colder than the last. Scarce anyone could call to mind so hard a -winter—there came no more snow, not even up in the mountains; but the -snow that had fallen at Clementsmass froze hard as a stone. The sun -shone from a clear sky, now the days began to grow lighter. At night the -northern lights flickered and flamed above the range to the north—they -flamed over half the heaven, but they brought no change of weather; now -and again would come a cloudy day, and a little dry snow would sprinkle -down—and then came clear weather again and biting cold. The Laagen -muttered and gurgled sluggishly under its ice-bridges. - -Kristin thought each morning that she could bear no more, that she could -never hold out to the day’s end. For each day she felt was as a duel -between her and her father. And _could_ they be against each other so, -when every living being in the parish, man and beast, was suffering -under one common trial?—But still, when the evening came, she had held -out one day more. - -It was not that her father was unfriendly. They spoke no word of what -was between them, but she felt, behind all that he did not say, his firm -unbending will to hold fast to his denial. - -And her heart ached within her for the lack of his friendship. The ache -was so dreadful in its keenness, because she knew how much else her -father had on his shoulders—and had things been as before, he would have -talked with her of it all—It was indeed so, that at Jörundgaard they -were in better case than most other places; but here, too, they felt the -pinch of the year each day and each hour. Other years it had been -Lavrans’ wont in the winters to handle and break in his young colts; but -this year he had sent them all south in the autumn and sold them. And -his daughter missed the sound of his voice out in the courtyard, and the -sight of him struggling with the slender, ragged two-year-olds in the -game he loved so well. Storehouses and barns and bins at Jörundgaard -were not bare yet—there was store left from the harvest of the year -before—but many folk came to ask for help—to buy, or to beg for -gifts—and none ever asked in vain. - -Late one evening came a huge old skin-clad man on ski. Lavrans talked -with him out in the courtyard, and Halvdan bore food across to the -hearth-room for him. None on the place who had seen him knew who he -was—he might well be one of those wild folk who lived far in among the -fells; like enough Lavrans had come upon him in there. But Lavrans said -naught of the visitor, nor Halvdan either. - -But one evening came a man whom Lavrans Björgulfsön had been at odds -with for many years. Lavrans went to the storeroom with him. When he -came back to the hall again he said: - -“They come to me for help, every man of them. But here in my own house -you are all against me. You, too, wife,” he said hotly. - -The mother flamed up at Kristin: - -“Hear you what your father says to me! No, I am not against you, -Lavrans. I know—and I wot well you know it too, Kristin—what befell away -south at Roaldstad late in the autumn, when he journeyed down the Dale -with that other adulterer, his kinsman of Hauges—she took her own life, -the unhappy woman he had lured away from all her kin.” - -Kristin stood with a hard, frozen face: - -“I see that ’tis all one—you blame him as much for the years he has -striven to free himself from sin, as for the years he lived in it.” - -“Jesus, Maria!” cried Ragnfrid, clasping her hands together: “What is -come to you! Has even this not availed to change your heart?” - -“No,” said Kristin. “I have not changed.” - -Then Lavrans looked up from the bench where he sat by Ulvhild: - -“Neither have I changed, Kristin,” he said in a low voice. - - * * * * * - -But Kristin felt within her that in a manner she was changed, in -thoughts if not in heart. She had had tidings of how it had fared with -them on that dreadful journey. As things fell out it had gone off more -easily than they looked it should. Whether the cold had got into the -hurt or whatever the cause might be, the knife-wound in Erlend’s breast -had festered, and constrained him to lie sick some while in the hospice -at Roaldstad, Sir Björn tending him. But that Erlend was wounded made it -easier to win belief for their tale of how that other thing had -befallen. - -When he was fit to journey on, he had taken the dead woman with him in a -coffin all the way to Oslo. There, by Sira Jon’s help, he had won for -her Christian burial in the churchyard of the old Church of St. Nikolaus -that had been pulled down. Then had he made confession to the Bishop of -Oslo himself, and the Bishop had laid on him as penance to go on -pilgrimage to the Holy Blood at Schwerin. Now was he gone out of the -land. - -_She_ could not make pilgrimage to any place on earth, and find -absolution. For her there was naught but to sit here and wait and think, -and strive to hold out in the struggle with her father and mother. A -strange wintery-cold light fell on all her memories of meetings with -Erlend. She thought of his vehemency—in love and in grief—and it was -borne in on her that had she been able, like him, to take up all things -of a sudden, and straightway rush forward with them, headlong, -afterwards maybe they might have seemed less fearful and heavy to bear. -At times, too, she would think: maybe Erlend will give me up. It seemed -to her she must always have had a little, lurking fear that if things -grew too hard for them he would fail her. But she would never give _him_ -up, unless he himself loosed her from all vows. - - * * * * * - -So the winter dragged on toward its end. And Kristin could not cheat -herself any more; she had to see that the hardest trial of all lay -before them—that Ulvhild had not long to live. And in the midst of her -bitter sorrow for her sister she saw with horror that truly her own soul -was wildered and eaten away with sin. For, with the dying child and the -parents’ unspeakable sorrow before her eyes, she was still brooding on -this one thing—if Ulvhild dies, how can I bear to look at my father and -not throw myself at his feet and confess all and beseech him to forgive -me—and command me—. - - * * * * * - -They were come far on in the long fast. Folks had begun slaughtering the -small stock they had hoped to save alive, for fear they should die of -themselves. And the people themselves sickened and pined from living on -fish, with naught besides but a little wretched meal and flour. Sira -Eirik gave leave to the whole parish to eat milk food if they would. But -few of the folk could come by a drop of milk. - -Ulvhild lay in bed. She lay alone in the sisters’ bed, and someone -watched by her each night. It chanced sometimes that both Kristin and -her father would be sitting by her. On such a night Lavrans said to his -daughter: - -“Mind you what Brother Edwin said that time about Ulvhild’s lot? Even -then the thought came to me that maybe he meant this. But I thrust it -from me then.” - -Sometimes in these nights he would speak of this thing and that from the -time when the children were small. Kristin sat there, white and -desperate—she knew that behind the words her father was beseeching her. - -One day Lavrans had gone with Kolbein to hunt out a bear’s winter lair -in the wooded hills to the north. They came home with a she-bear on a -sledge, and Lavrans brought with him a living bear-cub in the bosom of -his coat. Ulvhild brightened a little when he showed it to her. But -Ragnfrid said that was surely no time to rear up such a beast—what would -he do with it at a time like this? - -“I will rear it up and bind it before my daughters’ bower,” said -Lavrans, laughing harshly. - -But they could not get for the cub the rich milk it needed, and Lavrans -had to kill it a few days after. - - * * * * * - -The sun had gained so much strength now that sometimes, at midday, the -roofs would drip a little. The titmice clambered about, clinging on the -sunny side of the timber walls, and pecked till the wood rang, digging -for the flies sleeping in the cracks. Over the rolling fields around, -the snow shone hard and bright as silver. - -At last one evening clouds began to draw together over the moon. And the -next morning the folks at Jörundgaard woke in the midst of a whirling -world of snow that shut in their sight on every hand. - - * * * * * - -That day they knew that Ulvhild was dying. - -All the house-folk were indoors, and Sira Eirik came over to them. Many -candles were burning in the hall. Early in the evening Ulvhild passed -away, quietly and peacefully, in her mother’s arms. - -Ragnfrid bore it better than any had thought possible. The father and -mother sat together; both were weeping very quietly. All in the room -were weeping. When Kristin went across to her father, he laid his arm -round her shoulders. He felt how she shook and trembled, and he drew her -close in to him. But to her it seemed that he must feel as if she were -further from him far than the dead child in the bed. - -She understood not how it was that she still held out. She scarce -remembered herself what it was she held out for; but, lulled and dumb -with grief as she was, she held herself up and did not yield— - -—A few planks were torn up from the church floor in front of St. -Thomas’s shrine, and a grave was hewn in the stone-hard ground beneath -for Ulvhild Lavransdatter. - -It was snowing thick and silently all through those days, while the -child lay in the dead-straw; it was snowing still when she was borne to -the grave; and it went on snowing, almost without cease, till a whole -month was out. - - * * * * * - -To the folk of the Dale, waiting and waiting for the spring to deliver -them, it seemed as though it would never come. The days grew long and -light, and the steam-cloud from the melting snow lay on all the valley -as long as the sun shone. But the cold still held the air, and there was -no strength in the heat to overcome it. By night it froze hard—there was -loud cracking from the ice, there were booming sounds from the distant -fells; and the wolves howled and the fox barked down among the farms as -at midwinter. Men stripped the bark from the trees for their cattle, but -they dropped down dead in their stalls by scores. None could tell how -all this was to end. - -Kristin went out on such a day, when water was trickling in the ruts and -the snow on the fields around glistened like silver. The snow-wreaths -had been eaten away hollow on the side toward the sun, so that the fine -ice-trellis of the snow-crust edges broke with a silver tinkle when her -foot touched them. But everywhere, where the smallest shadow fell, the -sharp cold held the air and the snow was hard. - -She went upward towards the church—she knew not herself what she went to -do, but something drew her there. Her father was there—some of the -free-holders, guild-brothers, were to meet in the cloister-way, she -knew. - -Half-way up the hill she met the troop of farmers, coming down. Sira -Eirik was with them. The men were all on foot; they walked stoopingly in -a dark, shaggy knot, and spoke no word together. They gave back her -greeting sullenly, as she went by them. - -Kristin thought how far away the time was when every soul in the parish -had been her friend. Like enough all men knew now that she was a bad -daughter. Perhaps they knew yet more about her. It might well be that -all believed now there had been some truth in the old talk about her and -Arne and Bentein. It might be that she had fallen into the worst -ill-fame. She held her head high and passed on toward the church. - -The door stood ajar. It was cold in the church, yet was it as though a -mild warmth streamed into her heart from the brown dusky hall with the -high, upspringing pillars holding up the darkness under the roof-beams. -There was no light on the altars, but a ray of sun shone in through a -chink of the door and gleamed faintly back from the pictures and the -holy vessels. - -Far in before the altar of St. Thomas she saw her father kneeling with -head bent forward on his folded hands, which held his cap crushed to his -breast. - -Shrinking back in fear and sadness, Kristin stole out and stood in the -cloister-way, with her hands about two of its small pillars. Framed in -the arch between them she saw Jörundgaard lying below, and behind her -home the pale-blue haze that filled the valley. Where the river lay -stretched through the country-side its ice and water sent out white -sparkles in the sunshine. But the alder thickets along its bed were -yellow-brown with blossom, even the pine-wood up by the church was -tinged with spring green, and there was a piping and twittering and -whistling of little birds in the grove near by. Aye, there had been -bird-song like this each evening after the sun was down. - -And she felt that the longing she thought must have been racked out of -her long since, the longing in her body and her blood, was stirring now -again, faintly and feebly, as about to waken from a winter sleep. - -Lavrans Björgulfsön came out and locked the church-door behind him. He -came and stood by his daughter, looking out through the arch next to -her. She saw how the winter gone by had harrowed her father’s face. She -understood not herself how she could touch now on what was between them, -but the words seemed to rush out of themselves: - -“Is it true, what mother told me the other day—that you said to her: had -it been Arne Gyrdsön you would have given me my will?” - -“Aye,” said Lavrans, not looking at her. - -“You said not so while yet Arne lived,” said Kristin. - -“It never came in question. I saw well enough that the boy held you -dear—but he said nothing—and he was young—and I marked not ever that you -had such thoughts towards him. You could scarce think I would _proffer_ -my daughter to a man of no estate?” he smiled slightly. “But I loved the -boy,” he said in a low voice; “and had I seen you pining for love of -him—” - -They stood still, gazing. Kristin felt that her father was looking at -her—she strove hard to be calm of face, but she felt herself grow deadly -white. Then her father came towards her, put both his arms around her -and pressed her strongly to him. He bent her head backwards, looked down -into his daughter’s face, and then hid it again on his shoulder. - -“Jesus Kristus, little Kristin, are you _so_ unhappy—?” - -“I think I shall die of it, father,” she said, her face pressed to him. - -She burst into weeping. But she wept because she had felt in his caress -and seen in his eyes that now he was so worn out with pain that he could -not hold out against her any more. She had overcome him. - - * * * * * - -Far on in the night she was wakened in the dark by her father’s touch on -her shoulder. - -“Get up,” he said softly. “Do you hear—?” - -She heard the singing of the wind round the house-corners—the deep, full -note of the south-wind, heavy with wetness. Streams were pouring from -the roof; there was the whisper of rain falling on soft melting snow. - -Kristin flung her dress on her back and went after her father to the -outer door. They stood together looking out into the twilight of the May -night—warm wind and rain smote against them—the heavens were a welter of -tangled drifting rain-clouds, the woods roared, the wind whistled -between the houses, and from far up in the fells they heard the dull -boom of snow-masses falling. - -Kristin felt for her father’s hand and held it. He had called her that -he might show her this. So had it been between them before, that he -would have done this; and so it was now again. - -When they went in to bed again, Lavrans said: - -“The stranger serving-man that came last week brought me letters from -Sir Munan Baardsön. He is minded to come up the Dale to our parts next -summer to see his mother; and he asked if he might meet me and have -speech with me.” - -“What will you answer him, my father?” she whispered. - -“That can I not tell you now,” said Lavrans. “But I will speak with him; -and then must I order this matter so as I may deem I can answer it to -God, my daughter.” - -Kristin crept in again beside Ramborg, and Lavrans went and lay down by -the side of his sleeping wife. He lay thinking that if the flood came -over-sudden and strong there were few places in the parish that lay so -much in its path as Jörundgaard. Folk said there was a prophecy that -some day the river would carry it away. - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - 5 - -Spring came at a single bound. Only a few days after the sudden thaw the -whole parish lay dark brown under the flooding rain. The waters rushed -foaming down the hillsides, the river swelled up and lay in the -valley-bottom, like a great leaden-grey lake, with lines of tree-tops -floating on its waters and a treacherous bubbling furrow where the -current ran. At Jörundgaard the water stood far up over the fields. But -everywhere the mischief done was less than folk had feared. - -Of necessity the spring work was thrown late, and the people sowed their -scanty corn with prayers to God that He would save it from the -night-frosts in autumn. And it looked as though He would hearken to them -and a little ease their burdens. June came in with mild, growing -weather, the summer was good, and folk set their faces forward in hope -that the marks of the evil year might be wiped out in time. - - * * * * * - -The hay harvest had been got in, when one evening four men rode up to -Jörundgaard. First came two knights, and behind them their serving-men; -and the knights were Sir Munan Baardsön and Sir Baard Petersön of -Hestnæs. - -Ragnfrid and Lavrans had the board spread in the upper hall, and beds -made ready in the guest-room over the store-house. But Lavrans begged -the knights to tarry with their errand till the next day, when they -should be rested from their journey. - -Sir Munan led the talk throughout the meal; he turned much to Kristin in -talking, and spoke as if he and she were well-acquainted. She saw that -this was not to her father’s liking. Sir Munan was square-built, -red-faced, ugly, talkative, and something of a buffoon in his bearing. -People called him Dumpy Munan or Dance Munan. But for all his flighty -bearing Lady Aashild’s son was a man of understanding and parts, who had -been used by the Crown more than once in matters of trust, and was known -to have a word in the counsels of them that guided the affairs of the -kingdom. He held his mother’s heritage in the Skogheim Hundred; was -exceeding rich, and had made a rich marriage. Lady Katrin, his wife, was -hard-featured beyond the common, and seldom opened her mouth; but her -husband ever spoke of her as if she were the wisest of dames, so that -she was known in jest as Lady Katrin the Ready-witted, or the -Silver-tongued. They seemed to live with each other well and lovingly, -though Sir Munan was known all too well for the looseness of his life -both before and after his marriage. - -Sir Baard Petersön was a comely and a stately old man, even though now -somewhat ample of girth and heavy-limbed. His hair and beard were faded -now, but their hue was still as much yellow as ’twas white. Since King -Magnus Haakonsön’s death he had lived retired, managing his great -possessions in Nordmöre. He was a widower for the second time, and had -many children, who, it was said, were all comely, well-nurtured and -well-to-do. - -The next day Lavrans and his guests went up to the upper hall for their -parley. Lavrans would have had his wife be present with them, but she -would not: - -“This matter must be in your hands wholly. You know well ’twill be the -heaviest of sorrows for our daughter if it should come to naught; but I -see well that there are but too many things that may make against this -marriage.” - -Sir Munan brought forth a letter from Erlend Nikulaussön. Erlend’s -proffer was that Lavrans should fix, himself, each and all of the -conditions, if he would betroth his daughter Kristin to him. Erlend was -willing to have all his possessions valued and his incomings appraised -by impartial men, and to grant to Kristin such extra-gift and -morning-gift, that she would possess a third of all his estate besides -her own dowry and all such heritage as might come to her from her kin, -should she be left a widow without living children. Further his proffer -was to grant Kristin full power to deal at her pleasure with her share -of the common estate, both what she had of her own kindred and what came -to her from her husband. But if Lavrans wished for other terms of -settlement, Erlend was most willing to hear his wishes and to follow -them in all things. To one thing only he asked that Kristin’s kindred, -on their side, should bind themselves: that, should the guardianship of -his children and Kristin’s ever come to them, they would never try to -set aside the gifts he had made to his children by Eline Ormsdatter, but -would let all such gifts hold good, as having passed from his estate -before his entry into wedlock with Kristin Lavransdatter. At the end of -all Erlend made proffer to hold the wedding in all seemly state at -Husaby. - -Lavrans spoke in reply: - -“This is a fair proffer. I see by it that your kinsman has it much at -heart to come to terms with me. All the more is this plain to me by -reason that he has moved you, Sir Munan, to come for the second time on -such an errand to a man like me, who am of little weight beyond my own -country-side; and that a knight like you, Sir Baard, hath been at the -pains of making such a journey to further his cause. But concerning -Erlend’s proffer I would say this: my daughter has not been bred up to -deal herself with the ordering of goods and gear, but I have ever hoped -to give her to such a man as that I could lay the maid’s welfare in his -hands with an easy mind. I know not, indeed, whether Kristin be fit to -be set in such authority, but I can scarce believe that ’twould be for -her good. She is mild of mood and biddable—and ’twas one of the reasons -I have had in mind in setting myself against this marriage, that ’tis -known Erlend has shown want of understanding in more matters than one. -Had she been a power-loving, bold and head-strong woman, then indeed the -matter had taken on another face.” - -Sir Munan burst out laughing: - -“Dear Lavrans, lament you that the maid is not head-strong enough—?” and -Sir Baard said with a little smile: - -“Methinks your daughter has shown that she lacks not a will of her -own—for two years now she has held to Erlend clean against your will.” - -Lavrans said: - -“I have not forgotten it; yet do I know well what I say. She has -suffered sorely herself all this time she has stood against me; nor will -she long be glad with a husband who cannot rule her.” - -“Nay then the devil’s in it!” said Sir Munan. “Then must your daughter -be far unlike all the women I have known; for I have never seen _one_ -that was not fain to rule herself—and her man to boot!” - -Lavrans shrugged his shoulders and made no answer. - -Then said Baard Petersön: - -“I can well believe, Lavrans Björgulfsön, that you have found this -marriage between your daughter and my foster-son no more to your liking, -since the woman who had lived with him came to the end we know of last -year. But you must know it has come out now that the unhappy woman had -let herself be led astray by another man, Erlend’s steward at Husaby. -Erlend knew of this when he went with her down the Dale; he had -proffered to portion her fittingly, if the man would wed her.” - -“Are you well assured that this is so?” asked Lavrans. “And yet I know -not,” he said again, “if the thing is anyway bettered thereby. Hard must -it be for a woman come of good kindred to go into a house hand and hand -with the master, and be led out by the serving-man.” - -Munan Baardsön took the word: - -“’Tis plain to me, Lavrans Björgulfsön, that what goes against my cousin -most with you, is that he has had these hapless dealings with Sigurd -Saksulvsön’s wife. And true it is that ’twas not well done of him. But -in God’s name, man, you must remember this—here was this young boy -dwelling in one house with a young and fair woman, and she had an old, -cold, strengthless husband—and the night is a half-year long up there: -methinks a man could scarce look for aught else to happen, unless Erlend -had been a very saint. There is no denying it: Erlend had made at all -times but a sorry monk; but methinks your young, fair daughter would -give you little thanks, should you give her a monkish husband.—True it -is that Erlend bore himself like a fool then, and a yet greater fool -since—But the thing should not stand against him for ever—we his kinsmen -have striven to help the boy to his feet again; the woman is dead; and -Erlend has done all in his power to care for her body and her soul; the -Bishop of Oslo himself hath absolved him of his sin, and now is he come -home again made clean by the Holy Blood at Schwerin—would you be -stricter than the Bishop of Oslo, and the Archbishop at Schwerin—or -whoever it may be that hath charge of that precious blood—? - -“Dear Lavrans, true it is that chastity is a fair thing indeed; but ’tis -verily hard for a grown man to attain to it without a special gift of -grace from God. By St. Olav—Aye, and you should remember too that the -Holy King himself was not granted that gift till his life here below was -drawing to an end—very like ’twas God’s will that he should first beget -that doughty youth King Magnus, who smote down the heathen when they -raged against the Nordlands. I wot well King Olav had that son by -another than his Queen—yet doth he sit amidst the highest saints in the -host of heaven. Aye, I can see in your face that you deem this unseemly -talk—” - -Sir Baard broke in: - -“Lavrans Björgulfsön, I liked this matter no better than you, when first -Erlend came to me and said he had set his heart on a maid that was -handfast to another. But since then I have come to know that there is so -great kindness between these two young folk, that ’twould be great pity -to part their loves. Erlend was with me at the last Yule-tide feasting -King Haakon held for his men—they met together there, and scarce had -they seen each other when your daughter swooned away and lay a long -while as one dead—and I saw in my foster-son’s face that he would rather -lose his life than lose her.” - -Lavrans sat still awhile before answering: - -“Aye; all such things sound fair and fine when a man hears them told in -a knightly saga of the Southlands. But we are not in Bretland here, and -’tis like you too would ask more in the man you would choose for -son-in-law than that he had brought your daughter to swoon away for love -in all folk’s sight—” - -The two others were silent, and Lavrans went on: - -“’Tis in my mind, good Sirs, that had Erlend Nikulaussön not made great -waste both of his goods and of his fame, you would scarce be sitting -here pleading so strongly with a man of my estate that I should give my -daughter to him. But I would be loth it should be said of Kristin that -’twas an honour for her to wed a great estate and a man from amongst the -highest in the land—after the man had so beshamed himself, that he could -not look to make a better match, or keep undiminished the honour of his -house.” - -He rose in heat, and began walking to and fro. - -But Sir Munan started up: - -“Now, before God, Lavrans, if the talk is of shame, I would have you -know you are over-proud in—” - -Sir Baard broke in quickly, going up to Lavrans: - -“Proud you are, Lavrans—you are like those udal farmers we have heard of -in olden times, who would have naught to do with the titles the Kings -would have given them, because their pride could not brook that folk -should say they owed thanks to any but themselves. I tell you, that were -Erlend still master of all the honour and riches the boy was born to, -yet would I never deem that I demeaned him or myself in asking a -well-born and wealthy man to give his daughter to my foster-son, if I -knew that the two young creatures might break their hearts if they -parted. And the rather,” he said in a low voice, laying his hand on -Lavrans’ shoulder, “if so it were that ’twould be best for the souls of -both they should wed each other.” - -Lavrans drew away from the other’s hand; his face grew set and cold: - -“I scarce believe I understand your meaning, Sir Knight?” - -The two men looked at each other for a space; then Sir Baard said: - -“I mean that Erlend has told me, they two have sworn troth to each other -with the dearest oaths. Maybe you would say that you have power to loose -your child from her oath, since she swore without your will. But Erlend -you cannot loose.—And for aught I can see what most stands in the road -is your pride—and the hate you bear to sin. But in that ’tis to me as -though you were minded to be stricter than God himself, Lavrans -Björgulfsön.” - -Lavrans answered somewhat uncertainly: - -“It may be there is truth in this that you say to me, Sir Baard. But -what most has set me against this match is that I have deemed Erlend to -be so unsure a man that I could not trust my daughter to his hands.” - -“Methinks I can answer for my foster-son now,” said Baard quietly. -“Kristin is so dear to him that I know, if you will give her to him, he -will prove in the event such a son-in-law that you shall have no cause -of grief.” - -Lavrans did not answer at once. Then Sir Baard said earnestly, holding -out his hand: - -“In God’s name, Lavrans Björgulfsön, give your consent!” - -Lavrans laid his hand in Sir Baard’s: - -“In God’s name!” - - * * * * * - -Ragnfrid and Kristin were called to the upper hall, and Lavrans told -them his will. Sir Baard greeted the two women in fair and courtly -fashion; Sir Munan took Ragnfrid by the hand and spoke to her in seemly -wise, but Kristin he greeted in the foreign fashion with a kiss, and he -took time over his greeting. Kristin felt that her father looked at her -while this was doing. - -“How like you your new kinsman, Sir Munan?” he asked jestingly when he -was alone with her for a moment late that evening. - -Kristin looked beseechingly at him. Then he stroked her face a little -and said no more. - - * * * * * - -When Sir Baard and Sir Munan went to their room, Munan broke out: - -“Not a little would I give to see this Lavrans Björgulfsön’s face, -should he come to know the truth about this precious daughter of his. -Here have you and I had to beg on our knees to win for Erlend a woman he -has had with him in Brynhild’s house many times—” - -“Hold your peace—no word of that,” answered Sir Baard in wrath. “’Twas -the worst deed Erlend ever did, to lure that child to such places—and -see that Lavrans never hear aught of it; the best that can happen now -for all is that those two should be friends.” - -The feast for the drinking of the betrothal ale was appointed to be held -that same autumn. Lavrans said he could not make the feast very great, -the year before had been such a bad one in the Dale; but to make up he -would bear the cost of the wedding himself, and hold it at Jörundgaard -in all seemly state. He named the bad year again as the cause why he -required that the time of betrothal should last a year. - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - 6 - -For more reasons than one the betrothal feast was put off; it was not -held till the New Year; but Lavrans agreed that the bridal need not -therefore be delayed; it was to be just after Michaelmas, as was fixed -at first. - -So Kristin sat now at Jörundgaard as Erlend’s betrothed in all men’s -sight. Along with her mother she looked over all the goods and gear that -had been gathered and saved up for her portion, and strove to add still -more to the great piles of bedding and clothes; for when once Lavrans -had given his daughter to the master of Husaby, it was his will that -naught should be spared. - -Kristin wondered herself at times that she did not feel more glad. But, -spite of all the busyness, there was no true gladness at Jörundgaard. - -Her father and mother missed Ulvhild sorely, that she saw. But she -understood too that ’twas not that alone which made them so silent and -so joyless. They were kind to her, but when they talked with her of her -betrothed, she saw that they did but force themselves to it to please -her and show her kindness; ’twas not that they themselves had a mind to -speak of Erlend. They had not learned to take more joy in the marriage -she was making, now they had come to know the man. Erlend, too, had kept -himself quiet and withdrawn the short time he had been at Jörundgaard -for the betrothal—and like enough this could not have been otherwise, -thought Kristin; for he knew it was with no good will her father had -given his consent. - -She herself and Erlend had scarce had the chance to speak ten words -alone together. And it had brought a strange unwonted feeling, to sit -together thus in all folk’s sight; at such times they had little to say, -by reason of the many things between them that could not be said. There -arose in her a doubtful fear, vague and dim, but always present—perhaps -’twould make it hard for them in some way after they were wedded, that -they had come all too near to each other at the first, and after had -lived so long quite parted. - -But she tried to thrust the fear away. It was meant that Erlend should -visit them at Whitsuntide; he had asked Lavrans and Ragnfrid if they had -aught against his coming, and Lavrans had laughed a little, and answered -that Erlend might be sure his daughter’s bridegroom would be welcome. - -At Whitsuntide they would be able to go out together; they would have a -chance to speak together as in the old days, and then surely it would -fade away, the shadow that had come between them in this long time -apart, when each had gone about alone bearing a burden the other could -not share. - - * * * * * - -At Easter Simon Andressön and his wife came to Formo. Kristin saw them -in the church. Simon’s wife was standing not far off from her. - -She must be much older than he, thought Kristin—nigh thirty years old. -Lady Halfrid was little and slender and thin, but she had an exceeding -gracious visage. The very hue of her pale-brown hair as it flowed in -waves from under her linen coif, seemed, as it were, so gentle, and her -eyes too were full of gentleness; they were great grey eyes flecked with -tiny golden specks. Every feature of her face was fine and pure—but her -skin was something dull and grey, and when she opened her mouth one saw -that her teeth were not good. She looked not as though she were strong, -and folks said indeed that she was sickly—she had miscarried more than -once already, Kristin had heard. She wondered how it would fare with -Simon with this wife. - -The Jörundgaard folk and they of Formo had greeted each other across the -church-green more than once, but had not spoken. But on Easter-day Simon -was in the church without his wife. He went across to Lavrans, and they -spoke together a while. Kristin heard Ulvhild’s name spoken. Afterwards -he spoke with Ragnfrid. Ramborg, who was standing by her mother, called -out aloud: “I mind you quite well—_I_ know who you are.” Simon lifted -the child up a little and twirled her round: “’Tis well done of you, -Ramborg, not to have forgotten me.” Kristin he only greeted from some -way off; and her father and mother said no word afterward of the -meeting. - -But Kristin pondered much upon it. For all that had come and gone, it -had been strange to see Simon Darre again as a wedded man. So much that -was past came to life again at the sight; she remembered her own blind -and all-yielding love for Erlend in those days. Now, she felt, there was -some change in it. The thought came to her: how if Simon had told his -wife how they had come to part, he and she—but she knew he had kept -silence—“for my father’s sake,” she thought scoffingly. ’Twas a poor -showing, and strange, that she should be still living here unwed, in her -parents’ house. But at least they were betrothed; Simon could see that -they had had their way in spite of all. Whatever else Erlend might have -done, to _her_ he had held faithfully, and she had not been loose or -wanton. - - * * * * * - -One evening in early spring Ragnfrid had to send down the valley to old -Gunhild, the widow who sewed furs. The evening was so fair that Kristin -asked if she might not go; at last they gave her leave, since all the -men were busy. - -It was after sunset, and a fine white frost-haze was rising toward the -gold-green sky. Kristin heard at each hoof-stroke the brittle sound of -the evening’s ice as it broke and flew outwards in tinkling splinters. -But from all the roadside brakes there was a happy noise of birds -singing, softly but full-throated with spring, into the twilight. - -Kristin rode sharply downwards; she thought not much of anything, but -felt only it was good to be abroad alone once more. She rode with her -eyes fixed on the new moon sinking down toward the mountain ridge on the -far side of the Dale; and she had near fallen from her horse when he -suddenly swerved aside and reared. - -She saw a dark body lying huddled together at the roadside—and at first -she was afraid. The hateful fear that had passed into her blood—the fear -of meeting people alone by the way—she could never quite be rid of. But -she thought ’twas maybe a wayfaring man who had fallen sick; so when she -had mastered her horse again, she turned and rode back, calling out to -know who it was. - -The bundle stirred a little, and a voice said: - -“Methinks ’tis you yourself, Kristin Lavransdatter—?” - -“Brother Edwin?” she asked softly. She came near to thinking this was -some phantom or some deviltry sent to trick her. But she went nigh to -him; it was the old monk himself, and he could not raise himself from -the ground without help. - -“My dear Father—are you wandering at this time of the year?” she said in -wonder. - -“Praise be to God, who sent you this way to-night,” said the monk. -Kristin saw that his whole body was shaking. “I was coming north to you -folks, but my legs would carry me no further this night. Almost I deemed -’twas God’s will that I should lie down and die on the roads I have been -wandering about on all my life. But I was fain to see you once again, my -daughter—” - -Kristin helped the monk up on her horse; then led it homeward by the -bridle, holding him on. And, all the time he was lamenting that now she -would get her feet wet in the icy slush, she could hear him moaning -softly with pain. - -He told her that he had been at Eyabu since Yule. Some rich farmers of -the parish had vowed in the bad year to beautify their church with new -adornments. But the work had gone slowly; he had been sick the last of -the winter—the evil was in his stomach—it could bear no food, and he -vomited blood. He believed himself he had not long to live, and he -longed now to be home in his cloister, for he was fain to die there -among his own brethren. But he had a mind first to come north up the -Dale one last time, and so he had set out, along with the monk who came -from Hamar to be the new prior of the pilgrim hospice at Roaldstad. From -Fron he had come on alone. - -“I heard that you were betrothed,” he said, “to that man—and then such a -longing came on me to see you. It seemed to me a sore thing that that -should be our last meeting, that time in our church at Oslo. It has been -a heavy burden on my heart, Kristin, that you had strayed away into the -path where is no peace—” - -Kristin kissed the monk’s hand: - -“Truly I know not, Father, what I have done, or how deserved, that you -show me such great love.” - -The monk answered in a low voice: - -“I have thought many a time, Kristin, that had it so befallen we had met -more often, then might you have come to be as my daughter in the -spirit.” - -“Mean you that you would have brought me to turn my heart to the holy -life of the cloister?” asked Kristin. Then, a little after, she said: -“Sira Eirik laid a command on me that, should I not win my father’s -consent and be wed with Erlend, then must I join with a godly sisterhood -and make atonement for my sins—” - -“I have prayed many a time that the longing for the holy life might come -to you,” said Brother Edwin. “But not since you told me that you wot -of—I would have had you come to God, wearing your garland, Kristin—” - - * * * * * - -When they came to Jörundgaard Brother Edwin had to be lifted down and -borne in to his bed. They laid him in the old winter house, in the -hearth-room, and cared for him most tenderly. He was very sick, and Sira -Eirik came and tended him with medicines for the body and the soul. But -the priest said the old man’s sickness was cancer, and it could not be -that he had long to live. Brother Edwin himself said that when he had -gained a little strength he would journey south again and try to come -home to his own cloister. But Sira Eirik told the others he could not -believe this was to be thought of. - -It seemed to all at Jörundgaard that a great peace and gladness had come -to them with the monk. Folks came and went in the hearth room all day -long, and there was never any lack of watchers to sit at nights by the -sick man. As many as had time flocked in to listen, when Sira Eirik came -over and read to the dying man from godly books, and they talked much -with Brother Edwin of spiritual things. And though much of what he said -was dark and veiled, even as his speech was wont to be, it seemed to -these folks that he strengthened and comforted their souls, because each -and all could see that Brother Edwin was wholly filled with the love of -God. - -But the monk was fain to hear, too, of all kind of other things—asked -the news of the parishes round, and had Lavrans tell him all the story -of the evil year of drought. There were some folk who had betaken them -to evil courses in that tribulation, turning to such helpers as -Christian men should most abhor. Some way in over the ridges west of the -Dale was a place in the mountains where were certain great white stones, -of obscene shapes, and some men had fallen so low as to sacrifice boars -and gib-cats before these abominations. So Sira Eirik moved some of the -boldest, most God-fearing farmers to come with him one night and break -the stones in pieces. Lavrans had been with them, and could bear witness -that the stones were all besmeared with blood, and there lay bones and -other refuse all around them—’Twas said that up in Heidal the people had -had an old crone sit out on a great earth-fast rock three Thursday -nights, chanting ancient spells. - - * * * * * - -One night Kristin sat alone by Brother Edwin. At midnight he woke up, -and seemed to be suffering great pain. Then he bade Kristin take the -book of Miracles of the Virgin Mary, which Sira Eirik had lent to -Brother Edwin, and read to him. - -Kristin was little used to read aloud, but she set herself down on the -step of the bed and placed the candle by her side; she laid the book on -her lap and read as well as she could. - -In a little while she saw that the sick man was lying with teeth set -tight, clenching his wasted hands as the fits of agony took him. - -“You are suffering much, dear Father,” said Kristin sorrowfully. - -“It seems so to me, now. But I know ’tis but that God has made me a -little child again and is tossing me about, up and down— - -“I mind me one time when I was little—four winters old I was then—I had -run away from home into the woods. I lost myself, and wandered about -many days and nights—My mother was with the folks that found me, and -when she caught me up in her arms, I mind me well, she bit me in my -neck. I thought it was that she was angry with me—but afterward I knew -better— - -“I long, myself, now, to be home out of this forest. It is written: -forsake ye all things and follow me—but there has been all too much in -this world that I had no mind to forsake—” - -“_You_, Father?” said Kristin. “Ever have I heard all men say that you -have been a pattern for pure life and poverty and humbleness—” - -The monk laughed slily. - -“Aye, a young child like you thinks, maybe, there are no other lures in -the world than pleasure and riches and power. But I say to you, these -are small things men find by the wayside; and I—I have loved the ways -themselves—not the small things of the world did I love, but the _whole_ -world. God gave me grace to love Lady Poverty and Lady Chastity from my -youth up, and thus methought with these playfellows it was safe to -wander, and so I have roved and wandered, and would have been fain to -roam over all the ways of the earth. And my heart and my thoughts have -roamed and wandered too—I fear me I have often gone astray in my -thoughts on the most hidden things. But now ’tis all over, little -Kristin; I will home now to my house and lay aside all my own thoughts, -and hearken to the clear words of the Gardian telling what I should -believe and think concerning my sin and the mercy of God—” - -A little while after he dropped asleep. Kristin went and sat by the -hearth tending the fire. But well on in the morning, when she was nigh -dozing off herself, of a sudden Brother Edwin spoke from the bed: - -“Glad am I, Kristin, that this matter of you and Erlend Nikulaussön is -brought to a good end.” - -Kristin burst out weeping: - -“We have done so much wrong before we came so far. And what gnaws at my -heart most is that I have brought my father so much sorrow. He has no -joy in this wedding either. And even so he knows not—did he know all—I -trow he would take his kindness quite from me.” - -“Kristin,” said Brother Edwin gently, “see you not, child, that ’tis -therefore you must keep it from him, and ’tis therefore you must give -him no more cause of sorrow—because he never will call on you to pay the -penalty. Nothing you could do could turn your father’s heart from you.” - - * * * * * - -A few days later Brother Edwin was grown so much better that he would -fain set out on his journey southward. Since his heart was set on this, -Lavrans had a kind of litter made, to be slung between two horses, and -on this he brought the sick man as far south as to Lidstad; there they -gave him fresh horses and men to tend him on his way, and in this wise -was he brought as far as Hamar. There he died in the cloister of the -Preaching Friars, and was buried in their church. Afterward the Barefoot -Friars claimed that his body should be delivered to them; for that many -folks all about in the parishes held him to be a holy man, and spoke of -him by the name of Saint Evan. The peasants of the Uplands and the -Dales, all the way north to Trondheim, prayed to him as a saint. So it -came about that there was a long dispute between the two Orders about -his body. - -Kristin heard naught of this till long after. But she grieved sorely at -parting from the monk. It seemed to her that he alone knew all her -life—he had known the innocent child as she was in her father’s keeping, -and he had known her secret life with Erlend; so that he was, as it -were, a link, binding together all that had first been dear to her with -all that now filled her heart and mind. Now was she quite cut off from -herself as she had been in the time when she was yet a maid. - - * * * * * - -“Aye,” said Ragnfrid, feeling with her hand the lukewarm brew in the -vats, “methinks ’tis cool enough now to mix in the barm.” - -Kristin had been sitting in the brew-house doorway spinning, while she -waited for the brew to cool. She laid down the spindle on the threshold, -unwrapped the rug from the pail of risen yeast, and began measuring out. - -“Shut the door first,” bade her mother, “so the draught may not come -in—you seem walking in your sleep, Kristin,” she said testily. - -Kristin poured the yeast in to the vats, while Ragnfrid stirred. - -—Geirhild Drivsdatter called on Hatt, but he was Odin. So he came and -helped her with the brewing; and he craved for his wage that which was -between the vat and her—’Twas a saga that Lavrans had once told when she -was little. That which was between the vat and her— - -Kristin felt dizzy and sick with the heat and the sweet spicy-smelling -steam that filled the dark close-shut brew-house. - -Out in the farm-place Ramborg and a band of children were dancing in a -ring, singing: - - “The eagle sits on the topmost hill-crag - Crooking his golden claws....” - -Kristin followed her mother through the little outer room where lay -empty ale-kegs and all kinds of brewing gear. A door led from it out to -a strip of ground between the back wall of the brew-house and the fence -round the barley-field. A herd of pigs jostled each other, and bit and -squealed as they fought over the lukewarm grains thrown out to them. - -Kristin shaded her eyes against the blinding midday sunlight. The mother -looked at the pigs and said: - -“With less than eighteen reindeer we shall never win through.” - -“Think you we shall need so many?” said her daughter, absently. - -“Aye, for we must have game to serve up with the pork each day,” -answered Ragnfrid. “And of wild-fowl and hare we shall scarce have more -than will serve for the table in the upper hall. Remember, ’twill be -well on toward two hundred people we shall have on the place—counting -serving-folk and children—and the poor that have to be fed. And even -should you and Erlend set forth on the fifth day, some of the guests, I -trow, will stay out the week—at the least.” - -“You must stay here and look to the ale, Kristin,” she went on. “’Tis -time for me to get dinner for your father and the reapers.” - - * * * * * - -Kristin fetched her spinning gear and sat herself down there in the back -doorway. She put the distaff with the bunch of wool up under her -arm-pit, but her hands, with the spindle in them, sank into her lap. - -Beyond the fence the ears of barley gleamed silvery and silken in the -sunshine. Above the song of the river she heard now and again from the -meadows on the river-island the ring of a scythe—sometimes the iron -would strike upon a stone. Her father and the house-folk were hard at -work on the hay-making, to get it off their hands. For there was much to -get through and to make ready against her wedding. - -The scent of the lukewarm grains, and the rank smell of the swine—she -grew qualmish again. And the midday heat made her so dizzy and faint. -White and stiffly upright she sat and waited for it to pass over—she -_would_ not to be sick again— - -Never before had she felt what now she felt. ’Twas of no avail to try to -tell herself for comfort: it was not certain yet—she might be -wrong——That which was between the vat and her— - -Eighteen reindeer. Well on toward two hundred wedding-guests—Folk would -have a rare jest to laugh at when ’twas known that all this hubbub had -but been about a breeding woman they had to see and get married before— - -Oh no. She threw her spinning from her and started up as the sickness -overcame her again—Oh no, it was sure enough!— - -They were to be wedded the second Sunday after Michaelmas, and the -bridal was to last for five days. There were more than two months still -to wait; they would be sure to see it on her—her mother and the other -housewives of the parish. They were ever wise in such things—knew them -months before Kristin could understand how they saw them. “Poor thing, -she grows so pale”—Impatiently Kristin rubbed her hands against her -cheeks; she felt that they were white and bloodless. - -Before, she had so often thought: this must happen soon or late. And she -had not feared it so terribly. But ’twould not have been the same then, -when they could not—were forbidden to come together in lawful wise. It -was counted—aye, a shame in a manner, and a sin too—but if ’twere two -young things who _would not_ let themselves be forced apart, folk -remembered that ’twas so, and spoke of them with forbearance. _She_ -would not have been ashamed. But when such things happened between a -betrothed pair—there was naught for them but laughter and gross jesting. -She saw it herself—one could not but laugh: here was brewing and mixing -of wine, slaughtering and baking and cooking for a wedding that should -be noised far abroad in the land—and she, the bride, grew qualmish if -she but smelt food, and crept in a cold sweat behind the out-houses to -be sick. - -Erlend. She set her teeth hard in anger. He should have spared her this. -For she had not been willing. He should have remembered that before, -when all had been so unsure for her, when she had had naught to trust to -but his love, she had ever, ever gladly been his. He should have let her -be now, when she tried to deny him because she thought ’twas not well of -them to take aught by stealth, after her father had joined their hands -together in the sight of Erlend’s kinsmen and hers. But he had taken her -to him, half by force, with laughter and caresses; so that she had not -had strength enough to show him she was in earnest in her denial. - -She went in and saw to the beer in the vats, then came back again and -stood leaning on the fence. The standing grain moved gently in shining -ripples before a breath of wind. She could not remember any year when -she had seen the corn-fields bear such thick and abundant growth.—The -river glittered far off, and she heard her father’s voice shouting—she -could not catch the words, but she could hear the reapers on the island -laughing. - -Should she go to her father and tell him: ’Twould be best to let be all -this weary bustle and let Erlend and her come together quietly without -church-wedding or splendid feasts—now that the one thing needful was -that she should bear the name of wife before ’twas plain to all men that -she bore Erlend’s child under her heart already? - -_He_ would be a laughing-stock, Erlend too, as much as she—or even more, -for he was no green boy any longer. But it was he who would have this -wedding; he had set his heart on seeing her stand as his bride in silk -and velvets and tall golden crown—_that_ was his will, and it had been -his will, too, to possess her in those sweet secret hours of last -spring. She had yielded to him in that. And she must do his will too in -this other thing. - -But in the end ’twas like he would be forced to see—no one could have it -both ways in such things. He had talked so much of the great Yule-tide -feast he would hold at Husaby the first year she sat there as mistress -of his house—how he would show forth to all his kinsmen and friends and -all the folks from far around the fair wife he had won. Kristin smiled -scornfully. A seemly thing ’twould be this Yule-tide, such a home-coming -feast! - -Her time would be at St. Gregory’s Mass or thereabout. Thoughts seemed -to swarm and jostle in her mind when she said to herself that at -Gregory’s Mass she was to bear a child. There was some fear among the -thoughts—she remembered how her mother’s cries had rung all round the -farm-place for two whole days, the time that Ulvhild was born. At -Ulvsvold two young wives had died in childbirth, one after the other—and -Sigurd of Loptsgaard’s first wives too. And her own father’s mother, -whose name she bore— - -But fear was not uppermost in her mind. She had often thought, when -after that first time she saw no sign that she was with child—maybe this -was to be their punishment—hers and Erlend’s. She would always be -barren. They would wait and wait in vain for what they had feared -before, would hope as vainly as of old they had feared needlessly—till -at last they would know that one day they should be borne forth from the -home of his fathers and be as though they had never been—for his brother -was a priest, and the children he had could inherit naught from him. -Dumpy Munan and his sons would come in and sit in their seats, and -Erlend would be blotted out from the line of his kindred. - -She pressed her hand hard to her body. It was there—between the fence -and her—between the vat and her. ’Twas between her and all the -world—Erlend’s own son. She had made the trial already that she had once -heard Lady Aashild speak of; with blood from her right arm and her left. -’Twas a son that was coming to her—whatever fate he was to bring—She -remembered her dead little brothers, her parents’ sorrowful faces when -they spoke of them; she remembered all the times she had seen them both -in despair for Ulvhild’s sake—and the night when Ulvhild died. And she -thought of all the sorrow she herself had brought them, of her father’s -grief-worn face—and the end was not yet of the sorrows she was to bring -on her father and mother. - -And yet—and yet. Kristin laid her head on the arm that rested on the -fence; the other hand she still held to her body. Even if it brought her -new sorrows, even if it led her feet down to death—she would rather die -in bearing Erlend a son than that they should both die one day, and -leave their houses standing empty, and the corn on their lands should -wave for strangers— - -She heard a footstep in the room behind her. The ale! thought Kristin—I -should have seen to it long ago. She stood up and turned—and Erlend came -stooping through the doorway and stepped out into the sunlight—his face -shining with gladness. - -“Is this where you are?” he asked. “And not a step will you come to meet -me, even?” he said; and came and threw his arms about her. - -“Dearest; are you come hither?” she said in wonder. - -It was plain he was just alighted from his horse—his cloak still hung -from his shoulder, and his sword at his side—he was unshaven, -travel-soiled and covered with dust. He was clad in a red surcoat that -hung in folds from its collar and was open up the sides almost to the -armpits. As they passed through the brew-house and across the courtyard, -the coat swung and flapped about him so that his thighs showed right up -to the waist. His legs bent a little outwards when he walked—it was -strange she had never marked it before—she had only seen that he had -long slender legs, with fine ankles and small well-shaped feet. - -Erlend had come well-attended—with five men and four led-horses. He told -Ragnfrid that he was come to fetch Kristin’s goods—’twould be more -homely for her, he thought, to find the things awaiting her at Husaby -when she came thither. And so late in the autumn as the wedding was to -be, it might be harder then to have the goods brought across the -hills—besides they might easily be spoiled by the sea-water on -ship-board. Now the Abbot of Nidarholm had proffered to give him leave -to send them by the Laurentius galleass—’twas meant she should sail from -Veöy about Assumption Day. So he was come to have the goods carted over -to Romsdal and down to Næs. - -He sat in the doorway of the kitchen-house, drinking ale and talking -while Ragnfrid and Kristin plucked the wild-duck Lavrans had brought -home the day before. Mother and daughter were alone on the place; all -the women were busy raking in the meadows. He looked so glad and -happy—he was pleased with himself for coming on such a wise and prudent -errand. - -Ragnfrid went out, and Kristin stayed minding the spit with the roasting -birds. Through the open door she could catch a glimpse of Erlend’s men -lying in the shadow on the other side of the courtyard, with the -ale-bowl circling among them. Erlend himself sat on the threshold, -chatting and laughing—the sun shone right down on his uncovered -coal-black hair; she spied some white threads in it. Aye, he must be -near thirty-two years old—but he bore himself like a mischievous boy. -She knew she would not be able to tell him of her trouble—time enough -when he saw it for himself. Laughing tenderness streamed through her -heart, over the hard little spot of anger at its core, like a glittering -river flowing over stones. - -She loved him above all on earth—her soul was filled with her love, -though all the time she saw and remembered all those other things. How -ill this gallant in the fine red surcoat, with silver spurs on heel and -belt adorned with gold, suited with the busy harvest-time of -Jörundgaard.—She marked well, too, that her father came not up to the -farm, though her mother had sent Ramborg down to the river to bear him -word of the guest that was come. - -Erlend stood beside her and passed his arm around her shoulders: - -“Can you believe it!” he said joyfully, “Seems it not marvellous to -you—that ’tis for our wedding, all this toil and bustle?” - -Kristin gave him a kiss and thrust him aside—then turned to basting the -birds and bade him stand out of the way. No, she would not say it— - - * * * * * - -It was not till supper-time that Lavrans came back to the farm—along -with the other harvesters. He was clad much like his workmen, in an -undyed wadmal coat cut off at the knees and loose breeches reaching to -the ankles; he walked barefoot, with his scythe over his shoulder. There -was naught in his dress to mark him off from the serving-men, save the -leathern shoulder-piece that made a perch for the hawk he bore on his -left shoulder. He led Ramborg by the hand. - -He greeted his son-in-law heartily enough, begging him to forgive that -he had not come before—’twas that they must push on with the farm work -as hard as they could, for he himself had a journey to make to the -market town between the hay and the corn harvests. But when Erlend told -the errand he had come on, as they sat at the supper-board, Lavrans grew -something out of humour. - -’Twas impossible he should spare carts and horses for such work at this -time. Erlend answered: he had brought four pack-horses with him. But -Lavrans said there would be three cartloads at the least. Besides, the -maid must have her wearing apparel with her here. And the bed-furniture -that Kristin was to have with her, they would need here too for the -wedding, so many guests as they would have in the house. - -Well, well, said Erlend. Doubtless some way could be found to have the -goods sent through in the autumn. But he had been glad, and had thought -it seemed a wise counsel, when the Abbot had proffered to have the goods -brought in the Church galleass. The Abbot had reminded him of their -kinship. “They are all ready now to remember that,” said Erlend, -smiling. His father-in-law’s displeasure seemed not to trouble him in -the least. - -But in the end it was agreed that Erlend should be given the loan of a -cart and should take away a cartload of the things Kristin would need -most when first she came to her new home. - -The day after they were busy with the packing. The big and the little -loom the mother thought might go at once—Kristin would scarce have time -for weaving much more before the wedding. Ragnfrid and her daughter cut -off the web that was on the loom. It was undyed wadmal, but of the -finest, softest wool, with unwoven tufts of black sheep’s wool that made -a pattern of spots. Kristin and her mother rolled up the stuff and laid -it in the leather sack. Kristin thought: ’twould make good warm -swaddling-cloths—and right fair ones, too, with blue or red bands -wrapped round them. - -The sewing-chair, too, that Arne had once made her, was to be sent. -Kristin took out of the box-seat all the things Erlend had given her -from time to time. She showed her mother the blue velvet cloak patterned -in red that she was to wear at the bridal, on the ride to church. The -mother turned it about and about, and felt the stuff and the fur lining. - -“A costly cloak, indeed,” said Ragnfrid. “When was it Erlend gave you -this?” - -“He gave it me when I was at Nonneseter,” said her daughter. - -Kristin’s bride-chest, that held all the goods her mother had gathered -together and saved up for her since she was a little child, was emptied -and packed anew. Its sides and cover were all carved in squares, with a -leaping beast or a bird amidst leaves in each square. The wedding-dress -Ragnfrid laid away in one of her own chests. It was not quite ready yet, -though they had sewed on it all winter. It was of scarlet silk, cut to -sit very close to the body. Kristin thought: ’twould be all too tight -across the breast now. - - * * * * * - -Toward evening the whole load