The mother moaned low:
“None of my children have I loved like this little one—if she too be taken from me, full sure I am my heart will break.”
“God help you, Ragnfrid Ivarsdatter,” said Sira Eirik, and shook his head. “In all your praying and fasting, you have thought only to force your will upon God. Can you wonder that it has helped but little?”
Ragnfrid looked defiantly at the priest, and spoke:
“I have sent for the Lady Aashild even now.”
“Aye, you know her; I know her not,” replied the priest.
“I cannot live without Ulvhild,” said Ragnfrid as before. “If so be God will not help her, I will seek counsel of Lady Aashild, or e’en give myself to the devil if he will help!”
The priest looked as though he would answer sharply, but checked himself again. He bent and felt the limbs of the little sick girl once more:
“Her hands and feet are cold,” he said. “We must lay jars of hot water about her—and then you must touch her no more till Lady Aashild comes.”
Kristin let herself sink back noiselessly on the bench and lay as if asleep. Her heart beat hard with fear—she had understood but little of the talk between Sira Eirik and her mother, but it had frightened her terribly, and the child knew well that it had not been for her ears.