A while after Lady Aashild went out to the kitchen-house.
The fire on the hearth was almost burnt out. Erlend sat by it on his stool, crouched together, his head down between his arms.
Lady Aashild went to him and laid her hand on his shoulder:
“God forgive you, Erlend, that you have brought things to this pass—”
Erlend turned up to her a face besmeared with wretchedness:
“She is with child,” he said, and shut his eyes.
Lady Aashild’s face flamed up, she gripped his shoulder hard:
“Which of them?” she asked, roughly and scornfully.
“My child it is not,” said Erlend, in the same dead voice. “But like enough you will not believe me—none will believe me—” he sank together again.
Lady Aashild sat down in front of him on the edge of the hearth: