“Jesus Kristus,” said Lavrans softly, and crossed himself and the child.
He helped her up the scree till they came to a grassy slope; then he lifted and bore her. She clung about his neck and sobbed—could not stop for all his soothing.
Soon they met the men and Isrid. The woman smote her hands together, when she heard what had befallen:
“Aye, ’twas the Elf-maiden sure enough—she would have lured the fair child into the mountain, trust you me.”
“Hold your peace,” bade Lavrans sternly. “Never should we have talked of such things here in the woods as we did—one knows not what may lie beneath the rocks and hearken to each word.”
He drew the golden chain from out his shirt and hung it and the relic-holding cross about Kristin’s neck and thrust them in upon her bare body.
“But see to it, all of you,” he said, “that you watch well your mouths, so Ragnfrid may never know the child has been in such peril.”
Then they caught the three horses, which had made off into the woods, and went quickly down to the pasture where the other horses were grazing. There they all mounted and rode to the Jörundgaard sæter; it was no great way.
The sun was near setting when they came thither; the cattle were in the pens, and Tordis and the herds were busy at the milking. Within the hut, porridge stood cooked awaiting them, for the sæter-folk had spied them by the beacon earlier in the day, and they were looked for.
Now, at length, was Kristin’s weeping stilled. She sat upon her father’s knee and ate porridge and cream from out the same spoon as he.