“Nay, Eric, I lie not.  Wherefore should I lie?  Hearken:  thou hast not heard all my tale.  When the lady Gudruda had made an end of speaking she drew something from her breast and gave it me, saying:  ’Give this to Eric, in witness of my words.’”

“Show me the token,” said Eric.

Now, many years ago, when they were yet boy and girl, it chanced that Eric had given to Gudruda the half of an ancient gold piece that he had found upon the shore.  He had given her half, and half he had kept, wearing it next his heart.  But he knew not this, for she feared to tell him, that Gudruda had lost her half.  Nor indeed had she lost it, for Swanhild had taken the love-token and hidden it away.  Now she brought it forth for Koll to build his lies upon.

Then Koll drew out the half-piece from a leather purse and passed it to him.  Eric plunged his hand into his breast and found his half.  He placed the two side by side, while Swanhild watched him.  Lo! they fitted well.

Then Eric laughed aloud, a hard and bitter laugh.  “There will be slaying,” he cried, “before all this tale is told.  Take thy fee and begone, thou messenger of ill,” and he cast the broken piece at Koll.  “For once thou hast spoken the truth.”

Koll stooped, found the gold and went, leaving Brighteyes and Swanhild face to face.

He hid his brow in his arms and groaned aloud.  Softly Swanhild crept up to him—­softly she drew his hands away, holding them between her own.

“Heavy tidings, Eric,” she said, “heavy tidings for thee and me!  She is a murderess who gave me birth and she has slain my own father—­my father and thy cousin Unna also.  Gudruda is a traitress, a traitress fair and false.  I did ill to be born of such a woman; thou didst ill to put thy faith in such a woman.  Together let us weep, for our woe is equal.”

“Ay, let us weep together,” Eric answered.  “Nay, why should we weep?  Together let us be merry, for we know the worst.  All words are said—­all hopes are sped!  Let us be merry, then, for now we have no more tidings to fear.”

“Ay,” Swanhild answered, looking on him darkly, “we will be merry and laugh our sorrows down.  Ah! thou foolish Eric, under what unlucky star wast thou born that thou knewest not true from false?” and she called the serving-women, bidding them bring food and wine.

Now Eric sat alone with Swanhild in her bower and made pretence to eat.  But he could eat little, though he drank deep of the southern wine.  Close beside him sat Swanhild, filling his cup.  She was wondrous fair that night, and it seemed to Eric that her eyes gleamed like stars.  Sweetly she spoke also and wisely.  She told strange tales and she sang strange songs, and ever her eyes shone more and more, and ever she crept closer to him.  Eric’s brain was afire, though his heart was cold and dead.  He laughed loud and mightily, he told great tales of deeds that he had done, growing boastful in his folly, and still Swanhild’s eyes shone more and more, and still she crept closer, wooing him in many ways.