“Ay, lady, I fear Skallagrim, for he swore to slay me, and that kind of promise he ever keeps.  Also, if the truth must out, I have not dealt altogether well with Eric, and of all men I least wish to talk with him.”

“Speak on,” she said.

Then, being forced to it, Hall told her something of the tale of the cutting of the cable, being careful to put another colour on it.

“Now it seems that thou art a coward, Hall,” Swanhild said when he had done, “and I scarcely looked for that in thee,” for she had not been deceived by the glozing of his speech.  “It will be bad for thee to meet Eric and Skallagrim, and this is my counsel:  that thou goest hence before they wake, for they will sit this winter here in Atli’s hall.”

“And whither shall I go, lady?”

Swanhild gazed on him, and as she did so a dark thought came into her heart:  here was a knave who might serve her ends.

“Hall,” she said, “thou art an Icelander, and I have known of thee from a child, and therefore I wish to serve thee in thy strait, though thou deservest it little.  See now, Atli the Earl has a farm on the mainland not two hours’ ride from the sea.  Thither thou shalt go, if thou art wise, and thou shalt sit there this winter and be hidden from Eric and Skallagrim.  Nay, thank me not, but listen:  it may chance that I shall have a service for thee to do before spring is come.”

“Lady, I shall wait upon thy word,” said Hall.

“Good.  Now, so soon as it is light, I will find a man to sail with thee across the Firth, for the sea falls, and bear my message to the steward at Atli’s farm.  Also if thou needest faring-money thou shalt have it.  Farewell.”

Thus then did Hall fly before Eric and Skallagrim.

On the morrow Eric and Skallagrim arose, sick and bruised indeed, but not at all harmed, and went down to the shore.  There they found many dead men of their company, but never a one in whom the breath of life remained.

Skallagrim looked at Eric and spoke:  “Last night the mist came up against the wind:  last night we saw Swanhild’s wraith upon the waves, and there is the path it showed, and there”—­and he pointed to the dead men—­“is the witch-seed’s flower.  Now to-day we sit in Atli’s hall and here we must stay this winter at Swanhild’s side, and in all this there lies a riddle that I cannot read.”

But Eric shook his head, making no answer.  Then, leaving Skallagrim with the dead, he turned, and striding back alone towards the hall, sat down on a rock in the home meadows and, covering his face with his hands, wept for his comrades.

As he wept Swanhild came to him, for she had seen him from afar, and touched him gently on the arm.

“Why weepest thou, Eric?” she said.

“I weep for the dead, Swanhild,” he answered.

“Weep not for the dead—­they are at peace; if thou must weep, weep for the living.  Nay, weep not at all; rejoice rather that thou art here to mourn.  Hast thou no word of greeting for me who have not heard thy voice these many months?”