“I am not such a coward as to be afraid you should deem me afraid,” said he as before. “I will fight you, Erlend Nikulaussön, you may stake your soul upon that, if within due time, you have not made suit for Kristin to her father—” “That will I never do at your bidding, Simon Andressön,” said Erlend angrily; the blood rushed into his face again. “Nay—do you it to set right the wrong you have done so young a maid,” answered Simon, unmoved, “’twill be better so for Kristin.” Kristin gave a loud cry, in pain at Erlend’s pain. She stamped upon the floor: “Go, then, Simon, go—what have you to do with our affairs?” “I told you but now,” said Simon. “You must bear with me till your father has loosed you and me from each other.” Kristin broke down utterly: “Go, go, I will follow straightway—. Jesus! why do you torture me so, Simon—you know you deem not yourself I am worthy that you should trouble about me—” “’Tis not for your sake I do it,” answered Simon. “Erlend—will you not tell her to go with me?” Erlend’s face quivered. He touched her on the shoulder: “You must go, Kristin. Simon Darre and I will speak of this at another time—” Kristin got up obediently and fastened her cloak about her. Her shoes stood by the bed-side—She remembered them, but she could not put them on under Simon’s eyes. * * * * * Outside, the fog had come down again. Kristin flew along, with head bent and hands clutched tight in the folds of her cloak. Her throat was bursting with tears—wildly she longed for some place where she could be alone, and sob and sob. The worst, the worst was still before her; but she had proved a new thing this evening, and she writhed under it—she had proved how it felt to see the man to whom she had given herself humbled. Simon was at her elbow as she hurried through the lanes, over the common lands and across the open places, where the houses had vanished and there was naught but fog to be seen. Once when she stumbled over something, he caught her arm and kept her from falling: “No need to run so fast,” said he. “Folk are staring after us.—How you are trembling!” he said more gently. Kristin held her peace and walked on. She slipped in the mud of the street, her feet were wet through and icy cold—the hose she had on were leather, but they were thin; she felt they were giving way, and the mud was oozing through to her naked feet. They came to the bridge over the convent beck, and went more slowly up the slopes on the other side. “Kristin,” said Simon of a sudden, “your father must never come to know of this.” “How knew you that I was—there?” asked Kristin. “I came to speak with you,” answered Simon shortly. “Then they told me of this man of your uncle’s coming. I knew Aasmund was in Hadeland. You two are not over cunning at making up tales—Heard you what I said but now?” “Aye,” said Kristin.—“It was I who sent word to Erlend that we should meet at Fluga’s house; I knew the woman—”