“If so be that your mind is fixed—if you have the will and the boldness to try to carry through your purpose—then I will do it,” he said low. “At home with all my own folks and before all your kin—save one. To your father you must tell the truth, even as it is. If you would have it so, I will bear your message to him, and spare you, in giving it, in so far as I can—but Lavrans Björgulfsön shall know that never, with my will, would I go back from one word that I have spoken to him.”
Kristin clutched the edge of the bench with both hands: this was harder for her to bear than all else that Simon Darre had said. Pale and fearful, she stole a glance at him.
Simon rose:
“Now must we go in,” said he. “Methinks we are nigh frozen, both of us, and the sister is sitting waiting with the key.—I will give you a week to think upon the matter—I have business in the town here. I shall come hither and speak with you when I am ready to go, but you will scarce care to see aught of me meanwhile.”
8
Kristin said to herself: now that at least is over. But she felt broken with weariness and sick for Erlend’s arms.
She lay awake most of the night, and she resolved to do what she never dared think of before—send word to Erlend. It was not easy to find anyone who could go such an errand for her. The lay-sisters never went out alone, nor did she know of any of them she thought would be willing; the men who did the farm work were elder folk and but seldom came near the dwellings of the nuns save to speak with the Abbess herself. There was only Olav—He was a half-grown lad, who worked in the gardens; he had been Lady Groa’s foster-son from the time when he was found, a new-born babe, upon the church steps one morning. Folk said one of the lay-sisters was his mother; she was to have been a nun; but after she had been kept in the dark cell for six months—for grave disobedience, as ’twas said—and it was about that time the child was found—she had been given the lay-sisters’ habit and had worked in the farmyard ever since. Kristin had often thought of Sister Ingrid’s fate throughout these months, but she had had few chances to speak with her. It was venturesome to trust to Olav—he was but a child, and Lady Groa and all the nuns were wont to chat and jest with him, when they saw the boy. But Kristin deemed it mattered little what risks she took now. And a day or two later, when Olav was for the town one morning Kristin sent word by him to Akersnes, that Erlend must find some way whereby they might meet alone.
That same afternoon Erlend’s own man, Ulv, came to the grille. He said he was Aasmund Björgulfsön’s man, and was to pray, on his master’s behalf, that his brother’s daughter might go down to the town for a little, for Aasmund had not time to come to Nonneseter. Kristin thought this device must surely fail—but when Sister Potentia asked if she knew the bearer of the message, she said: “Yes.” So she went with Ulv to Brynhild Fluga’s house.
Erlend awaited her in the loft-room—he was uneasy and anxious, and she knew at once, ’twas that he was afraid again of what he seemed to fear the most.
Always it cut her to the soul he should feel such a haunting dread that she might be with child—when yet they could not keep apart. Harassed as she was this evening, she said this to him—hotly enough. Erlend’s face flushed darkly, and he laid his head down upon her shoulder: