Kristin wet her lips with the tip of her tongue, but still she was silent.
“Nay, if you are not lying there trembling!” went on Simon. “Surely it cannot be that you have aught against me, Kristin?”
She felt she could not lie to Simon, so she said “No,”—but nothing more.
Simon lay a while longer; he tried to get her into talk with him. But at last he laughed again, and said:
“I see well you think I should be content with hearing that you have naught against me—for tonight—and be glad to boot. ’Tis a parlous thing, so proud as you are—yet one kiss must you give me; then will I go my way and not plague you any more—”
He took the kiss, then sat up and put his feet to the floor. Kristin thought, now must she say to him what she had to say—but he was away already by his own bed, and she heard him undress.
The day after Lady Angerd was not so friendly to Kristin as was her wont. The girl saw that the Lady must have heard somewhat the night before, and that she deemed her son’s betrothed had not borne her toward him as she held was fitting.
Late that afternoon Simon spoke of a friend’s horse he was minded to take in barter for one of his own. He asked Kristin if she would go with him to look at it. She was nothing loth; and they went out into the town together.
The weather was fresh and fair. It had snowed a little overnight, but now the sun was shining, and it was freezing so that the snow crackled under their feet. Kristin felt ’twas good to be out and walk in the cold air, and when Simon brought out the horse to show her, she talked of it with him gaily enough; she knew something of horses, she had been so much with her father. And this was a comely beast—a mouse-grey stallion with a black stripe down the back and a clipped mane, well-shapen and lively, but something small and slightly built.
“He would scarce hold out under a full-armed man for long,” said Kristin.
“Indeed, no; nor did I mean him for such a rider,” said Simon.
He led the horse out into the home field behind the house, made it trot and walk, mounted to try its paces, and would have Kristin ride it too. Thus they stayed together a good while out on the snowy field.
At last, as Kristin stood giving the horse bread out of her hand, while Simon leant with his arm over its back, he said all at once:
“Methinks, Kristin, you and my mother are none too loving one with another.”
“I have not meant to be unloving to your mother,” said she, “but I find not much to say to Lady Angerd.”
“Nor seems it you find much to say to me either,” said Simon. “I would not force myself upon you, Kristin, before the time comes—but things cannot go on as now, when I can never come to speech with you.”
“I have never been one for much speaking,” said Kristin. “I know it myself; and I look not you should think it so great a loss, if what is betwixt us two should come to naught.”
“You know well what my thoughts are in that matter,” said Simon, looking at her.
Kristin flushed red as blood. And it gave her a pang that she could not mislike the fashion of Simon Darre’s wooing. After a while he said:
“Is it Arne Gyrdsön, Kristin, you feel you cannot forget?” Kristin but gazed at him; Simon went on, and his voice was gentle and kind: “Never would I blame you for that—you had grown up like brother and sister, and scarce a year is gone by. But be well assured, for your comfort, that I have your good at heart—”
Kristin’s face had grown deathly white. Neither of them spoke again as they went back through the town in the twilight. At the end of the street, in the blue-green sky, rode the new moon’s sickle with a bright star within its horn.
A year, thought Kristin; and she could not think when she had last given a thought to Arne. She grew afraid—maybe she was a wanton, wicked woman—but one year since she had seen him on his bier in the wake room, and had thought she should never be glad again in this life—she moaned within herself for terror of her own heart’s inconstancy and of the fleeting changefulness of all things. Erlend! Erlend!—could he forget her—and yet it seemed to her ’twould be worse, if at any time she should forget him.
Sir Andres went with his children to the great Yuletide feast at the King’s palace. Kristin saw all the pomp and show of the festival—they came, too, into the hall where sat King Haakon and the Lady Isabel Bruce, King Eirik’s widow. Sir Andres went forward and did homage to the King, while his children and Kristin stood somewhat behind. She thought of all Lady Aashild had told her; she called to mind that the King was near of kin to Erlend, their fathers’ mothers were sisters—and she was Erlend’s light o’ love, she had no right to stand here, least of all amid these good and worthy folk, Sir Andres’ children.
Then all at once she saw Erlend Nikulaussön—he had stepped forward in front of Queen Isabel, and stood with bowed head, and with his hand upon his breast, while she spoke a few words to him; he had on the brown silk clothes that he had worn at the guild feast. Kristin stepped behind Sir Andres’ daughters.
When, some time after, Lady Angerd led her daughters up before the Queen, Kristin could not see him anywhere, but indeed she dared not lift her eyes from the floor. She wondered whether he was standing somewhere in the hall,
