The night sky stretched clear and green above the hillcrests. It was near time for the moon to rise, and where it was yet hid behind the fell, sailed some small clouds, their lower edges shining like silver; the sky grew brighter and brighter, like metal under gathering drops of dew. She ran up between the fences, over the road, and up the slope toward the church. It stood there, as though asleep, dark and shut, but she went up to the cross which stood near by to mark the place where St. Olav once rested as he fled before his enemies. Kristin knelt down upon the stone and laid her folded hands upon the base of the cross: “Holy Cross, strongest of masts, fairest of trees, bridge for the sick to the fair shores of health—” At the words of the prayer, it was as if her longing widened out and faded little by little like rings on a pool. The single thoughts that troubled her smoothed themselves out one after the other, her mind grew calmer, more tender, and there came upon her a gentle, vague sadness in place of her distress. She lay kneeling there and drank in all the sounds of the night. The wind sighed strangely, the rushing sound of the river came from beyond the wood by the church, the beck ran near by right across the road—and all about, far and near, in the dark, she half saw and heard small rills of running and dripping water. The river gleamed white down below in the valley. The moon crept up in a little nick in the hills—the dewy leaves and stones sparkled faintly, and the newly tarred timber of the belfry shone dull and dark by the churchyard gate. Then the moon was hid once more where the mountain ridge rose higher, and now many more white and shining clouds floated in the sky. She heard a horse coming at a slow pace from higher up the road, and the sound of men’s voices speaking low and even. She had no fear of folk here close at home where she knew everyone—so she felt quite safe. Her father’s dogs rushed at her, turned and dashed back into the wood, then turned back and leaped upon her again. Her father shouted a greeting as he came out from among the birches. He was leading Guldsveinen by the bridle; a brace or two of birds hung dangling from the saddle, and Lavrans bore a hooded hawk upon his left wrist. He had with him a tall, bent man in a monk’s frock, and even before Kristin had seen his face she knew it was Brother Edwin. She went to meet them, wondering no more than if it had been a dream—she only smiled when Lavrans asked whether she knew their guest again. Lavrans had chanced upon him up by the Rost bridge, and had coaxed him home with him to spend the night. But Brother Edwin would have it they must let him lie in an outhouse: “For I’m grown so lousy,” said he, “you cannot put me in the good beds.”