Erlend wrenched the horn from her and flung her from him so that she reeled and fell near by Lady Aashild’s bed. Again he pushed the horn against Eline Ormsdatter’s mouth—with one knee on the bench he stood by her side, and with a hand round her head tried to force the drink between her teeth.
She reached out under his arm, snatched his dagger from the table, and struck hard at the man. The blow did but scratch his flesh through the clothes. Then she turned the point against her own breast, and the instant after sank sidelong down into his arms.
Kristin rose and came to them. Erlend was holding Eline, her head hanging back over his arm. The rattle came in her throat almost at once—blood welled up and ran out of her mouth. She spat some of it out and said:
“’Twas for you I meant—that drink—for all the times—you deceived me—”
“Bring Lady Aashild hither,” said Erlend in a low voice. Kristin stood immovable.
“She is dying,” said Erlend as before.
“Then is she better served than we,” said Kristen. Erlend looked at her—the despair in his eyes softened her. She left the room.
“What is it?” asked Lady Aashild, when Kristin called her out from the kitchen.
“We have killed Eline Ormsdatter,” said Kristin. “She is dying—”
Lady Aashild set off running to the hall. But Eline breathed her last as the Lady crossed the threshold.