The Son Avenger by Sigrid Undset Read Free Book Online

felt quite sick with shame on his friend’s behalf.
    The very next day Eirik told Olav that Jörund seemed to have thoughts of Cecilia. The two men were walking together across the ridge to Saltviken.
    Olav listened to his son in silence and walked on without answering.
    “You may be sure,” Eirik went on, “that Jörund is a man who is attended by good fortune. And you must have heard a good report of the house of Gunnarsby—”
    “I know they are called rich.” Olav walked a few paces in silence. “Have you been there—at Gunnarsby?”
    At once it struck Eirik that this was a thing Jörund might well have done—asked him to bear him company some time or other when he went home to see his kinsfolk. It gave him a little pang: “It never happened that I was able, when Jörund wished to have me home with him.”
    “What do
you
think of the man
himself?”
asked Olav. “Is he such a one that you would deem Cecilia and her welfare safe in his hands?”
    Involuntarily the old disquietude returned, vague and distant. But he had thought all this over, Jörund’s faults were such as a man may lay aside when he sets up house; and if they were to be brothers-in-law they must be loyal to each other. So Eirik answered yes, and began to sing Jörund’s praises loudly—cool-headed he was, good-natured, cheerful, mettlesome—his father had seen that for himself.
    “Ay, I have seen naught but good in him.” Olav heaved a sigh. They walked on in silence. Then the father said:
    “I shall speak with Baard—ask what he knows. Baard must be able to find out about these folks; he has kinsmen of his own in that part. Till then I look to hear no more said of the matter. Jörund is our guest and he must know enough of good manners not to bring forward his suit again before his brothers can take it up.”
    “You may be sure of that.” Eirik was at once mortally afraid lest Jörund should upset the whole plan, if he gave any hint of it in speaking to his father, who insisted so strictly that all should proceed in seemly fashion. Or that he might scare away Cecilia if he approached her with the rather rough and aggressive good humour with which Eirik had seen him win the favour of other maids. But Cecilia would not like such ways, he saw that at once; she had been brought up by this father and she had far too much of both pride and modesty. He would have to speak of this to Jörund.

    The day before Laurence-mass, 3 Eirik had been on an errand up the fiord. It was a dead calm as he rowed homeward—in the north and east heat clouds with gleaming edges surged up over the hills; their reflection darkened the pale blue of the fiord and gave the water a leaden hue, while the patches of sunlight beyond were bright as silver. Eirik rowed fast—he had his best coat on and was trying to be home before the storm burst. It was warm; the sun scorched him, and the reflection on the water dazzled his eyes.
    He looked over his shoulder—down in the south the sky was clear and blue, and the sea was all aglitter. Hestviken lay in sunshine—the fields of ripe corn and those which had been already cut, where the corn stood in shooks among the stubble, showed white amidst all the green. Eirik thought he would have to see to getting in all that was nearly dry, in any case—his father and Tore were not at home. He remembered storms that had threshed out the sheaves over the ground.
    The sky was blue-black over toward Oslo, and the thunder rolled far away—it looked as if perhaps the storm would pass farther north. From the quay Eirik took the path by the side of the “good acre”; he leaped the fence, felt the sheaves and tore off a handful of the white barley, rubbed it between his hands and stuffed the sweet grains into his mouth. Then he heard someone singing above, on the lookout rock—a soft, veiled female voice. It could not be Cecilia, she had no voice for singing.
    Eirik went up to see. On the rock lay a strange young woman; she lay