“I marked naught of that when you were at home in the summer,” said Eline with a meaning smile. “Then we were not unfriends—always.”
“If you deem that we were friends, have it as you will, for me,” said Erlend wearily.
“Will you stand here without end?” broke in Lady Aashild. She poured the porridge from the pot into two great wooden dishes and gave one to Kristin. The girl took it. “Bear it to the hall—and you, Ulv, take the other—and set them on the board; supper we must have, whether it be so, or so.”
Kristin and the man went out with the dishes. Lady Aashild said to the two others:
“Come now, you too; what boots it that you stand here barking at each other.”
“’Tis best that Eline and I have our talk out together now,” said Erlend.
Lady Aashild said no more, but went out and left them.
In the hall Kristin had laid the table and fetched ale from the cellar. She sat on the outer bench, straight as a wand and calm of face, but she ate nothing. Nor had the others much stomach to their food, neither Björn nor Erlend’s men. Only the man that had come with Eline and Björn’s hired man ate greedily. Lady Aashild sat herself down and ate a little of the porridge. No one spoke a word.
At length Eline Ormsdatter came in alone. Lady Aashild bade her sit between Kristin and herself; Eline sat down and ate a little. Now and again a gleam as of a hidden smile flitted across her face, and she stole a glance at Kristin.