“It boots but little now, I trow, to think what is right and what is wrong,” said Kristin. “Speak not so,” begged Erlend. “I bear the blame—Kristin, every day and every night have I longed for you,” he whispered close to her. A shudder passed through her as she met his eyes for a moment. She felt it as guilt in her, when he looked so at her, that she had thought of anything but her love for him. Brynhild Fluga had gone on before. Erlend asked, when they were come into the courtyard: “Would you that we should go into the living-room, or shall we talk up in the loft-room?” “As you will,” answered Kristin; and they mounted to the loft-room. The moment he had barred the door behind them she was in his arms— * * * * * She knew not how long she had lain folded thus in his arms, when Erlend said: “Now must we say what has to be said, my Kristin—I scarce dare let you stay here longer.” “I dare stay here all night long if you would have me stay,” she whispered. Erlend pressed his cheek to hers: “Then were I not your friend. ’Tis bad enough as it is, but you shall not lose your good name for my sake.” Kristin did not answer—but a soreness stirred within her; how could he speak thus—he who had lured her here to Brynhild Fluga’s house—she knew not why, but she felt it was no honest place. And he had looked that all should go as it had gone, of that she was sure. “I have thought at times,” said Erlend again, “that if there be no other way, I must bear you off by force—into Sweden—Lady Ingebjörg welcomed me kindly in the autumn and was mindful of our kinship. But now do I suffer for my sins—I have fled the land before, as you know—and I would not they should name you as the like of that other.” “Take me home with you to Husaby,” said Kristin low. “I cannot bear to be parted from you, and to live on among the maids at the convent. Both your kin and mine would surely hearken to reason and let us come together and be reconciled with them—” Erlend clasped her to him and groaned: “I cannot bring you to Husaby, Kristin.” “Why can you not?” she asked softly. “Eline came thither in the autumn,” said he after a moment. “I cannot move her to leave the place,” he went on hotly, “not unless I bear her to the sledge by force and drive away with her. And that methought I could not do—she has brought both our children home with her—” Kristin felt herself sinking, sinking. In a voice breaking with fear, she said: “I deemed you were parted from her—” “So deemed I too,” answered Erlend shortly. “But she must have heard in Österdal, where she was, that I had thoughts of marriage. You saw the man with me at the Yule-tide feast—’twas my foster-father, Baard Petersön of Hestnæs. I went to him when I came from Sweden, I went to my kinsman Heming Alvsön in Saltviken, too; I talked with both about my wish to wed, and begged their help. Eline must have come to hear of it—