stood ready, firmly bound under the -wagon-tilt. Erlend was to set forth early the next morning. - -He stood with Kristin leaning over the courtyard gate, looking northward -to where a blue-black storm-cloud filled the Dale. Thunder was rolling -far off in the mountains—but southward the green fields and the river -lay in yellow, burning sunshine. - -“Mind you the storm that day in the woods at Gerdarud?” he asked softly, -playing with her fingers. - -Kristin nodded and tried to smile. The air was so heavy and close—her -head ached, and at every breath she took her skin grew damp with sweat. - -Lavrans came across to the two as they stood by the gate, and spoke of -the storm. ’Twas but rarely it did much harm down here in the parish—but -God knew if they should not hear of cattle and horses killed up in the -mountains. - -It was black as night above the church up on the hillside. A lightning -flash showed them a troop of horses standing uneasily huddled together -on the green-sward outside the church gate. Lavrans thought they could -scarce belong here in the parish—rather must they be horses from Dovre -that had been running loose up on the hills below Jetta; but yet he had -a mind to go up and look at them, he shouted through a peal of -thunder—there might be some of his among them— - -A fearful lightning-flash tore the darkness above the church—the thunder -crashed and bellowed so as to deafen them to all other sounds. The -cluster of horses burst asunder, scattering over the hill-slopes beneath -the mountain ridge. All three of them crossed themselves— - -Then came another flash; it was as though the heavens split asunder -right above them, a mighty snow-white flame swooped down upon them—the -three were thrown against each other, and stood with shut, blinded eyes, -and a smell in their nostrils as of burning stone—while the crashing -thunder rent their ears. - -“Saint Olav, help us!” said Lavrans in a low voice. - -“Look! the birch—the birch,” shouted Erlend; the great birch-tree in the -field near by seemed to totter—and a huge bough parted from the tree and -sank to the ground, leaving a great gash in the trunk. - -“Think you ’twill catch fire—Jesus Kristus! The churchroof is alight!” -shouted Lavrans. - -They stood and gazed—no—yes! Red flames were darting out among the -shingles beneath the ridge-turret. - -Both men rushed back across the courtyard. Lavrans tore open the doors -of all the houses he came to and shouted to those inside; the house-folk -came swarming out. - -“Bring axes, bring axes—timber axes,” he cried, “and bill-hooks”—he ran -on to the stables. In a moment he came out leading Guldsveinen by the -mane; he sprang on the horse’s bare back and dashed off up the hill, -with the great broad-axe in his hand. Erlend rode close behind him—all -the men followed; some were a-horseback, but some could not master the -terrified beasts, and giving up, ran on afoot. Last came Ragnfrid and -all the women on the place with pails and buckets. - -None seemed to heed the storm any longer. By the light of the flashes -they could see folk streaming out of the houses further down the valley. -Sira Eirik was far up the hill already, running with his house-folk -behind him. There was a thunder of horses’ hoofs on the ridge below—some -men galloped past, turning white, appalled faces toward their burning -church. - -It was blowing a little from the southeast. The fire had a strong hold -on the north wall; on the west the entrance door was blocked already. -But it had not caught yet on the south side nor on the apse. - -Kristin and the women from Jörundgaard came into the graveyard south of -the church at a place where the fence was broken. - -The huge red glare lighted up the grove of trees north of the church and -the green by it where there were bars to tie the horses to. None could -come thither for the glowing heat—the great cross stood alone out there, -bathed in the light of the flames. It looked as though it lived and -moved. - -Through the hissing and roar of the flames sounded the thudding of axes -against the staves of the south wall. There were men in the cloister-way -hewing and hammering at the wall, while others tried to tear down the -cloister itself. Someone called out to the Jörundgaard women that -Lavrans and a few other men had followed Sira Eirik into the church, and -now ’twas high time to cut a passage through the south wall—small -tongues of flame were peeping out among the shingles here too; and -should the wind go round or die down, the fire would take hold on the -whole church. - -To think of putting out the fire was vain; there was no time to make a -chain down to the river; but at Ragnfrid’s bidding the women made a line -and passed water along from the little beck that ran by the roadside—it -was but little to throw on the south wall and over the men working -there. Many of the women sobbed and wept the while, in terror for the -men who had made their way into the burning building, and in sorrow for -their church. - -Kristin stood foremost in the line of women handing along the pails—she -gazed breathless at the burning church—they were both there, inside—her -father—and surely Erlend too. - -The torn-down pillars of the cloister-way lay in a tangled mass of -timber and shingles from its roof. The men were attacking the inner wall -of staves now with all their might—a group of them had lifted up a great -log and were battering the wall with it. - -Erlend and one of his men came out of the little door in the south wall -of the choir, carrying between them the great chest from the -sacristy—the chest Eirik was used to sit on when he heard confession. -Erlend and the man flung the chest out into the churchyard. - -He shouted out something, but Kristin could not hear; he dashed on at -once into the cloister-way. Nimble as a cat he seemed as he ran—he had -thrown off his outer garments and had naught on him but shirt, breeches -and hose. - -The others took up his shout—the choir and the sacristy were burning; -none could pass from the nave to the south-door any longer—the fire had -blocked both ways of escape. Some of the staves in the wall had been -splintered by the ram—Erlend had seized a fire-hook and with it he -tugged and wrenched at the wreckage of the staves—he and those with him -tore a hole in the side of the church, while other folks cried to take -care, for the roof might fall and shut in the men inside; the shingle -roof on this side too was burning hard now, and the heat had grown till -’twas scarce to be borne. - -Erlend burst through the hole and helped out Sira Eirik. The priest came -bearing the holy vessels from the altars in the skirt of his gown. - -A young boy followed, with one hand over his face and the other holding -the tall processional cross lance-wise in front of him. Lavrans came -next. He kept his eyes shut against the smoke—he staggered under the -weight of the great crucifix, which he bore in his arms; it was much -taller than the man himself. - -Folk ran forward and helped them out and into the churchyard. Sira Eirik -stumbled and fell on his knees, and the altar vessels rolled out down -the slope. The silver dove flew open and the Host fell out—the priest -took it up, brushed the soil off it and kissed it, sobbing aloud; he -kissed the gilded head, too, that had stood on the altar with shreds of -the nails and hair of Saint Olav in it. - -Lavrans Björgulfsön still stood holding up the Holy Rood. His arm lay -along the arms of the cross; his head was bowed against the shoulder of -the Christ-figure; it seemed as though the Redeemer bent his fair, -sorrowful face over the man to pity and to comfort. - -The roof on the north side of the church had begun to fall in by bits—a -burning piece from a falling beam was hurled outwards and struck the -great bell in the belfry by the churchyard gate. The bell gave out a -deep sobbing note, which died in a long wail that was drowned in the -roaring of the flames. - -None had paid heed to the weather all this time—the whole had lasted -indeed no long time, but whether short or long scarce any could have -told. The thunder and lightning had passed now far down the Dale; the -rain, that had begun some time back, fell ever the more heavily, and the -wind had died down. - -But of a sudden it was as though a sheet of flame shot up from the -groundsill of the building—a moment, and with a mounting roar the fire -had swallowed up the church from end to end. - -The people scattered, rushing away to escape the devouring heat. Erlend -was at Kristin’s side on the instant, dragging her away down the hill. -The whole man smelt of burning—when she stroked his head and face her -hand came away full of burnt hair. - -They could not hear each other’s voices for the roaring of the fire. But -she saw that his eyebrows were burnt off to the roots; he had burns on -his face, and great holes were burnt in his shirt. He laughed as he -dragged her along with him after the others. - -All the folk followed the old priest as he went weeping, with Lavrans -Björgulfsön bearing the crucifix. - -At the foot of the churchyard Lavrans set the Rood from him up against a -tree, and sank down to a seat on the wreckage of the fence. Sira Eirik -was sitting there already—he stretched out his arms toward the burning -church: - -“Farewell, farewell, thou Olav’s-Church; God bless thee, thou my -Olav’s-Church; God bless thee for every hour I have chanted in thee and -said Mass in thee—thou Olav’s-Church, good-night, good-night—” - -The church-folk wept aloud with their priest. The rain streamed down on -the groups of people, but none thought of seeking shelter. Nor did it -seem to check the fierce burning of the tarred woodwork—brands and -glowing shingles were tossed out on every side. Then, suddenly, the -ridge-turret crashed down into the fiery furnace, sending a great shower -of sparks high into the air. - -Lavrans sat with one hand over his face; the other arm lay in his lap, -and Kristin saw that the sleeve was all bloody from the shoulder down, -and blood ran down over his fingers. She went to him and touched his -arm. - -“Not much is amiss, methinks—there fell somewhat on my shoulder,” he -said, looking up. He was white to the lips. “Ulvhild,” he murmured in -anguish, gazing into the burning pile. - -Sira Eirik heard the word and laid a hand on his shoulder: - -“’Twill not wake your child, Lavrans—she will sleep none the less sound -for the burning above her bed. _She_ hath not lost her soul’s home, as -we others have lost ours this night.” - -Kristin hid her face on Erlend’s breast, and stood there feeling the -grasp of his arm round her shoulders. Then she heard her father asking -for his wife. - -Someone answered that a woman had fallen in labour from the fright; they -had borne her down to the parsonage, and Ragnfrid had gone with her -there. - -Then Kristin called to mind again what she had clean forgotten ever -since they saw that the church was afire. She should not have looked on -this. There lived a man in the south of the parish who had a red stain -over half his face; ’twas said he was thus because his mother had looked -at a burning house while she was big with him. Dear, Holy Virgin Mother, -she prayed in her heart, let not my child have been marred by this— - - * * * * * - -The day after, the whole parish was called to meet on the church-green -to take counsel how best to build up the church anew. - -Kristin sought out Sira Eirik at Romundgaard before the time set for the -meeting. She asked the priest if he deemed she should take this as a -sign. Maybe ’twas God’s will that she should say to her father she was -unworthy to wear the bridal crown; that it were more seemly she should -be given in marriage to Erlend Nikulaussön without feasting, or bridal -honours. - -But Sira Eirik flew up at her with eyes glistening with wrath: - -“Think you that God cares so much how you sluts may fly about and cast -yourselves away, that He would burn up a fair, venerable church for your -sake? Leave you your sinful pride, and bring not on your mother and -Lavrans such a sorrow as they would scarce win through for many a day. -If you wear not the crown with honour on your honourable day—the worse -for you; but the more need have you and Erlend of all the rites of the -Church when ye are brought together. Each and all of us have sins to -answer for; ’tis therefore, I trow, that this visitation is come upon us -all. See you to it that you mend your life, and that you help to build -up our church again, both you and Erlend.” - -It was in Kristin’s mind that he knew not all, for that yet she had not -told him of this last thing that was come upon her—but she rested -content and said no more. - -She went with the men to the meeting. Lavrans came with his arm in a -sling, and Erlend had many burns on his face; he was ill to look upon, -but he laughed it off. None of the wounds were large, and he said he -hoped they would not spoil his face too much when he came to be a -bridegroom. He stood up after Lavrans and promised four marks of silver -as an offering to the church, and for his betrothed, with Lavrans’ -assent, land worth sixty cows from her holdings in the parish. - -It was found needful for Erlend to stay a week at Jörundgaard by reason -of his burns. Kristin saw that ’twas as though Lavrans had come to like -his son-in-law better since the night of the fire; the men seemed now to -be good friends enough. She thought: maybe her father might grow to like -Erlend Nikulaussön so well that he would not judge them too strictly, -and would not take the matter so hardly as she had feared when the time -came when he must know that they had transgressed against him. - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - 8 - -The year proved a rarely good one over all the north part of the Dale. -The hay crop was heavy, and it was got in dry; the folk came home from -the sæters in autumn with great store of dairy-stuff and full and fat -flocks and herds—they had been mercifully spared from wild beasts, too, -this year. The corn stood tall and thick as few folks could call to mind -having seen it before—it grew full-eared and ripened well, and the -weather was fair as heart could wish. Between St. Bartholomew’s and the -Virgin’s Birthfeast, the time when night-frosts were most to be feared, -it rained a little and was mild and cloudy, but thereafter the time of -harvest went by with sun and wind and mild, misty nights. The week after -Michaelmas most of the corn had been garnered all over the parish. - - * * * * * - -At Jörundgaard all folks were toiling and moiling, making ready for the -great wedding. The last two months Kristin had been so busy from morning -to night that she had but little time to trouble over aught but her -work. She saw that her bosom had filled out; the small pink nipples were -grown brown, and they were tender as smarting hurts when she had to get -out of bed in the cold—but it passed over when she had worked herself -warm, and after that she had no thought but of all she must get done -before evening. When now and again she was forced to straighten up her -back and stand and rest a little, she felt that the burden she bore was -growing heavy—but to look on she was still slim and slender as she had -ever been. She passed her hands down her long shapely thighs. No, she -would not grieve over it now. Sometimes a faint creeping longing would -come over her with the thought: like enough in a month or so she might -feel the child quick within her—By that time she would be at -Husaby.