(THORBRAND THORLEIKSSON appears above the wall-top a little past
GUNNAR, and, reaching noiselessly with a sword, cuts GUNNAR’S
bowstring.)

      GUNNAR (dropping the bow and seizing his bill)
  Ay, Thorbrand, is it thou?  That’s a rare blade,
  To shear through hemp and gut....  Let your wife have it
  For snipping needle-yarn; or try it again.

    THORBRAND (raising his sword)

I must be getting back ere the snow thickens: 
So here’s my message to the end—­or farther. 
Gunnar, this night it is time to start your journey
And get you out of Iceland....

GUNNAR (thrusting at THORBRAND with the bill)
I think it is: 
So you shall go before me in the dark. 
Wait for me when you find a quiet shelter.

(THORBRAND sinks backward from the wall and is heard to fall
farther.  Immediately ASBRAND THORLEIKSSON starts up in his
place.)

ASBRAND (striking repeatedly with a sword)
Oh, down, down, down!

GUNNAR (parrying the blows with the bill)
Ay, Asbrand, thou as well? 
Thy brother Thorbrand was up here but now: 
He has gone back the other way, maybe—­
Be hasty, or you’ll not come up with him.

(He thrusts with the bill:  ASBRAND lifts a shield before the
blow.)

Here’s the first shield that I have seen to-night.

(The bill pierces the shield:  ASBRAND disappears and is heard to
fall. GUNNAR turns from the casement.)

  Hallgerd, my harp that had but one long string,
  But one low song, but one brief wingy flight,
  Is voiceless, for my bowstring is cut off. 
  Sever two locks of hair for my sake now,
  Spoil those bright coils of power, give me your hair,
  And with my mother twist those locks together
  Into a bowstring for me.  Fierce small head,
  Thy stinging tresses shall scourge men forth by me.

                        HALLGERD
  Does ought lie on it?

                        GUNNAR
  Nought but my life lies on it;
  For they will never dare to close on me
  If I can keep my bow bended and singing.

      HALLGERD (tossing back her hair)
  Then now I call to your mind that bygone blow
  You gave my face; and never a whit do I care
  If you hold out a long time or a short.

                        GUNNAR
  Every man who has trod a warship’s deck,
  And borne a weapon of pride, has a proud heart
  And asks not twice for any little thing. 
  Hallgerd, I’ll ask no more from you, no more.

      RANNVEIG (tearing off her wimple)
  She will not mar her honour of widowhood. 
  Oh, widows’ manes are priceless....  Off, mean wimple—­
  I am a finished widow, why do you hide me? 
  Son, son who knew my bosom before hers,