“No, I say—no. Into that kindred you shall never come, while my head is above the ground.”
Kristin buried her face in her hands and broke into weeping:
“Then will I pray God night and day, night and day, that if you change not your will, He may take me away from this earth.”
“It boots not to speak more of this to-night,” said her father, with anguish in his voice. “You believe it not now, maybe; but I must needs guide your life so as I may hope to answer it hereafter. Go now, child, and rest.”
He held out his hand toward her; but she would not see it and went sobbing from the room.
The father and mother sat on a while. Then Lavrans said to his wife:
“Would you fetch me in a draught of ale?—no, bring in a little wine,” he asked. “I am weary—”
Ragnfrid did as he asked. When she came back with the tall wine stoup, her husband was sitting with his face hidden in his hands. He looked up, and passed his hand over her head-dress and her sleeves:
“Poor wife, now you are wet—Come, drink to me, Ragnfrid.”