“Get up,” he said softly. “Do you hear—?”
She heard the singing of the wind round the house-corners—the deep, full note of the south-wind, heavy with wetness. Streams were pouring from the roof; there was the whisper of rain falling on soft melting snow.
Kristin flung her dress on her back and went after her father to the outer door. They stood together looking out into the twilight of the May night—warm wind and rain smote against them—the heavens were a welter of tangled drifting rain-clouds, the woods roared, the wind whistled between the houses, and from far up in the fells they heard the dull boom of snow-masses falling.
Kristin felt for her father’s hand and held it. He had called her that he might show her this. So had it been between them before, that he would have done this; and so it was now again.
When they went in to bed again, Lavrans said:
“The stranger serving-man that came last week brought me letters from Sir Munan Baardsön. He is minded to come up the Dale to our parts next summer to see his mother; and he asked if he might meet me and have speech with me.”
“What will you answer him, my father?” she whispered.
“That can I not tell you now,” said Lavrans. “But I will speak with him; and then must I order this matter so as I may deem I can answer it to God, my daughter.”
Kristin crept in again beside Ramborg, and Lavrans went and lay down by the side of his sleeping wife. He lay thinking that if the flood came over-sudden and strong there were few places in the parish that lay so much in its path as Jörundgaard. Folk said there was a prophecy that some day the river would carry it away.