“No doing without some rueing, Ragnfrid,” said Lady Aashild. “And he who is willing to give his life, should make the venture and see what he can win—”
Ragnfrid plucked the burning twig from the fire, blew out the flame and bent her hand about the glowing end, so that it shone out blood-red from between her fingers.
“Oh! these are words, words, and only words, Lady Aashild.”
“Well,” said the other, “truly, Ragnfrid, there is not much that’s worth buying so dear as with one’s life.”
“Nay, but there is,” said Ragnfrid passionately, and she whispered so it could scarce be heard: “My husband.”
“Ragnfrid,” said Lady Aashild in a low voice: “So hath many a maid thought when she strove to bind a man to her and gave her maidenhood to do it. But have you not read of men and maids who gave to God all they owned, went into a cloister or naked into the wilds, and repented after. Aye, they are called fools in the godly books. And ’twould sure be sinful to think God cheated them over their bargain.”
Ragnfrid sat quite still a while. Then Lady Aashild said:
“You must come now, Kristin; ’tis time we went and gathered dew for Ulvhild’s morning wash.”
Outside the courtyard lay all black and white in the moonlight. Ragnfrid went with them, through the farm-yard, down to the gate of the cabbage garden. Kristin saw her mother’s thin, dark figure leaning there, while she was shaking the dew from the big, icy-cold cabbage leaves, and the folds of the lady’s-mantles, into her father’s silver goblet.