When Ingolf had reached his sister he stood still in perplexity. There was in her look a mingling of prayer and certainty which made it impossible for him to say anything. There was a restlessness about Helga which made it impossible for her to stand still.
"Let us go," she said appealingly. Side by side brother and sister went over the ground without speaking a word.
Where the coppice wood began, they turned and went back towards the houses. So they continued walking to and fro, silently, side by side. The sun had risen, and already stood high.
Ingolf's men, who had learnt of Hjor-Leif's death from Vifel, kept within doors. None wished to disturb Ingolf and Helga. Hallveig had been out and glanced towards the pair. Then she had slipped in again to her boy. Helga's grief made her very heavy at heart.
To and fro, keeping step, Ingolf and Helga went. Helga felt as if she could not stop. As long as she could walk so, keeping herself in movement, it seemed as if there was nothing which had ceased—ended. So long as she had heard nothing, perhaps nothing had happened. There were life and happiness at stake in continuing to walk—to walk, and not stand still.
There was no sobbing in Helga's breast. It was so empty within. A clammy pressure held her heart imprisoned in apathy. There were no tears in her eyes. She was far past the narrow limits of weeping. Only a great and threatening stillness and emptiness in her soul, and round her a waste wilderness that would swallow her as soon as she stood still.
At last she was so exhausted that she had to drag herself forward with the help of her brother's arm. Ingolf helped her, supported her, and held her up. He was in great distress. She walked there quivering on his arm, and he had no comfort to give her. Such heavy hours Ingolf had never experienced. He forgot his own sorrow: it was as nothing beside his sister's mute despair. His whole soul was engrossed in her. His powerlessness, his complete perplexity, his lack of any word to comfort her, drove all other feelings out of his mind.
At last Helga had to give up. Her strength was spent. Exhausted, she sank in his arms. He laid her carefully down, and she remained lying with half-closed eyes, breathing heavily and slowly; then she fell asleep. Ingolf remained sitting by her side and gazing intently on her pale, tired face. She continued sighing in her sleep. Ingolf could not take his eyes from her. "This was what Leif feared," was the thought that echoed within him. There were not very many thoughts in his brain, stunned as it was by his own and his sister's grief.
When he had been sitting thus for some time, Hallveig came out to him from the house with her boy on her arm. She could no longer endure the loneliness. She sat down silently by Ingolf's side. Her eyes were circled with red rims, and there was a peculiar wry smile on her face, called forth by the struggle to keep her tears down. When she had sat a little and looked at the sleeping Helga, she could do no more; she leant her head against her husband, hid her face, and wept.
Little Thorsten prattled cheerfully, and struggled to get down to Helga. Ingolf had to begin to play with him in order to make him sit still. The child's untroubled chatter cut him to the heart.