“Oh, you are mad! Can you think such things of our fair, good child? No harm, surely, can have come to her where she was—with the holy nuns. I wot well she is no byre-wench to go clipping behind walls and fences. Think but of it: ’tis not possible she can have seen this man or talked with him so many times—be sure it will pass away; it cannot be aught but a young maid’s fancy. God knows ’tis a heavy sight enough for me to see her sorrow so; but be sure it must pass by in time. “Life, you say, and honour—. At home here by my own hearthstone ’twill go hard if I cannot guard my own maiden. Nor do I deem that any maid come of good people and bred up Christianly in shamefastness will be so quick to throw away her honour—nor yet her life. Aye, such things are told of in songs and ballads, sure enough—but methinks ’tis so that when a man or a maid is tempted to do such a deed, they make up a song about it, and ease their hearts thereby—but the deed itself they forbear to do— “You yourself,” he said, stopping before his wife: “There was another man you would fain have wed, in those days when we were brought together. How think you it would have gone with you, had your father let you have your will on that score?” It was Ragnfrid now that was grown deadly pale: “Jesus, Maria! who hath told—” “Sigurd of Loptsgaard said somewhat—’twas when we were just come hither to the Dale,” said Lavrans. “But answer me what I asked—Think you your life had been gladder had Ivar given you to that man?” His wife stood with head bowed low: “That man,” she said—he could scarce hear the words: “’Twas _he_ would not have _me_.” A throb seemed to pass through her body—she struck out before her with her clenched hand. The husband laid his hands softly on her shoulders: “Is it _that_,” he asked as if overcome, and a deep and sorrowful wonder sounded in his voice; “—is it _that_—through all these years—have you been sorrowing for _him_—Ragnfrid?” She trembled much, but she said nothing. “Ragnfrid?” he asked again. “Aye, but afterward—when Björgulf was dead—and afterward—when you—when you would have had me be to you as—as I could not be. Were you thinking then of that other?” he spoke low, in fear and bewilderment and pain. “How can you have such thoughts?” she whispered, on the verge of weeping. Lavrans pressed his forehead against hers and moved his head gently from side to side. “I know not. You are so strange—and all you have said to-night. I was afraid, Ragnfrid. Like enough I understand not the hearts of women—” Ragnfrid smiled palely and laid her arms about his neck. “God knows, Lavrans—I was a beggar to you because I loved you more than ’tis good that a human soul should love.—And I hated that other so that I felt the devil joyed in my hate.” “I have held you dear, my wife,” said Lavrans, kissing her, “aye, with all my heart have I held you dear. You know that, surely? Methought always that we two were happy together—Ragnfrid?”