She heard by their speech that they were not Norse, but she thought they seemed honest folk enough. ’Twas a shameless sum they asked, she thought, but Ingebjörg was beside herself with fright and she saw not how they could go home alone so late; and so she struck the bargain. No sooner were they come to the forest path than the men drew closer to them and began to talk. Kristin liked this but ill, but she would not show she was afraid; so she answered them quietly, told of the pards and asked the men where they were from. She spied about her, too, and made as though she looked each moment to meet the serving-men they had had with them—she talked as though there had been a whole band. As they went on the men spoke less and less—nor did she understand much of their speech. After a while she became aware that they were not going the same way she had come with Ingebjörg—the course their path took was not the same; ’twas more northerly—and she deemed they had already gone much too far. Deep within her there smouldered a fear she dared not let herself think upon—but it strengthened her strangely to have Ingebjörg with her, for the girl was so foolish that Kristin knew she must trust in herself alone to find a way out for them both. Under her cloak, she managed by stealth to pull out the cross with the holy relic she had had of her father; she clasped it in her hand, praying fervently in her heart that they might soon meet someone, and in all ways sought to gather all her courage and to make no sign. Just after this she saw that the path came out on to a road and there was a clearing in the forest. The town and the bay lay far below. The men had led them astray, whether wilfully or because they knew not the paths—they were high up on the mountain-side and far north of Gjeita bridge, which she could see below; the road they had now met seemed to lead thither. Thereupon she stopped, drew forth her purse and made to count out ten silver pennies into her hand. “Now, good fellows,” said she, “we need you not any more to guide us; for we know the way from here. We thank you for your pains, and here is the wage we bargained for. God be with you, good friends.” The men looked at one another so foolishly, that Kristin was near smiling. Then one said with an ugly grin that the road down to the bridge was exceeding lonely; ’twas not wise for them to go alone. “None, surely, are such nithings or such fools that they would seek to stop two maids, and they in the convent habit,” answered Kristin. “We would fain go our own way alone now—” and she held out the money. The man caught her by the wrist, thrust his face close up to hers, and said somewhat of “kuss” and “beutel”—Kristin made out he was saying they might go in peace if she but gave him a kiss and her purse.