It was Bentein Priestson who had killed Arne. On New Year’s Eve the men of the Bishop’s household were sitting and drinking in the men’s hall, and Bentein had come in—he had been given a clerkship now with the Corpus Christi prebendary. The men did not want him amongst them at first, but he had put Arne in mind that they were both from the same parish, and Arne had let him sit by him, and they had drunk together. But presently they had quarrelled and fought, and Arne had fallen on so fiercely that Bentein had snatched a knife from they table and stabbed him in the throat and then more than once in the breast. Arne had died almost at once. The Bishop had taken this mischance much to heart; he himself had cared for the laying-out of the corpse, and had it brought all the long way home by his own folk. Bentein he had thrown into irons, cast him out from the church, and if he were not already hanged, he was going to be. Halvdan had to tell all this over again many times as fresh people streamed in. Lavrans and Simon came over to the kitchen too, when they marked all the stir and commotion about the place. Lavrans was much moved; he bade them saddle his horse, he would ride over to Brekken at once. As he was about to go, his eyes fell on Kristin’s white face. “May be _you_ would like to go with me?” he asked. Kristin faltered a little; she shuddered—but then she nodded, for she could not utter one word. “Is’t not too cold for her?” said Ragnfrid. “Doubtless they will have the wake to-morrow, and then ’tis like we shall all go together—” Lavrans looked at his wife; he marked Simon’s face too; and then he went and laid his arm round Kristin’s shoulders: “She is his foster-sister, you must bear in mind,” said he. “Maybe she would like to help Inga with the laying-out the body.” And though Kristin’s heart was benumbed with despair and fear, she felt a glow of thankfulness to her father for his words. Ragnfrid said then, that if Kristin was to go, they must eat their evening porridge before they started. She wished, too, to send gifts to Inga by them—a new linen sheet, wax-candles and fresh-baked bread; and she bade them say she would come up herself and help to prepare for the burial. There was little eating, but much talking in the room while the food was on the table. One reminded the other of the trials that God had laid upon Gyrd and Inga. Their farm had been laid waste by stone-slips and floods: more than one of their elder children were dead, so that all Arne’s brothers and sisters were still but little ones. They had had fortune with them now for some years, since the Bishop placed Gyrd at Finsbrekken as his bailiff; and the children who were left to them were fair and full of promise. But his mother loved Arne more than all the rest—