They were nigh to Jörundgaard when Lavrans came up with them. The rest of their company came thundering along the road far behind.
“Say naught to your mother,” said Simon, as he set her down at the door of the house. “We have heard all too much wild talk to-night; ’tis no wonder you lost your wits yourself at the last.”
Ragnfrid was lying awake when they came in, and she asked how things had been in the wake chamber. Simon took it upon himself to answer for all. Aye, there had been many candles and many folk; aye, there had been a priest—Tormod from Ulvsvolden—Sira Eirik he heard had ridden off to Hamar this very evening, so there would be no trouble about the burial.
“We must have a mass said over the lad,” said Ragnfrid; “God strengthen Inga; the good worthy woman is sorely tried.”
Lavrans sang the same tune as Simon and in a little Simon said that now they must all go to rest; “for Kristin is both weary and sorrowful.”
After a time, when Ragnfrid slept, Lavrans threw on a few clothes, and went and seated himself on the edge of his daughters’ bed. He found Kristin’s hand in the dark and said very gently:
“Now must you tell me, child, what is true and what is false in all this talk Inga is spreading?”
Sobbing, Kristin told him all that had befallen the evening Arne set out for Hamar. Lavrans said but little. Kristin crept toward him in her bed, threw her arms around his neck and wailed softly: