“Aye, still,” she said; and after a moment—: “Of this deed we are both guilty—I egged you on—for I willed her death.”
Lady Aashild and Kristin stood and looked after the sleigh, as it rose and dipped over the snow-drifts. It went down from sight into a hollow—then came forth again farther down on a snow-slope. And then the men passed into the shadow of a fell, and were gone from sight for good.
The two women sat by the fireplace, their backs to the empty bed, from which Aashild had borne away all the bedding and straw. Both could feel it standing there empty and gaping behind them.
“Would you rather that we should sleep in the kitchen-house to-night,” asked Lady Aashild at length.
“’Tis like it will be the same wherever we lie,” said Kristin.
Lady Aashild went out to look at the weather.
“Aye, should the wind get up or a thaw come on, they will not journey far before it comes out,” said Kristin.
“Here at Haugen it blows ever,” answered Lady Aashild. “’Tis no sign of a change of weather.”
They sat on as before.
“You should not forget,” said the Lady at last, “what fate she had meant for you two.”