“I have done many an ill deed for thee, mistress, but of all of them I love this the least,” said the thrall, doubtfully.

“I have done many a good deed for thee, Koll.  It was I who saved thee from the Doom-stone, seeming to prove thee innocent—­ay, even when thy back was stretched on it, because thou hadst slain a man in his sleep.  Is it not so?”

“Yea, mistress.”

“And yet thou wast guilty, Koll.  And I have given thee many good gifts, is it not so?”

“Yes, it is so.”

“Listen then:  serve me this once and I will give thee one last gift—­thy freedom, and with it two hundred in silver.”

Koll’s eyes glistened.  “What must I do, mistress?”

“To-day at the wedding-feast it will be thy part to pour the cups while Asmund calls the toasts.  Last of all, when men are merry, thou wilt mix that cup in which Asmund shall pledge Unna his wife and Unna must pledge Asmund.  Now, when thou hast poured, thou shalt pass the cup to me, as I stand at the foot of the high seat, waiting to give the bride greeting on behalf of the serving-women of the household.  Thou shalt hand the cup to me as though in error, and that is but a little thing to ask of thee.”

“A little thing indeed,” said Koll, staring at her, and pulling with his hand at his red hair, “yet I like it not.  What if I say no, mistress?”

“Say no or speak of this and I will promise thee one thing only, thou knave, and it is, before winter comes, that the crows shall pick thy bones!  Now, brave me, if thou darest,” and straightway Groa began to mutter some witch-words.

“Nay,” said Koll, holding up his hand as though to ward away a blow.  “Curse me not:  I will do as thou wilt.  But when shall I touch the two hundred in silver?”

“I will give thee half before the feast begins, and half when it is ended, and with it freedom to go where thou wilt.  And now leave me, and on thy life see that thou fail me not.”

“I have never failed thee yet,” said Koll, and went his ways.

Now Groa set the pot upon the fire, and, placing in it the herbs that she had gathered, poured water on them.  Presently they began to boil and as they boiled she stirred them with a peeled stick and muttered spells over them.  For long she sat in that dim and lonely place stirring the pot and muttering spells, till at length the brew was done.

She lifted the pot from the fire and smelt at it.  Then drawing a phial from her robe she poured out the liquor and held it to the sky.  The witch-water was white as milk, but presently it grew clear.  She looked at it, then smiled evilly.

“Here is a love-draught for a queen—­ah, a love-draught for a queen!” she said, and, still smiling, she placed the phial in her breast.

Then, having scattered the fire with her foot, Groa took the pot and threw it into a deep pool of water, where it could not be found readily, and crept back to the stead before men were awake.