They had been sitting for a while sleepy and silent, when they heard the hoof-beats of a single horse—a man came riding at a gallop into the wet farm-place. Astrid went to the outer room to look out—in a moment she came in again, followed by Lavrans Björgulfsön. Both his wife and his daughter saw at once that he had been drinking more than a little. He reeled in his walk, and held to the pole of the smoke-vent while Ragnfrid took from him his dripping wet cloak and hat and unbuckled his sword-belt. “What have you done with Halvdan and Kolbein?” she said, in some fear; “have you left them behind on the road?” “No, I left them behind at Loptsgaard,” he said with a little laugh. “I had such a mind to come home again—there was no rest for me till I did—the men went to bed down at Loptsgaard, but I took Guldsveinen and galloped home—” “You must find me a little food, Astrid,” he said to the servant. “Bring it in here, girl; then you need not go so far in the rain. But be quick, for I have eaten no food since early morning—” “Had you no food at Loptsgaard, then?” asked his wife in wonder. Lavrans sat rocking from side to side on the bench, laughing a little: “Food there was, be sure—but I had no stomach for it when I was there. I drank a while with Sigurd—but—methought then ’twas as well I should come home at once as wait till to-morrow—” Astrid came back bearing food and ale; she brought with her, too, a pair of dry shoes for her master. Lavrans fumbled with his spur-buckles to unloosen them; but came near to falling on his face. “Come hither, Kristin, my girl,” he said, “and help your father. I know you will do it from a loving heart—aye, a loving heart—to-day.” Kristin kneeled down to obey. Then he took her head between his two hands and turned her face up: “One thing I trow you know, my daughter—I wish for naught but your good. Never would I give you sorrow, except I see that thereby I save you from many sorrows to come. You are full young yet, Kristin—’twas but seventeen years old you were this year—three days after Halvard’s Mass—but seventeen years old—” Kristin had done with her service now. She was a little pale as she rose from her knees and sat down again on her stool by the hearth. Lavran’s head seemed to grow somewhat clearer as he ate and was filled. He answered his wife’s questions and the servant maid’s about the Haugathing—Aye, ’twas a fair gathering. They had managed to buy corn, and some flour and malt, part at Oslo and part at Tunsberg; the wares were from abroad—they might have been better, but they might have been worse too. Aye, he had met many, both kinsfolk and friends, and they had sent their greetings home with him—But the answers dropped from him, one by one, as he sat there.