[CHAPTER XI]
KNUT NORBY drove home through the still night with Marit and Ingeborg, as the other two stayed on for the dancing. A golden moon had risen above the hills in the east, and shone upon the waving corn-fields and the calm fjord. It was such good weather just now for the crops that it promised to be a good harvest; and as Knut sat there he was filled with a gentle peace, and felt a desire to thank God.
As they passed the churchyard, he looked in involuntarily. Who could tell how soon he might be lying there? It was better to make good use of the time while one had it. Lars Kleven lay there now—he who so wanted to lie quiet in his grave. Well, God grant he might have peace! And there lay the dairy-maid in her freshly-made grave, and was perhaps dreaming now in the early morning that she had to get up to go to the cows.
A warm wind sighed on the leafy slopes, and brought a scent of fermenting hay from the lofts about. Mountain and lake lay in a great calm peace.
“Thank God!” said Ingeborg, looking up at the stars; and they all three sat with the same feeling, and words were unnecessary.
When at length they drove into the yard, Knut saw that the flag was still up; the servants had forgotten to take it down. But Norby did not get angry now; he could take it down himself.
When he called for some one to take the horse, no one came.
“Have they all gone to bed?” said Marit, a little out of humour.
“Oh well,” said Norby, “it’s not much to be wondered at; they have to be up in the morning.” And he began to unharness the horse himself.
When at length he came up to the bedroom, Marit already lay yawning in bed, but Norby began to pace up and down the floor, with his thumbs hooked into the armholes of his waistcoat. He was in far too good humour to go to bed at once.