—Maybe Erlend would be glad—She shut her eyes and fixed her teeth -on her betrothal ring—then she saw before her Erlend’s face, pale and -moved, as he stood in the hall here in the winter and said the words of -espousal with a loud clear voice: - -“So be God my witness and these men standing here, that I Erlend -Nikulaussön do espouse Kristin Lavransdatter according to the laws of -God and men, on such conditions as here have been spoken before these -witnesses standing hereby. That I shall have thee to my wife and thou -shalt have me to thy husband, so long as we two do live, to dwell -together in wedlock, with all such fellowship as God’s law and the law -of the land do appoint.” - -As she ran on errands from house to house across the farm-place, she -stayed a moment—the rowan trees were so thick with berries this -year—’twould be a snowy winter. The sun shone over the pale stubble -fields where the corn sheaves stood piled on their stakes. If this -weather might only hold over the wedding! - - * * * * * - -Lavrans stood firmly to it that his daughter should be wedded in church. -It was fixed, therefore, that the wedding should be in the chapel at -Sundbu. On the Saturday the bridal train was to ride over the hills to -Vaage; they were to lie for the night at Sundbu and the neighbouring -farms, and ride back on Sunday after the wedding-mass. The same evening -after Vespers, when the holy day was ended, the wedding feast was to be -held, and Lavrans was to give his daughter away to Erlend. And after -midnight the bride and bridegroom were to be put to bed. - - * * * * * - -On Friday, after noon, Kristin stood in the upper hall balcony, watching -the bridal train come riding from the north, past the charred ruins of -the church on the hillside. It was Erlend coming with all his groomsmen; -she strained her eyes to pick him out among the others. They must not -see each other—no man must see her now before she was led forth -to-morrow in her bridal dress. - -Where the ways divided, a few women left the throng and took the road to -Jörundgaard. The men rode on toward Laugarbru; they were to sleep there -that night. - -Kristin went down to meet the comers. She felt wearied after the bath, -and the skin of her head was sore from the strong lye her mother had -used to wash her hair, that it might shine fair and bright on the -morrow. - -Lady Aashild slipped down from her saddle into Lavrans’ arms. How can -she keep so light and young, thought Kristin. Her son Sir Munan’s wife, -Lady Katrin, might have passed for older than she; a big plump dame, -with dull and hueless skin and eyes. Strange, thought Kristin; she is -ill-favoured and he is unfaithful, and yet folks say they live well and -kindly together. Then there were two daughters of Sir Baard Petersön, -one married and one unmarried. They were neither comely nor -ill-favoured; they looked honest and kind, but held themselves something -stiffly in the strange company. Lavrans thanked them courteously that -they had been pleased to honour this wedding at the cost of so far a -journey so late in the year. - -“Erlend was bred in our father’s house, when he was a boy,” said the -elder, moving forward to greet Kristin. - -But now two youths came riding into the farm-place at a sharp trot—they -leaped from their horses and rushed laughing after Kristin, who ran -indoors and hid herself. They were Trond Gjesling’s two young sons, fair -and likely lads. They had brought the bridal crown with them from Sundbu -in a casket. Trond and his wife were not to come till Sunday, when they -would join the bridal train after the mass. - -Kristin fled into the hearth-room; and Lady Aashild, coming after, laid -her hands on the girl’s shoulders, and drew down her face to hers to -kiss it. - -“Glad am I that I live to see this day,” said Lady Aashild. - -She saw how thin they were grown, Kristin’s hands, that she held in -hers. She saw that all else about her was grown thin, but that her bosom -was high and full. All the features of the face were grown smaller and -finer than before; the temples seemed as though sunken in the shadow of -the heavy, damp hair. The girl’s cheeks were round no longer, and her -fresh hue was faded. But her eyes were grown much larger and darker. - -Lady Aashild kissed her again: - -“I see well you have had much to strive against, Kristin,” she said. -“To-night will I give you a sleepy drink, that you may be rested and -fresh to-morrow.” - -Kristin’s lips began to quiver. - -“Hush,” said Lady Aashild, patting her hand. “I joy already that I shall -deck you out to-morrow—none hath seen a fairer bride, I trow, than you -shall be to-morrow.” - - * * * * * - -Lavrans rode over to Laugarbru to feast with his guests who were housed -there. - -The men could not praise the food enough—better Friday food than this a -man could scarce find in the richest monastery. There was rye-meal -porridge, boiled beans and white bread—for fish they had only trout, -salted and fresh, and fat dried halibut. - -As time went on and the men drank deeper, they grew ever more wanton of -mood, and the jests broken on the bridegroom’s head ever more gross. All -Erlend’s groomsmen were much younger than he—his equals in age and his -friends were all long since wedded men. The darling jest among the -groomsmen now was that he was so aged a man and yet was to mount the -bridal bed for the first time. Some of Erlend’s older kinsmen, who yet -kept their wits, sat in dread, at each new sally, that the talk would -come in upon matters it were best not to touch. Sir Baard of Hestnæs -kept an eye on Lavrans. The host drank deep, but it seemed not that the -ale made him more joyful—he sat in the high-seat, his face growing more -and more strained, even as his eyes grew more fixed. But Erlend, who sat -on his father-in-law’s right hand, answered in kind the wanton jests -flung at him, and laughed much; his face was flushed red and his eyes -sparkled. - -Of a sudden Lavrans flew out: - -“That cart, son-in-law—while I remember—what have you done with the cart -you had of me on loan in the summer?” - -“Cart—?” said Erlend. - -“Have you forgot already that you had a cart on loan from me in the -summer—God knows ’twas so good a cart I look not ever to see a better, -for I saw to it myself when ’twas making in my own smithy on the farm. -You promised and you swore—I take God to witness, and my house-folk know -it besides—you gave your word to bring it back to me—but that word you -have not kept—” - -Some of the guests called out that this was no matter to talk of now, -but Lavrans smote the board with his fist and swore that he would know -what Erlend had done with his cart. - -“Oh like enough it lies still at the farm at Næs, where we took boat out -to Veöy,” said Erlend lightly. “I thought not ’twas meant so nicely. See -you, father-in-law, thus it was—’twas a long and toilsome journey with a -heavy-laden cart over the hills, and when we were come down to the -fjord, none of my men had a mind to bring the cart all the way back -here, and then journey north again over the hills to Trondheim. So we -thought we might let it be there for a time—” - -“Now, may the devil fly off with me from where I sit this very hour, if -I have ever heard of your like,” Lavrans burst out. “Is this how things -are ordered in your house—doth the word lie with you or with your men, -where they are to go or not to go—?” - -Erlend shrugged his shoulders: - -“True it is, much hath been as it should not have been in my -household—But now will I have the cart sent south to you again, when -Kristin and I are come thither—Dear my father-in-law,” said he, smiling -and holding out his hand, “be assured, ’twill be changed times with all -things, and with me too, when once I have brought Kristin home to be -mistress of my house. ’Twas an ill thing, this of the cart. But I -promise you, this shall be the last time you have cause of grief against -me.” - -“Dear Lavrans,” said Baard Petersön, “forgive him in this small matter—” - -“Small matter or great—” began Lavrans—but checked himself, and took -Erlend’s hand. - -Soon after he made the sign for the feast to break up, and the guests -sought their sleeping-places. - - * * * * * - -On the Saturday before noon all the women and girls were busy in the old -store-house loft-room, some making ready the bridal bed, some dressing -and adorning the bride. - -Ragnfrid had chosen this house for the bride-house, in part for its -having the smallest loft-room—they could make room for many more guests -in the new store-house loft, the one they had used themselves in summer -time to sleep in when Kristin was a little child, before Lavrans had set -up the great new dwelling-house, where they lived now both summer and -winter. But besides this, there was no fairer house on the farm than the -old store-house, since Lavrans had had it mended and set in order—it had -been nigh falling to the ground when they moved in to Jörundgaard. It -was adorned with the finest woodcarving both outside and in, and if the -loft-room were not great, ’twas the easier to hang it richly with rugs -and tapestries and skins. - -The bridal bed stood ready made, with silk-covered pillows; fine -hangings made as it were a tent about it; over the skins and rugs on the -bed was spread a broidered silken coverlid. Ragnfrid and some other -women were busy now hanging tapestries on the timber walls and laying -cushions in order on the benches. - -Kristin sat in a great arm-chair that had been brought up thither. She -was clad in her scarlet bridal robe. Great silver brooches held it -together over her bosom, and fastened the yellow silk shift showing in -the neck-opening; golden armlets glittered on the yellow silken sleeves. -A silver-gilt belt was passed thrice around her waist, and on her neck -and bosom lay neck-chain over neck-chain, the uppermost her father’s old -gold chain with the great reliquary cross. Her hands, lying in her lap, -were heavy with rings. - -Lady Aashild stood behind her chair, brushing her heavy, gold-brown hair -out to all sides. - -“To-morrow shall you spread it loose for the last time,” she said -smiling, as she wound the red and green silk cords that were to hold up -the crown, around Kristin’s head—Then the women came thronging round the -bride. - -Ragnfrid and Gyrid of Skog took the great bridal crown of the Gjesling -kin from the board. It was gilt all over, the points ended in alternate -crosses and clover-leaves, and the circlet was set with great -rock-crystals. - -They pressed it down on the bride’s head. Ragnfrid was pale, and her -hands were shaking, as she did it. - -Kristin rose slowly to her feet. Jesus! how heavy ’twas to bear up all -this gold and silver—Then Lady Aashild took her by the hand and led her -forward to a great tub of water—while the bridesmaids flung open the -door to the outer sunlight, so that the light in the room should be -bright. - -“Look now at yourself in the water, Kristin,” said Lady Aashild, and -Kristin bent over the tub. She caught a glimpse of her own face rising -up white through the water; it came so near that she saw the golden -crown above it. Round about, many shadows, bright and dark, were -stirring in the mirror—there was somewhat she was on the brink of -remembering—then ’twas as though she was swooning away—she caught at the -rim of the tub before her. At that moment Lady Aashild laid her hand on -hers, and drove her nails so hard into the flesh, that Kristin came to -herself with the pain. - -Blasts of a great horn were heard from down by the bridge. Folk shouted -up from the courtyard that the bridegroom was coming with his train. The -women led Kristin out onto the balcony. - -In the courtyard was a tossing mass of horses in state trappings and -people in festival apparel, all shining and glittering in the sun. -Kristin looked out beyond it all, far out into the Dale. The valley of -her home lay bright and still beneath a thin misty-blue haze; up above -the haze rose the mountains, grey with screes and black with forest, and -the sun poured down its light into the great bowl of the valley from a -cloudless sky. - -She had not marked it before, but the trees had shed all their -leaves—the groves around shone naked and silver-grey. Only the alder -thickets along the river had a little faded green on their topmost -branches, and here and there a birch had a few yellow-white leaves -clinging to its outermost twigs. But, for the most the trees were almost -bare—all but the rowans; they were still bright, with red-brown leaves -around the clusters of their blood-red berries. In the still, warm day a -faint mouldering smell of autumn rose from the ashen covering of fallen -leaves that strewed the ground all about. - -Had it not been for the rowans, it might have been early spring. And the -stillness too—but this was an autumn stillness, deathly still. When the -horn-blasts died away, no other sound was heard in all the valley but -the tinkling of bells from the stubble fields and fallows where the -beasts wandered, grazing. - -The river was shrunken small, its roar sunk to a murmur; it was but a -few strands of water running amidst banks of sand and great stretches of -white round boulders. No noise of becks from the hillsides—the autumn -had been so dry. The fields all around still gleamed wet—but ’twas but -the wetness that oozes up from the earth in autumn, howsoever warm the -days may be, and however clear the air. - -The crowd that filled the farm-place fell apart to make way for the -bridegroom’s train. Straightway the young groomsmen came riding -forward—there went a stir among the women in the balcony. - -Lady Aashild was standing by the bride: - -“Bear you well now, Kristin,” said she, “’twill not be long now till you -are safe under the linen coif.” - -Kristin nodded helplessly. She felt how deathly white her face must be. - -“Methinks I am all too pale a bride,” she said in a low voice. - -“You are the fairest bride,” said Lady Aashild; “and there comes Erlend, -riding—fairer pair than you twain would be far to seek.” - -Now Erlend himself rode forward under the balcony. He sprang lightly -from his horse, unhindered by his heavy, flowing garments. He seemed to -Kristin so fair that ’twas pain to look on him. - -He was in dark raiment, clad in a slashed silken coat falling to the -feet, leaf-brown of hue and inwoven with black and white. About his -waist he had a gold-bossed belt, and at his left thigh hung a sword with -gold on hilt and sheath. Back over his shoulders fell a heavy dark-blue -velvet cloak, and pressed down on his coal-black hair he wore a black -French cap of silk that stood out at both sides in puckered wings, and -ended in two long streamers, whereof one was thrown from his left -shoulder right across his breast and out behind over the other arm. - -Erlend bowed low before his bride as she stood above; then went up to -her horse and stood by it with his hand on the saddle-bow, while Lavrans -went up the stairs. A strange dizzy feeling came over Kristin at the -sight of all this splendour—in this solemn garment of green velvet, -falling to his feet, her father might have been some stranger. And her -mother’s face, under the linen coif, showed ashen-grey against the red -of her silken dress. Ragnfrid came forward and laid the cloak about her -daughter’s shoulders. - -Then Lavrans took the bride’s hand and led her down to Erlend. The -bridegroom lifted her to the saddle, and himself mounted. They stayed -their horses, side by side, these two, beneath the bridal balcony, while -the train began to form and ride out through the courtyard gate. First -the priests: Sira Eirik, Sira Tormod from Ulvsvolden, and a Brother of -the Holy Cross from Hamar, a friend of Lavrans. Then came the groomsmen -and the bridesmaids, pair by pair. And now ’twas for Erlend and her to -ride forth. After them came the bride’s parents, the kinsmen, friends -and guests, in a long line down betwixt the fences to the highway. Their -road for a long way onward was strewn with clusters of rowan-berries, -branches of pine, and the last white dogfennel of autumn, and folk stood -thick along the waysides where the train passed by, greeting them with a -great shouting. - - * * * * * - -On the Sunday, just after sunset, the bridal train rode back to -Jörundgaard. Through the first falling folds of darkness the bonfires -shone out red from the courtyard of the bridal-house. Minstrels and -fiddlers were singing and making drums and fiddles speak as the crowd of -riders drew near to the warm red glare of the fires. - -Kristin came near to falling her length on the ground when Erlend lifted -her from her horse beneath the balcony of the upper hall. - -“Twas so cold upon the hills,” she whispered—“I am so weary—” She stood -for a moment—and when she climbed the stairs to the loft-room she swayed -and tottered at each step. - -Up in the hall the half-frozen wedding-guests were soon warmed up again. -The many candles burning in the room gave out heat; smoking hot dishes -of food were borne around, and wine, mead and strong ale circled about. -The loud hum of voices, and the noise of many eating sounded like a far -off roaring in Kristin’s ears. - -It seemed as she sat there she would never be warm through again. In a -while her cheeks began to burn, but her feet were still unthawed, and -shudders of cold ran down her back. All the heavy gold that was on her -head and body forced her to lean forward as she sat in the high-seat by -Erlend’s side. - -Every time her bridegroom drank to her, she could not keep her eyes from -the red stains and patches that stood out on his face so sharply as he -began to grow warm after his ride in the cold. They were the marks left -by the burns of last summer. - - * * * * * - -The horror had come upon her last evening, when they sat over the -supper-board at Sundbu, and she met Björn Gunnarsön’s lightless eyes -fixed on her and Erlend—unwinking, unwavering eyes. They had dressed up -Sir Björn in knightly raiment—he looked like a dead man brought to life -by an evil spell. - -At night she had lain with Lady Aashild—the bridegroom’s nearest -kinswoman in the wedding company. - -“What is amiss with you, Kristin?” said Lady Aashild, a little sharply. -“Now is the time for you to bear up stiffly to the end—not give way -thus.” - -“I am thinking,” said Kristin, cold with dread, “on all them we have -brought to sorrow, that we might see this day.” - -“’Tis not joy alone, I trow, that you two have had,” said Lady Aashild. -“Not Erlend at the least. And methinks it has been worse still for you.” - -“I am thinking on his helpless children,” said the bride again. “I am -wondering if they know their father is drinking to-day at his wedding -feast.