Each of the six nights which passed ere Aasmund Björgulfsön came home, Erlend was in the loft-room with Kristin.
The last night he seemed as unhappy as she; he said many times they must not be parted from one another a day longer than needful. At last he said very low:
“Now should things go so ill that I cannot come back hither to Oslo before winter—and if it so falls out you need help of friends—fear not to turn to Sira Jon here at Gerdarud, we are friends from childhood up, and Munan Baardsön, too, you may safely trust.”
Kristin could only nod. She knew he spoke of what she had thought on each single day; but Erlend said no more of it. So she too said naught, and would not show how heavy of heart she was.
On the other nights he had gone from her when the night grew late, but this last evening he begged hard that he might lie and sleep by her an hour. Kristin was fearful, but Erlend said haughtily: “Be sure that were I found here in your bower, I am well able to answer for myself—” She herself, too, was fain to keep him by her yet a little while, and she had not strength enough to deny him aught.
But she feared that they might sleep too long. So most of the night she sat leaning against the head of the bed, dozing a little at times, and scarce knowing herself when he caressed her and when she only dreamed it. Her one hand she held upon his breast, where she could feel the beating of his heart beneath, and her face was turned to the window that she might see the dawn without.
At length she had to wake him. She threw on some clothes and went out with him upon the balcony—he clambered over the railing on the side that faced on to another house near by. Now he was gone from her sight—the corner hid him. Kristin went in again and crept into her bed; and now she quite gave way and fell to weeping for the first time since Erlend had made her all his own.
5
AT Nonneseter the days went by as before. Kristin’s time was passed between the dormitory and the church, the weaving-room, the book-hall and the refectory. The nuns and the convent folk gathered in the pot-herbs and the fruits from the herb-garden and the orchard; Holy Cross Day came in the autumn with the procession, then there was the fast before Michaelmas—Kristin wondered—none seemed to mark any change in her. But she had ever been quiet when amongst strangers, and Ingebjörg Filippusdatter, who was by her night and day, was well able to chatter for them both.