And she heard his whisper, the same which the old stone-cold heathenism had whispered through all time.  “Why repent?  The gods rule us.  The fates spin the threads of life.  Why shall the children of earth mourn because they have done what the immortal gods have forced them to do?”

Then Jofrid took courage and said to herself:  “How am I to blame because the child died?  It is God alone who decides.  Nothing takes place without his will.”  And she thought that she could lay the ghost by putting all repentance from her.

But now the door opened and Toenne came out to her.  “Jofrid,” he said, “it is in the house now.  It came up and knocked on the edge of the bed and woke me.  What shall we do, Jofrid?”

“The child is dead,” said Jofrid.  “You know that it is lying deep under ground.  All this is only dreams and imagination.”  She spoke hardly and coldly, for she feared that Toenne would do something reckless, and thereby cause them misfortune.

“We must put an end to it,” said Toenne.

Jofrid laughed dismally.  “What do you wish to do?  God has sent this to us.  Could He not have kept the child alive if He had chosen?  He did not wish it, and now He persecutes us for its death.  Tell me by what right He persecutes us?”

She got her words from the old stone warrior, who sat dark and high on his pile.  It seemed as if he suggested to her everything she answered Toenne.

“We must acknowledge that we have neglected the child, and do penance,” said Toenne.

“Never will I suffer for what is not my fault,” said Jofrid.  “Who wanted the child to die?  Not I, not I. What kind of a penance will you do?  You need all your strength for work.”

“I have already tried with scourging,” said Toenne.  “It is of no avail.”

“You see,” she said, and laughed again.

“We must try something else,” Toenne went on with persistent determination.  “We must confess.”

“What do you want to tell God, that He does not know?” mocked Jofrid.  “Does He not guide your thoughts, Toenne?  What will you tell Him?” She thought that Toenne was stupid and obstinate.  She had found him so in the beginning of their acquaintance, but since then she had not thought of it, but had loved him for his good heart.

“We will confess to the father, Jofrid, and offer him compensation.”

“What will you offer him?” she asked.

“The house and the goats.”

“He will certainly demand an enormous compensation for his only son.  All that we possess would not be enough.”

“We will give ourselves as slaves into his power, if he is not content with less.”

At these words Jofrid was seized by cold despair, and she hated Toenne from the depths of her soul.  Everything she would lose appeared so plainly to her,—­freedom, for which her ancestors had ventured their lives, the house, her comforts, honor and happiness.