But Gudruda would not believe this.  When Asmund the Priest, her father, asked her why she did not believe it, she answered that, had Eric been dead, her heart would surely have spoken to her of it.  To this Asmund said that it might be so.

Hay-harvest being done, Asmund made ready for his wedding with Unna, Thorod’s daughter and Eric’s cousin.

Now it was agreed that the marriage-feast should be held at Middalhof; for Asmund wished to ask a great company to the wedding, and there was no place at Coldback to hold so many.  Also some of the kin of Thorod, Unna’s father, were bidden to the feast from the east and north.  At length all was prepared and the guests came in great companies, for no such feast had been made in this quarter for many years.

On the eve of the marriage Asmund spoke with Groa.  The witch-wife had borne herself humbly since she was recovered from her sickness.  She passed about the stead like a rat at night, speaking few words and with downcast eyes.  She was busy also making all things ready for the feasting.

Now as Asmund went up the hall seeing that everything was in order, Groa drew near to him and touched him gently on the shoulder.

“Are things to thy mind, lord?” she said.

“Yes, Groa,” he answered, “more to my mind than to thine I fear.”

“Fear not, lord; thy will is my will.”

“Say, Groa, is it thy wish to bide here in Middalhof when Unna is my housewife?”

“It is my wish to serve thee as aforetime,” she answered softly, “if so be that Unna wills it.”

“That is her desire,” said Asmund and went his ways.

But Groa stood looking after him and her face was fierce and evil.

“While bane has virtue, while runes have power, and while hand has cunning, never, Unna, shalt thou take my place at Asmund’s side!  Out of the water I came to thee, Asmund; into the water I go again.  Unquiet shall I lie there—­unquiet shall I wend through Hela’s halls; but Unna shall rest at Asmund’s side—­in Asmund’s cairn!”

Then again she moved about the hall, making all things ready for the feast.  But at midnight, when the light was low and folk slept, Groa rose, and, veiled in a black robe, with a basket in her hand, passed like a shadow through the mists that hang about the river’s edge, and in silence, always looking behind her, like one who fears a hidden foe, culled flowers of noisome plants that grow in the marsh.  Her basket being filled, she passed round the stead to a hidden dell upon the mountain side.  Here a man stood waiting, and near him burned a fire of turf.  In his hand he held an iron-pot.  It was Koll the Half-witted, Groa’s thrall.

“Are all things ready, Koll?” she said.

“Yes,” he answered; “but I like not these tasks of thine, mistress.  Say now, what wouldst thou do with the fire and the pot?”

“This, then, Koll.  I would brew a love-potion for Asmund the Priest as he has bidden me to do.”