Part + 

I + 

Jörundgaard + 

I + 

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 churchgoing, 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 hillcrest 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 headdress. + 

Up here on the church-green and in the church yard Kristin was used to come and play near every day but today, 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 rainwater 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 saddlebow; 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 mountainside 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 highborn 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 packhorse to graze there; and now they took a steep footpath 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 sat 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 evildoers 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 today.” 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 hearthstone 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 greensward. + 

The packhorse 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 mountaintop 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 packhorse 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. + 

II + 

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 cockcrow; 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 mountainsides 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 saddlebow, 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 mountainside, 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 sat 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—fishhooks, 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 schoolboys 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 guestroom 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 barefooted monk who had spoken to Kristin on the tower stairs came forward and saluted them: + 

“There is a man here in our guesthouse 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 Edvin⁠—” + 

“Brother Edvin 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 learned 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 Edvin. 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 lakeside. + 

Brother Edvin 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 Edvin 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 guesthouse 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 Edvin!” + 

“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 today.” + 

He told how Steinulv had fallen sick on the way home from a fair, and had got leave to lie here in the cloister guesthouse, 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 Edvin, 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 Edvin. “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 Edvin 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 Edvin 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 sweetbrier 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 Edvin 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 Edvin⁠—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 Edvin 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 Edvin 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 Edvin 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 Edvin 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 Edvin. “It was not bigger. Dragons and all suchlike 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 Edvin 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 Edvin 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 baaed out at once: ‘Eamus, eamus!’ + 

“And the newborn 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 Edvin, 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 Edvin took her into the sacristy and showed her the cloister books which stood there in a bookcase; there were the fairest pictures in them. But when one of the monks came in, Brother Edvin 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 guesthouse, 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 treetops. 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. + 

III + 

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 cattle yard, 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 mountainside!” + 

“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 everyone. 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 Edvin 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 armchair 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. + 

IV + 

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 bedside 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 bloodred 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 farmyard, 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 storeroom. 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 Gyrdsön’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 curteisie⁠—” + 

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 forever 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 grownup 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. + 

Yuletide 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 Yuletide, 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 leechcraft. 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 tonight.” + 

“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 tonight?” + 

“He will not mark it,” answered her mother, “he was all but asleep when I left, and tomorrow 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. + 

V + 

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 fireplaces of masonry both in the living room and the loft-room above richly furnished and adorned with fair woodcarvings. 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 countryside. 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 heavyhearted 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 Edvin’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 Edvin 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 Edvin. 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 Edvin 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 Edvin 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 Edvin, 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 Edvin 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 Edvin 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 Edvin 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 Edvin 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 Edvin 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 Edvin 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. + 

VI + 

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 hillcrests. 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 Edvin 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 today⁠—” + 

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 but 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 tomorrow, dastard that you are⁠—” + 

“Nay, tomorrow 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. + 

“Tomorrow 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. + 

VII + 

One day at Yuletide 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 workday 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 dairymaid came rushing in, shrieking and wringing her hands: + 

“Jesus, Jesus⁠—did ever any hear such a dreadful thing⁠—they are bringing Arne Gyrdsön 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 the 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. + 

“Maybe 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 tomorrow, 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 suchlike⁠—the priest of the King’s household always got to hear of, and the madcaps 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 Yuletide 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 tonight; ’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. + 