Eline shrieked once and buried her face on her arm. Erlend released her and stood trembling. “A hell was mine with Sigurd,” shrieked Eline. “You—you promised—but you have been worst to me of all, Erlend!” Then came Kristin forward and grasped the horn: “One of us two must drink—both of us you cannot keep—” Erlend wrenched the horn from her and flung her from him so that she reeled and fell near by Lady Aashild’s bed. Again he pushed the horn against Eline Ormsdatter’s mouth—with one knee on the bench he stood by her side, and with a hand round her head tried to force the drink between her teeth. She reached out under his arm, snatched his dagger from the table, and struck hard at the man. The blow did but scratch his flesh through the clothes. Then she turned the point against her own breast, and the instant after sank sidelong down into his arms. Kristin rose and came to them. Erlend was holding Eline, her head hanging back over his arm. The rattle came in her throat almost at once—blood welled up and ran out of her mouth. She spat some of it out and said: “’Twas for you I meant—that drink—for all the times—you deceived me—” “Bring Lady Aashild hither,” said Erlend in a low voice. Kristin stood immovable. “She is dying,” said Erlend as before. “Then is she better served than we,” said Kristen. Erlend looked at her—the despair in his eyes softened her. She left the room. “What is it?” asked Lady Aashild, when Kristin called her out from the kitchen. “We have killed Eline Ormsdatter,” said Kristin. “She is dying—” Lady Aashild set off running to the hall. But Eline breathed her last as the Lady crossed the threshold. * * * * * Lady Aashild had laid out the dead woman on the bench, wiped the blood from her face and covered it with the linen of her coif. Erlend stood leaning against the wall, behind the body. “Know you,” said Aashild, “that this was the worst thing that could befall?” She had filled the fireplace with twigs and firewood; now she thrust the horn into the midst of them and blew them into a blaze. “Can you trust your men?” asked the Lady again. “Ulv and Haftor are trusty, methinks—of Jon and the man with Eline I know but little.” “You know, belike,” said the lady, “should it come out that Kristin and you were together here, and that you two were alone with her when she died, ’twere as well for Kristin you had let her drink of Eline’s brew—And should there be talk of poison, all men will call to mind what once was laid to _my_ charge.—Had she any kindred or friends?” “No,” said Erlend in a low voice. “She had none but me.” “Yet,” said Lady Aashild again, “it may well be a hard matter to cover up this thing and hide the body away, without the ugliest of misthought falling on you.” “She shall rest in hallowed ground,” said Erlend, “if it cost me Husaby. What say you Kristin?” Kristin nodded.