“—Think you I lured you out here to me in the woods meaning this—to make you mine by force—” he asked in a little. She stroked his hair and did not look at him: “’Twas not force, I trow—you had let me go as I came, had I begged you—” said she in a low voice. “I know not,” he answered and hid his face in her lap— “Think you that I would betray you?” asked he, vehemently. “Kristin—I swear to you by my Christian faith—may God forsake me in my last hour, if I keep not faith with you till the day of my death—” She could say naught, she only stroked his hair again and again. “’Tis time I went home, is it not?” she asked at length, and she seemed to wait in deadly terror for his answer. “May be so,” he answered dully. He got up quickly, went to the horse, and began to loosen the reins. Then she too got up. Slowly, wearily and with crushing pain it came home to her—she knew not what she had hoped he might do—set her upon his horse, maybe, and carry her off with him so she might be spared from going back amongst other people. It was as though her whole body ached with wonder—that this ill thing was what was sung in all the songs. And since Erlend had wrought her this, she felt herself grown so wholly his, she knew not how she should live away from him any more. She was to go from him now, but she could not understand that it should be so— Down through the woods he went on foot, leading the horse. He held her hand in his, but they found no words to say. When they had come so far that they could see the houses at Skog, he bade her farewell. “Kristin—be not so sorrowful—the day will come or ever you know it, when you will be my wedded wife—” But her heart sank as he spoke: “Must you go away, then—?” she asked, dismayed. “As soon as you are gone from Skog,” said he, and his voice already rang more bright. “If there be no war, I will speak to Munan—he has long urged me that I should wed—he will go with me and speak for me to your father.” Kristin bent her head—at each word he said, she felt the time that lay before grow longer and more hard to think of—the convent, Jörundgaard—she seemed to float upon a stream which bore her far from it all. “Sleep you alone in the loft-room, now your kinsfolk are gone?” asked Erlend. “Then will I come and speak with you to-night—will you let me in?” “Aye,” said Kristin low. And so they parted. * * * * * The rest of the day she sat with her father’s mother, and after supper she took the old lady to her bed. Then she went up to the loft-room, where she was to lie. There was a little window in the room; Kristin sat herself down on the chest that stood below it—she had no mind to go to bed. She had long to wait. It was quite dark without when she heard the soft steps upon the balcony. He knocked upon the door with his cloak about his knuckles, and Kristin got up, drew the bolt and let Erlend in.