Great was the laughter in the room, and both Gyrd and Jon shouted for more such tales from Lady Aashild. But the Lady said no: “Here sit two priests and Brother Aasgaut and young lads and serving maids; ’tis best we cease before the talk grows unseemly and gross; let us bear in mind ’tis a holy day.”
The men made an outcry, but the women held with Lady Aashild. No one saw that Ragnfrid had left the room. Soon after it was time that Kristin, who sat lowest on the women’s bench among the serving maids, should go to bed—she was sleeping in Tordis’ house, there were so many guests at the manor.
It was biting cold, and the northern-lights flamed and flickered over the brows of the fells to the north. The snow crackled under Kristin’s feet as she ran over the courtyard shivering, her arms crossed on her breast.
Then she was aware of a woman in the shadow of the old loft walking hurriedly to and fro in the snow, throwing her arms about, wringing her hands, and wailing aloud. Kristin saw it was her mother, and ran to her affrighted, asking if she were ill.
“No, no,” burst out Ragnfrid. “But I could not stay within—go you to bed, child.”
As Kristin turned away her mother called her softly:
“Go back to the room and lie beside your father and Ulvhild—take her in your arms so that he may not roll upon her by mischance; he sleeps so heavily when he has drunk deep. I am going up to sleep in the old loft-room to-night.”
“Jesus, mother,” said Kristin, “you will freeze to death if you lie there—alone, too. And what think you father will say if you come not to bed to-night?”
“He will not mark it,” answered her mother, “he was all but asleep when I left, and to-morrow he will waken late. Go and do as I have said.”
“’Twill be so cold for you,” said Kristin, whimpering, but her mother sent her away, a little more kindly, and shut herself into the loft-room.