Ragnfrid went back to the winter-room, undressed and crept into bed beside Ulvhild. She put an arm about the child and laid her cheek close to the little one’s so that she felt the warmth of Ulvhild’s body and smelt the keen odour of her damp hair. Ulvhild slept heavily and soundly, as she ever did after Lady Aashild’s evening draught. The lady’s bedstraw, spread beneath the bedding, gave out a drowsy scent. None the less did Ragnfrid lie long sleepless, gazing at the little spot of light in the roof where the moon shone upon the smoke-hole’s pane of horn. Over in the other bed lay Lady Aashild, but Ragnfrid never knew whether she slept or waked. The Lady never spoke of their having known each other in former days—this frightened Ragnfrid. And it seemed to her she had never known such bitter sorrow and such haunting dread as now—even though she knew that Lavrans would have his full health again—and that Ulvhild would live. * * * * * It seemed as though Lady Aashild took pleasure in talking to Kristin, and with each day that passed the maid became better friends with her. One day, when they had gone to gather herbs, they sat together high up the hillside on a little green, close under the tree. They could look down into the farm-place at Formo and see Arne Gyrdson’s red jerkin: he had ridden down the valley with them and was to look after their horses while they were up the hillside seeking herbs. As they sat, Kristin told Lady Aashild of her meeting with the dwarf-maiden. She had not thought of it for many years, but now it rose before her. And while she spoke, the thought came to her strangely that there was some likeness betwixt Lady Aashild and the dwarf-lady—though she knew well all the time they were not really like. But when she had told all, Lady Aashild sat still a while and looked out down the Dale; at length she said: “You were wise to fly, since you were only a child then. But have you never heard of folk who took the gold the dwarfs offered, and after bound the troll in stone?” “I have heard such tales,” said Kristin, “but I would never dare to do it. And methinks it is not a fair deed.” “’Tis well when one dares not do what one doth not think a fair deed,” said Lady Aashild, laughing a little. “But it is not so well when one thinks a thing to be no fair deed because one dares not do it.—You have grown much this summer,” the Lady said of a sudden. “Do you know yourself, I wonder, that you are like to be fair?” “Aye,” said Kristin. “They say I am like my father.” Lady Aashild laughed quietly.