“I am safe!” she gasped, “but by a very little.  Methinks that here in this place I must live and die, for I can never tread yonder rock again.”

“Thou shalt pass it safe enough, lady, with a rope round thee,” said Skallagrim, and led the way to the cave.

Gudruda entered, forgetting all things in her love of Eric.  A great fire of turf burned in the mouth of the cave to temper the bitter wind and frost, and by its light Gudruda saw her love through the smoke-reek.  He lay upon a bed of skins at the far end of the cave and his bright grey eyes were wild, his wan face was white, and now of a sudden it grew red with fever, and then was white again.  He had thrown the sheepskins from his mighty chest, the bones of which stood out grimly.  His long arms were thrust through the locks of his golden hair, and on one side of his neck the hair clung to him and it was but a black mass.

He raved loudly in his madness.  “Touch me not, carles, touch me not; ye think me spent and weak, but, by Thor! if ye touch my hair, I will loosen the knees of some.  Gudruda alone shall shear my hair:  I have sworn and I will keep the oath that I once broke.  Give me snow! snow! my throat burns!  Heap snow on my head, I bid you.  Ye will not?  Ye mock me, thinking me weak!  Where, then, is Whitefire?—­I have yet a deed to do!  Who comes yonder?  Is it a woman’s shape or is it but a smoke-wraith?  ’Tis Swanhild the Fatherless who walks the waters.  Begone, Swanhild, thou witch! thou hast worked evil enough upon me.  Nay, it is not Swanhild, it is Elfrida; lady, here in England I may not stay.  In Iceland I am at home.  Yea, yea, things go crossly; perchance in this garden we may speak again!”

Now Gudruda could bear his words no longer, bur ran to him and knelt beside him.

“Peace, Eric!” she whispered.  “Peace!  It is I, thy love.  It is Gudruda, who am come to thee.”

He turned his head and looked upon her strangely.

“No, no,” he said, “it is not Gudruda the Fair.  She will have little to do with outlaws, and this is too rough a place for her to come to.  It is dark also and Atli speaks in the darkness.  If thou art Gudruda, give me a sign.  Why comest thou here and where is Skallagrim?  Ah! that was a good fight—­

     “Down among the ballast tumbling
     Ospakar’s shield-carles were rolled.

“But he should never have slain the steersman.  The axe goes first and Skallagrim follows after.  Ha, ha!  Ay, Swanhild, we’ll mingle tears.  Give me the cup.  Why, what is this?  Thou art afire, a glory glows about thee, and from thee floats a scent like the scent of the Iceland meads in May.”

“Eric!  Eric!” cried Gudruda, “I am come to shear thy hair, as thou didst swear that I alone should do.”

“Now I know that thou art Gudruda,” said the crazed man.  “Cut, cut; but let not those knaves touch my head, lest I should slay them.”