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.”