“Methought that thou didst weep and call upon my name, Gudruda,” he said humbly.

“By what right art thou here to hearken to my words?” she answered.  “Is it, then, strange that I should speak the name of him who slew my brother?  Is it strange that I should weep over that brother whom thou didst slay?  Get thee gone, Brighteyes, before I call my folk to kill thee!”

“Call on, Gudruda.  I set little price upon my life.  I laid it in the hands of chance when I came from Mosfell to speak with thee, and now I will pay it down if so it pleases thee.  Fear not, thy thralls shall have an easy task:  for I shall scarcely care to hold my own.  Say, shall I call for thee?”

“Hush!  Speak not so loud!  Folk may hear thee, Eric, and then thou wilt be in danger—­I would say that, then shall ill things be told of me, because I am found with him who slew my brother?”

“I slew Ospakar too, Gudruda.  Surely the death of him by whose side thou didst sit as wife is more to thee than the death of Bjoern?”

“The bride-cup was not yet drunk, Eric; therefore I have no blood-feud for Ospakar.”

“Is it, then, thy will that I should go, lady?”

“Yes, go!—­go!  Never let me see thy face again!”

Brighteyes turned without a word.  He took three paces and Gudruda watched him as he went.

“Eric!” she called.  “Eric! thou mayest not go yet:  for at this hour the thralls bring down the kine to milk, and they will see thee.  Liest thou hid here.  I—­I will go.  For though, indeed, thou dost deserve to die, I am not willing to bring thee to thy end—­because of old friendship I am not willing!”

“If thou goest, I will go also,” said Eric.  “Thralls or no thralls, I will go, Gudruda.”

“Thou art cruel to drive me to such a choice, and I have a mind to give thee to thy fate.”

“As thou wilt,” said Eric; but she made as though she did not hear his words.

“Now,” she said, “if we must stay here, it is better that we hide where thou didst hide, lest some come upon thee.”  And she passed through the screen of rushes and sat down in a grassy place beyond, and spoke again.

“Nay, sit not near me; sit yonder.  I would not touch thee, nor look upon thee, who wast Swanhild’s love, and didst slay Bjoern my brother.”

“Say, Gudruda,” said Eric, “did I not tell thee of the magic arts of Swanhild?  Did I not tell thee before all men yonder in the hall, and didst thou not say that thou didst believe my words?  Speak.”

“That is true,” said Gudruda.

“Wherefore, then, dost thou taunt me with being Swanhild’s love—­with being the love of her whom of all alive I hate the most—­and whose wicked guile has brought these sorrows on us?”

But Gudruda did not answer.

“And for this matter of the death of Bjoern at my hands, think, Gudruda:  was I to blame in it?  Did not Bjoern thrust the cloven shield before my feet, and thus give me into the hand of Ospakar?  Did he not afterwards smite at me from behind, and would he not have slain me if Skallagrim had not caught the blow?  Was I, then, to blame if I smote back and if the sword flew home?  Wilt thou let the needful deed rise up against our love?  Speak, Gudruda!”