—” - -“Think on your own child,” said the Lady. “Be glad that you are drinking -at your wedding with him who is its father.” - -Kristin lay awhile, weak and giddy. ’Twas so strange to hear that name, -that had filled her heart and mind each day for three months and more, -and whereof yet she had not dared speak a word to a living soul. It was -but for a little though, that this helped her. - -“I am thinking of her who had to pay with her life, because she held -Erlend dear,” she whispered, shivering. - -“Well if you come not to pay with your life yourself, ere you are half a -year older,” said Lady Aashild harshly. “Be glad while you may— - -“What shall I say to you, Kristin?” said the old woman in a while, -despairingly. “Have you clean lost courage this day of all days? Soon -enough will it be required of you twain that you shall pay for all you -have done amiss—have no fear that it will not be so.” - - * * * * * - -But Kristin felt as though all things in her soul were slipping, -slipping—as though all were toppling down that she had built up since -that day of horror at Haugen, in that first time when, wild and blind -with fear, she had thought but of holding out one day more, and one day -more. And she had held out till her load grew lighter—and at last grew -even light, when she had thrown off all thought but this one thought: -that now their wedding-day was coming at last, Erlend’s wedding-day at -last. - -But, when she and Erlend knelt together in the wedding-mass, all around -her seemed but some trickery of the sight—the tapers, the pictures, the -glittering vessels, the priests in their copes and white gowns. All -those who had known her where she had lived before—they seemed like -visions of a dream, standing there, close-packed in the church in their -unwonted garments. But Sir Björn stood against a pillar, looking at -those two with his dead eyes, and it seemed to her that that other who -was dead must needs have come back with him, on his arm. - -She tried to look up at Saint Olav’s picture—he stood there red and -white and comely, leaning on his axe, treading his own sinful human -nature underfoot—but her glance would ever go back to Sir Björn; and -nigh to him she saw Eline Ormsdatter’s dead face, looking unmoved upon -her and Erlend. They had trampled her underfoot that they might come -hither—and she grudged it not to them. - -The dead woman had arisen and flung off her all the great stones that -Kristin had striven to heap up above her. Erlend’s wasted youth, his -honour and his welfare, his friends’ good graces, his soul’s health. The -dead woman had shaken herself free from them all. “He would have me and -I would have him; you would have him and he would have you,” said Eline. -“I have paid—and he must pay and you must pay when your time comes. When -the time of sin is fulfilled, it brings forth death—” - -It seemed to her she was kneeling with Erlend on a cold stone. He knelt -there with the red, burnt patches on his pale face; she knelt under the -heavy bridal crown, and felt the dull, crushing weight within her—the -burden of sin that she bore. She had played and wantoned with her sin, -had measured it as in a childish game. Holy Virgin—now the time was nigh -when it should lie full-born before her, look at her with living eyes; -show her on itself the brands of sin, the hideous deformity of sin; -strike in hate with misshapen hands at its mother’s breast. When she had -borne her child, when she saw the marks of her sin upon it and yet loved -it as she had loved her sin, then would the game be played to an end. - -Kristin thought what if she shrieked aloud now, a shriek that would cut -through the song and the deep voices intoning the mass, and echo out -over the people’s heads? Would she be rid then of Eline’s face—would -there come life into the dead man’s eyes? But she clenched her teeth -together. - -“—Holy King Olav, I cry upon thee. Above all in Heaven I pray for help -to thee, for I know thou didst love God’s justice above all things. I -call upon thee, that thou hold thy hand over the innocent that is in my -womb. Turn away God’s wrath from the innocent; turn it upon me; Amen, in -the precious name of the Lord—” - -“My children,” said Eline’s voice, “are _they_ not guiltless? Yet is -there no place for them in the lands where Christians dwell. Your child -is begotten outside the law, even as were my children. No rights can you -claim for it in the land you have strayed away from, any more than I for -mine—” - -“Holy Olav! Yet do I pray for grace. Pray thou for mercy for my son; -take him beneath thy guard; so shall I bear him to thy church on my -naked feet, so shall I bear my golden garland of maidenhood in to thee -and lay it down upon thy altar, if thou wilt but help me—amen.” - -Her face was set hard as stone in her struggle to be still and calm; but -her whole body throbbed and quivered as she knelt there through the holy -mass that wedded her to Erlend. - - * * * * * - -And now, as she sat beside him in the high-seat at home, all things -around her were but as shadows in a fevered dream. - -There were minstrels playing on harps and fiddles in the loft-room; and -the sound of music and song rose from the hall below and the courtyard -outside. There was a red glare of fire from without, when the door was -opened for the dishes and tankards to be borne in and out. - -Those around the board were standing now; she was standing up between -her father and Erlend. Her father made known with a loud voice that he -had given Erlend Nikulaussön his daughter Kristin to wife. Erlend -thanked his father-in-law, and he thanked all good folk who had come -together there to honour him and his wife. - -She was to sit down, they said—and now Erlend laid his bridal gifts in -her lap. Sira Eirik and Sir Munan Baardsön unrolled deeds and read aloud -from them concerning the jointures and settlements of the wedded pair; -while the groomsmen stood around, with spears in their hands, and now -and again during the reading, or when gifts and bags of money were laid -on the table, smote with the butts upon the floor. - -The tables were cleared away; Erlend led her forth upon the floor, and -they danced together. Kristin thought: our groomsmen and our -bridesmaids—they are all too young for us—all they that were young with -us are gone from these places; how is it we are come back hither? - -“You are so strange, Kristin,” whispered Erlend, as they danced. “I am -afraid of you, Kristin—are you not happy—?” - - * * * * * - -They went from house to house and greeted their guests. There were many -lights in all the rooms, and everywhere crowds of people drinking and -singing and dancing. It seemed to Kristin she scarce knew her home -again—and she had lost all knowledge of time—hours and the pictures of -her brain seemed strangely to float about loosely, mingled with each -other. - -The autumn night was mild; there were minstrels in the courtyard too, -and people dancing round the bonfire. They cried out that the bride and -bridegroom must honour them, too—and then she was dancing with Erlend on -the cold, dewy sward. She seemed to wake a little then, and her head -grew more clear. - -Far out in the darkness a band of white mist floated above the murmur of -the river. The mountains stood around coal-black against the -star-sprinkled sky. - -Erlend led her out of the ring of dancers—and crushed her to him in the -darkness under the balcony. - -“Not once have I had the chance to tell you—you are so fair—so fair and -so sweet. Your cheeks are red as flames—” he pressed his cheek to hers -as he spoke. “Kristin, what is it ails you—?” - -“I am so weary, so weary,” she whispered back. - -“Soon will we go and sleep,” answered her bridegroom, looking up at the -sky. The Milky Way had wheeled, and now lay all but north and south. -“Mind you that we have not once slept together since that one only night -I was with you in your bower at Skog?” - - * * * * * - -Soon after, Sira Eirik shouted with a loud voice out over the farmstead -that now it was Monday. The women came to lead the bride to bed. Kristin -was so weary that she was scarce able to struggle and hold back as ’twas -fit and seemly she should do. She let herself be seized and led out of -the loft-room by Lady Aashild and Gyrid of Skog. The groomsmen stood at -the foot of the stair with burning torches and naked swords; they formed -a ring round the troop of women and attended Kristin across the -farm-place, and up into the old loft-room. - -The women took off her bridal finery, piece by piece, and laid it away. -Kristin saw that over the bed-foot hung the violet velvet robe she was -to wear on the morrow, and upon it lay a long, snow-white, -finely-pleated linen cloth. It was the wife’s linen coif. Erlend had -brought it for her; to-morrow she was to bind up her hair in a knot and -fasten the head-linen over it. It looked to her so fresh and cool and -restful. - -At last she was standing before the bridal bed, on her naked feet, -bare-armed, clad only in the long golden-yellow silken shift. They had -set the crown on her head again—the bridegroom was to take it off, when -they two were left alone. - -Ragnfrid laid her hands on her daughter’s shoulders, and kissed her on -the cheek—the mother’s face and hands were strangely cold, but it was as -though sobs were struggling, deep in her breast. Then she threw back the -coverings of the bed, and bade the bride seat herself in it. Kristin -obeyed, and leaned back on the pillows heaped up against the -bed-head—she had to bend her head a little forward to keep on the crown. -Lady Aashild drew the coverings up to the bride’s waist, and laid her -hands before her on the silken coverlid; then took her shining hair and -drew it forward over her bosom and the slender bare upper arms. - -Next the men led the bridegroom into the loft-room. Munan Baardsön -unclasped the golden belt and sword from Erlend’s waist—when he leaned -over to hang it on the wall above the bed, he whispered something to the -bride—Kristin knew not what he said, but she did her best to smile. - -The groomsmen unlaced Erlend’s silken robe and lifted off the long heavy -garment over his head. He sat him down in the great chair and they -helped him off with his spurs and boots— - -Once and once only the bride found courage to look up and meet his eyes— - -Then began the good-nights. Before long all the wedding-guests were gone -from the loft. Last of all, Lavrans Björgulfsön went out and shut the -door of the bride-house. - - * * * * * - -Erlend stood up, stripped off his under-clothing, and flung it on the -benches. He stood by the bed, took the crown and the silken cords from -off her hair, and laid them away on the table. Then he came back and -mounted into the bed. Kneeling by her side he clasped her round the -head, and pressed it in against his hot naked breast, while he kissed -her forehead all along the red-streak the crown had left on it. - -She threw her arms about his shoulders and sobbed aloud—she had a sweet, -wild feeling that now the horror, the phantom visions were fading into -air—now, now once again naught was left but he and she. He lifted up her -face a moment, looked down into it, and drew his hand down over her face -and body, with a strange haste and roughness, as though he tore away a -covering: - -“Forget,” he begged, in a fiery whisper, “forget all, my Kristin—all but -this, that you are my own wife, and I am your own husband—” - -With his hand he quenched the flame of the last candle, then threw -himself down beside her in the dark—he too was sobbing now: - -“Never have I believed it, never in all these years, that we should see -this day—” - - * * * * * - -Without, in the courtyard, the noise died down little by little. Wearied -with the long day’s ride, and dizzy with much strong drink, the guests -made a decent show of merry-making a little while yet—but more and ever -more of them stole away and sought out the places where they were to -sleep. - -Ragnfrid showed all the guests of honour to their places, and bade them -good-night. Her husband, who should have helped her in this, was nowhere -to be seen. - -The dark courtyard was empty, save for a few small groups of young -folks—servants most of them—when at last she stole out to find her -husband and bring him with her to his bed. She had seen as the night -wore on that he had grown very drunken. - -She stumbled over him at last, as she crept along in her search outside -the cattle-yard—he was lying in the grass behind the bath-house, on his -face. - -Groping in the darkness, she touched him with her hand—aye, it was he. -She thought he was asleep, and took him by the shoulder—she must get him -up off the icy-cold ground. But he was not asleep, at least, not wholly. - -“What would you?” he asked, in a thick voice. - -“You cannot lie here,” said his wife. She held him up, as he stood -swaying. With one hand she brushed the soil off his velvet robe. “’Tis -time we too went to rest, husband.” She took him by the arm, and drew -him, reeling, up towards the farm-yard buildings. - -“_You_ looked not up, Ragnfrid, when you sat in the bridal bed beneath -the crown,” he said in the same voice. “Our daughter—_she_ was not so -shamefast—her eyes were not shamefast when she looked upon her -bridegroom.” - -“She has waited for him seven half-years,” said the mother in a low -voice. “No marvel if she found courage to look up—” - -“Nay, devil damn me if they have waited!” screamed the man—as his wife -strove fearfully to hush him. - -They were in the narrow passage between the back of the privy and a -fence. Lavrans smote with his clenched fist on the beam across the -cess-pit: - -“I set thee here for a scorn and for a mockery, thou beam. I set thee -here that filth might eat thee up. I set thee here in punishment for -striking down that tender little maid of mine.