“Thinkest thou so?” he answered.  “Well, I will say this, that I ask no better end.”

“It is a bad end for thee, Eric:  to be choked in snow, and with all thy deeds to do.”

“It is a good end, Gudruda, to die at thy side, for so I shall die happy; but I grieve for thee.”

“Grieve not for me, Brighteyes, worse things might befall.”

He drew nearer to her, and now he put his arms about her and clasped her to his bosom; nor did she say him nay.  Swanhild saw and lifted herself up behind them, but for a while she heard nothing but the beating of her heart.

“Listen, Gudruda,” Eric said at last.  “Death draws near to us, and before it comes I would speak to thee, if speak I may.”

“Speak on,” she whispers from his breast.

“This I would say, then:  that I love thee, and that I ask no better fate than to die in thy arms.”

“First shalt thou see me die in thine, Eric.”

“Be sure, if that is so, I shall not tarry for long.  Oh!  Gudruda, since I was a child I have loved thee with a mighty love, and now thou art all to me.  Better to die thus than to live without thee.  Speak, then, while there is time.”

“I will not hide from thee, Eric, that thy words are sweet in my ears.”

And now Gudruda sobs and the tears fall fast from her dark eyes.

“Nay, weep not.  Dost thou, then, love me?”

“Ay, sure enough, Eric.”

“Then kiss me before we pass.  A man should not die thus, and yet men have died worse.”

And so these two kissed, for the first time, out in the snow on
Coldback, and that first kiss was long and sweet.

Swanhild heard and her blood seethed within her as water seethes in a boiling spring when the fires wake beneath.  She put her hand to her kirtle and gripped the knife at her side.  She half drew it, then drove it back.

“Cold kills as sure as steel,” she said in her heart.  “If I slay her I cannot save myself or him.  Let us die in peace, and let the snow cover up our troubling.”  And once more she listened.

“Ah, sweet,” said Eric, “even in the midst of death there is hope of life.  Swear to me, then, that if by chance we live thou wilt love me always as thou lovest me now.”

“Ay, Eric, I swear that and readily.”

“And swear, come what may, that thou wilt wed no man but me.”

“I swear, if thou dost remain true to me, that I will wed none but thee, Eric.”

“Then I am sure of thee.”

“Boast not overmuch, Eric:  if thou dost live thy days are all before thee, and with times come trials.”

Now the snow whirled down faster and more thick, till these two, clasped heart to heart, were but a heap of white, and all white was the horse, and Swanhild was nearly buried.

“Where go we when we die, Eric?” said Gudruda; “in Odin’s house there is no place for maids, and how shall my feet fare without thee?”