"Come along," he said impulsively, putting his arm through Katharine's. "Never mind what she says. Let's get away from her. Come along, father."
Clifford looked at his boy wistfully.
"You two go on ahead," he said. "I don't want you ever to see her, Alan. She has never been a friend to us. But I must see her—for our own pride's sake."
"Father," cried the boy, "I have seen her once since—since mother died; you didn't know it, but I have seen her—just before we left for America."
"I might have known it," said Clifford.
They watched him walk back to the stue. He turned and waved to them to move on. Gerda and Ejnar joined them, and the Sorenskriver called out:
"Do not wait for the Kemiker. He has gone back to help his compatriots, who cannot speak any Norwegian. Farvel, mor, and tak for alt!" (Thanks for everything).
"Farvel, farvel!" the old saeter-woman cried, waving to them all; and then she followed Clifford into her stue, where Mrs Stanhope and her friend were seated on the bench. She sank down in her chair, tired.
Clifford took off his hat, and stood, a tall proud figure.
"I have come back to tell you, Mrs Stanhope," he said very slowly, "that I have never even thought it worth my while to attempt to shield myself against your malignant tongue. But I shall shield my friend whom you have just insulted. And I shall shield my boy. You shall not get hold of him and attempt to influence him against me. If you attempt to see him again, I warn you that I will make direct inquiry concerning all the damaging words you have said against me, and I will prosecute you to the bitter end for defamation of character; to the bitter end, Mrs Stanhope; at the cost of all the suffering to my pride."