—I should have set thee -high above my hall-room door; and honoured thee and thanked thee with -fairest carven ornament; because thou didst save her from shame and from -sorrow,—because ’twas thy work that my Ulvhild died a sinless child—” - -He turned about, reeled toward the fence and fell forward upon it, and -with his head between his arms fell into an unquenchable passion of -weeping, broken by long, deep groans. - -His wife took him by the shoulder. - -“Lavrans, Lavrans!” But she could not stay his weeping. “Husband.” - -“Oh, never, never, never should I have given her to that man! God help -me—I must have known it all the time—he had broken down her youth and -her fairest honour. I believed it not—nay, could I believe the like of -Kristin?—but still I knew it. And yet is she too good for this weakling -boy, that hath made waste of himself and her—had he lured her astray ten -times over, I should never have given her to him, that he may spill yet -more of her life and her happiness—” - -“But what other way was there?” said the mother despairingly. “You know -now, as well as I—she was his already—” - -“Aye, small need was there for me to make such a mighty to-do in giving -Erlend what he had taken for himself already,” said Lavrans. “’Tis a -gallant husband she has won—my Kristin—” He tore at the fence; then fell -again a-weeping. He had seemed to Ragnfrid as though sobered a little, -but now the fit overcame him again. - -She deemed she could not bring him, drunken and beside himself with -despair as he was, to the bed in the hearth-room where they should have -slept—for the room was full of guests. She looked about her—close by -stood a little barn where they kept the best hay to feed to the horses -at the spring ploughing. She went and peered in—no one was there; she -took her husband’s hand, led him inside the barn, and shut the door -behind them. - -She piled up hay over herself and him and laid their cloaks above it to -keep them warm. Lavrans fell a-weeping now and again, and said -somewhat—but his speech was so broken, she could find no meaning in it. -In a little while she lifted up his head on to her lap. - -“Dear my husband—since now so great a love is between them, maybe ’twill -all go better than we think—” - -Lavrans spoke by fits and starts—his mind seemed growing clearer: - -“See you not—he has her wholly in his power—he that has never been man -enough to rule himself.—’Twill go hard with her before she finds courage -to set herself against aught her husband wills—and should she one day be -forced to it, ’twill be bitter grief to her—my own gentle child— - -—“Now am I come so far I scarce can understand why God hath laid so many -and such heavy sorrows upon me—for I have striven faithfully to do His -will. Why hath He taken our children from us, Ragnfrid, one by one—first -our sons—then little Ulvhild—and now I have given her that I loved -dearest, honourless, to an untrusty and a witless man. Now is there none -left to us but the little one—and unwise must I deem it to take joy in -her, before I see how it will go with her—with Ramborg.” - -Ragnfrid shook like a leaf. Then the man laid his arm about her -shoulders: - -“Lie down,” he said, “and let us sleep—” He lay for a while with his -head against his wife’s arm, sighing now and then, but at last he fell -asleep. - - * * * * * - -It was still pitch-dark in the barn when Ragnfrid stirred—she wondered -to find that she had slept. She felt about with her hands; Lavrans was -sitting up with knees updrawn and his arms around them. - -“Are _you_ awake already?” she asked in wonder. “Are you cold?” - -“No,” said he in a hoarse voice, “but I cannot go to sleep again.” - -“Is it Kristin you are thinking on?” asked the mother. “Like enough -’twill go better than we think, Lavrans,” she said again. - -“Aye, ’tis of that I was thinking,” said the man. “Aye, aye—maid or -woman, at least she is come to the bride-bed with the man she loves. And -’twas not so with either you or me, my poor Ragnfrid.” - -His wife gave a deep, dull moan, and threw herself down on her side -amongst the hay. Lavrans put out a hand and laid it on her shoulder. - -“But ’twas that I _could_ not,” said he, with passion and pain. “No, I -_could_ not—be as you would have had me—when we were young. I am not -such a one—” - -In a while Ragnfrid said softly through her weeping: - -“Yet ’twas well with us in our life together—Lavrans—was it not?—all -these years?” - -“So thought I myself,” answered he gloomily. - -Thoughts crowded and tossed to and fro within him. That single unveiled -glance in which the hearts of bridegroom and bride had leapt -together—the two young faces flushing up redly—to him it seemed a very -shamelessness. It had been agony, a scorching pain to him, that this was -his daughter. But the sight of those eyes would not leave him—and wildly -and blindly he strove against the tearing away of the veil from -something in his own heart, something that he had never owned was there, -that he had guarded against his own wife when she sought for it. - -’Twas that he _could_ not, he said again stubbornly to himself. In the -devil’s name—he had been married off as a boy; he had not chosen for -himself; she was older than he—he had not desired her; he had had no -will to learn this of her—to love. He grew hot with shame even now when -he thought of it—that she would have had him love her, when he had no -will to have such love from her. That she had proffered him all this -that he had never prayed for. - -He had been a good husband to her—so he had ever thought. He had shown -her all the honour he could, given her full power in her own affairs, -and asked her counsel in all things; he had been true to her—and they -had had six children together. All he had asked had been that he might -live with her, without her for ever grasping at this thing in his heart -that he would not lay bare— - -To none had he ever borne love—Ingunn, Karl Steinsön’s wife, at Bru? -Lavrans flushed red in the pitch darkness. He had been their guest ever, -as often as he journeyed down the Dale. He could not call to mind that -he had spoken with the housewife _once_ alone. But when he saw her—if he -but thought of her, a sense came over him as of the first breath of the -plough-lands in the spring, when the snows are but now melted and gone. -He knew it now—it might have befallen him too—he, too, could have loved. - -But he had been wedded so young, and he had grown shy of love. And so -had it come about that he throve best in the wild woods—or out on the -waste uplands—where all things that live must have wide spaces around -them—room to flee through—fearfully they look on any stranger that would -steal upon them— - -One time in the year there was, when all the beasts in the woods and on -the mountains forgot their shyness—when they rushed to their mates. But -his had been given him unsought. And she had proffered him all he had -not wooed her for. - -But the young ones in the nest—they had been the little warm green spot -in the wilderness—the inmost, sweetest joy of his life. Those little -girl-heads under his hand— - -Marriage—they had wedded him, almost unasked. Friends—he had many, and -he had none. War—it had brought him gladness, but there had been no more -war—his armour hung there in the loft-room, little used. He had turned -farmer—But he had had his daughters—all his living and striving had -grown dear to him, because by it he cherished them and made them safe, -those soft, tender little beings he had held in his hands. He remembered -Kristin’s little two-year-old body on his shoulder, her flaxen, silky -hair against his cheek; her small hands holding to his belt, while she -butted her round, hard child’s forehead against his shoulder-blades, -when he rode out with her behind him on his horse. - -And now had she that same glow in her eyes—and she had won what was -hers. She sat there in the half-shadow against the silken pillows of the -bed. In the candle-light she was all golden—golden crown and golden -shift and golden hair spread over the naked golden arms. Her eyes were -shy no longer— - -Her father winced with shame. - -And yet it was as though his heart was bleeding within him, for what he -himself had never won; and for his wife, there by his side, whom he had -never given what should have been hers. - -Weak with pity, he felt in the darkness for Ragnfrid’s hand: - -“Aye, methought it was well with us in our life together,” he said. -“Methought ’twas but that you sorrowed for our children—aye, and that -you were born heavy of mood. Never did it come to my mind, it might be -that I was no good husband to you—” - -Ragnfrid trembled fitfully: - -“You were ever a good husband, Lavrans.” - -“Hm,” Lavrans sat with his chin resting on his knees. “Yet had it mayhap -been better with you, if you had been wedded even as our daughter was -to-day—” - -Ragnfrid started up with a low, piercing cry: - -“You know! How did you know it—how long have you known—?” - -“I know not what ’tis you speak of,” said Lavrans after a while in a -strange deadened voice. - -“This do I speak of—that I was no maid, when I came to be your wife,” -said Ragnfrid, and her voice rang clear in her despair. - -In a little while Lavrans answered, as before: - -“That have I never known, till now.” - -Ragnfrid laid her down among the hay, shaken with weeping. When the fit -was over she lifted her head a little. A faint grey light was beginning -to creep in through the window-hole in the wall. She could dimly see her -husband sitting with his arms thrown round his knees, motionless as -stone. - -“Lavrans—speak to me—” she wailed. - -“What would you I should say?” asked he without stirring. - -“Oh—I know not—curse me—strike me—” - -“’Twould be something late now,” answered the man; there seemed to be -the shade of a scornful smile in his voice. - -Ragnfrid wept again: “Aye—I heeded not then that I was betraying you. So -betrayed and so dishonoured, methought, had I been myself. There was -none had spared me. They came and brought you—you know yourself, I saw -you but three times before we were wed—Methought you were but a boy, -white and red—so young and childish—” - -“I was so,” said Lavrans, and a faint ring of life came to his voice. -“And therefore a man might deem that you, who were a woman—you might -have been more afraid to—to deceive one who was so young that he knew -naught—” - -“So did _I_ think after,” said Ragnfrid, weeping. “When I had come to -know you. Soon came the time, when I would have given my soul twenty -times over, to be guiltless of sin against you.” - -Lavrans sat silent and motionless; then said his wife: - -“You ask not anything?” - -“What use to ask? It was he that—we met his burial-train at -Feginsbrekka, as we bore Ulvhild in to Nidaros—” - -“Aye,” said Ragnfrid. “We had to leave the way—go aside into a meadow. I -saw them bear him on his bier—with priests and monks and armed yeomen. I -heard he had made a good end—had made his peace with God. I prayed as we -stood there with Ulvhild’s litter between us—I prayed that my sin and my -sorrow might be laid at his feet on the Last Day—” - -“Aye, like enough you did,” said Lavrans, and there was the same shade -of scorn in his quiet voice. - -“You know not all,” said Ragnfrid, cold with despair. “Mind you that he -came out to us at Skog the first winter we were wedded—?” - -“Aye,” answered the man. - -“When Björgulf was born—oh, I thought he was dearer spared me—He was -drunk when he did it—afterward he said he had never cared for me, he -would not have me—bade me forget it. My father knew it not; _he_ did not -betray you—never think that. But Trond—we were the dearest of friends to -each other then—I made my moan to him. He tried to force the man to wed -me; but he was but a boy; he was beaten—Afterwards he counselled me to -hold my peace, and to take you—” - -She sat a while in silence. - -“Then _he_ came out to Skog—a year was gone by; I thought not on it so -much any more. But he came out thither—he said that he repented, he -would have had me now, had I been unwedded—he loved me. He said so. God -knows if he said true. When he was gone—I dared not go out on the fjord, -dared not for my sin, not with the child. And I had begun—I had begun to -love you so!” She cried out, a single cry of the wildest pain. The man -turned his head quickly towards her. - -“When Björgulf was dying—Oh, no one, no one had to me than my life. When -he lay in the death-throes—I thought, if he died, I must die too. But I -prayed _not_ God to spare my boy’s life—” - -Lavrans sat a long time silent—then he asked in a dead, heavy voice: - -“Was it because I was not his father?” - -“I knew not if you were,” said Ragnfrid, growing stiff and stark where -she sat. - -Long they sat there in a deathly stillness. Then the man asked -vehemently of a sudden: - -“In Jesus name, Ragnfrid—why tell you me all this—now?” - -“Oh, I know not!” She wrung her hands till the joints cracked. “That you -may avenge you on me—drive me from your house—” - -“Think you that would help me—” His voice shook with scorn. “Then there -are our daughters,” he said quietly. “Kristin—and the little one.” - -Ragnfrid sat still a while. - -“I mind me how you judged of Erlend Nikulaussön,” she said softly. “How -judge you of me, then—?” - -A long shudder of cold passed over the man’s body—yet a little of the -stiffness seemed to leave him. - -“You have—we have lived together now for seven and twenty years—almost. -’Tis not the same as with a stranger. I see this too—worse than misery -has it been for you.” - -Ragnfrid sank together sobbing at the words. She plucked up heart to put -her hand on one of his. He moved not at all—sat as still as a dead man. -Her weeping grew louder and louder—but her husband still sat motionless, -looking at the faint grey light creeping in around the door. At last she -lay as if all her tears were spent. Then he stroked her arm lightly -downward—and she fell to weeping again. - -“Mind you,” she said through her tears, “that man who came to us one -time, when we dwelt at Skog? He that knew all the ancient lays? Mind you -the lay of a dead man that was come back from the world of torment, and -told his son the story of all that he had seen? There was heard a -groaning from Hell’s deepest ground, the querns of untrue women grinding -mould for their husbands’ meat. Bloody were the stones they dragged -at—bloody hung the hearts from out their breasts—” - -Lavrans was silent. - -“All these years have I thought upon those words,” said Ragnfrid. “Every -day ’twas as though my heart was bleeding, for every day methought I -ground you mould for meat—” - -Lavrans know not himself why he answered as he did. It seemed to him his -breast was empty and hollow, like the breast of a man that has had the -blood-eagle carven through his back. But he laid his hand heavily and -wearily on his wife’s head, and spoke: - -“Mayhap mould must needs be ground, my Ragnfrid, before the meat can -grow.” - -When she tried to take his hand and kiss it, he snatched it away. But -then he looked down at his wife, took one of her hands and laid it on -his knee, and bowed his cold, stiffened face down upon it. And so they -sat on, motionless, speaking no word more. - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - ● Transcriber’s Notes: - ○ There is no section number 7 in Book III. - ○ Missing or obscured punctuation was silently corrected. - ○ Typographical errors were silently corrected. - ○ Inconsistent spelling and hyphenation were made consistent only - when a predominant form was found in this book. - ○ Text that: - was in italics is enclosed by underscores (_italics_); - was in bold by is enclosed by “equal” signs (=bold=). - - - -*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE BRIDAL WREATH *** - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the -United States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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