There were minstrels playing on harps and fiddles in the loft-room; and the sound of music and song rose from the hall below and the courtyard outside. There was a red glare of fire from without, when the door was opened for the dishes and tankards to be borne in and out. Those around the board were standing now; she was standing up between her father and Erlend. Her father made known with a loud voice that he had given Erlend Nikulaussön his daughter Kristin to wife. Erlend thanked his father-in-law, and he thanked all good folk who had come together there to honour him and his wife. She was to sit down, they said—and now Erlend laid his bridal gifts in her lap. Sira Eirik and Sir Munan Baardsön unrolled deeds and read aloud from them concerning the jointures and settlements of the wedded pair; while the groomsmen stood around, with spears in their hands, and now and again during the reading, or when gifts and bags of money were laid on the table, smote with the butts upon the floor. The tables were cleared away; Erlend led her forth upon the floor, and they danced together. Kristin thought: our groomsmen and our bridesmaids—they are all too young for us—all they that were young with us are gone from these places; how is it we are come back hither? “You are so strange, Kristin,” whispered Erlend, as they danced. “I am afraid of you, Kristin—are you not happy—?” * * * * * They went from house to house and greeted their guests. There were many lights in all the rooms, and everywhere crowds of people drinking and singing and dancing. It seemed to Kristin she scarce knew her home again—and she had lost all knowledge of time—hours and the pictures of her brain seemed strangely to float about loosely, mingled with each other. The autumn night was mild; there were minstrels in the courtyard too, and people dancing round the bonfire. They cried out that the bride and bridegroom must honour them, too—and then she was dancing with Erlend on the cold, dewy sward. She seemed to wake a little then, and her head grew more clear. Far out in the darkness a band of white mist floated above the murmur of the river. The mountains stood around coal-black against the star-sprinkled sky. Erlend led her out of the ring of dancers—and crushed her to him in the darkness under the balcony. “Not once have I had the chance to tell you—you are so fair—so fair and so sweet. Your cheeks are red as flames—” he pressed his cheek to hers as he spoke. “Kristin, what is it ails you—?” “I am so weary, so weary,” she whispered back. “Soon will we go and sleep,” answered her bridegroom, looking up at the sky. The Milky Way had wheeled, and now lay all but north and south. “Mind you that we have not once slept together since that one only night I was with you in your bower at Skog?” * * * * *