“Is it Lavrans Björgulfsön?” said Erlend starting up.
“Well if it were,” said the man. “’Tis Eline Ormsdatter.”
The door was opened from without; the woman who came in thrust Ulv aside and came forward into the light. Kristin looked at Erlend; at first he seemed to shrivel and shrink together; then he drew himself up, with a dark flush on his face:
“In the devil’s name, where come you from—what would you here?”
Lady Aashild stepped forward and spoke:
“You must come with us to the hall, Eline Ormsdatter. So much manners at least we have in this house, that we welcome not our guests in the kitchen.”
“I look not, Lady Aashild,” said the other, “to be welcomed as a guest by Erlend’s kinsfolk—Asked you from whence I came?—I come from Husaby, as you might know, I bear you greetings from Orm and Margret; they are well.”
Erlend made no answer.
“When I heard that you had had Gissur Arnfinsön raise money for you, and that you were for the south again,” she went on, “I thought ’twas like you would bide a while this time with your kinsfolk in Gudbrandsdal. I knew that you had made suit for the daughter of a neighbour of theirs.”