“That is a good sound,” said Skallagrim, and he turned and smelt at the cask; “aye, and a good smell, too!  We tasted little ale yonder on Mosfell, and we shall find less at sea.”  Again he looked at the cask.  There was a spigot in it, and lo! on the shelf stood horn cups.

“It surely is on draught,” he said; “and now it will stand till it goes sour.  ’Tis a pity; but I will not drink.  I fear ale—­ale is another man!  No, I will not drink,” and all the while his hand went up to the cups upon the shelf.  “Eric is better lain yonder in Gudruda’s chamber than I am here alone with evil thoughts and trolls,” he said.  “Why, what fish was that we ate at supper?  My throat is cracked with thirst!  If there were water now I’d drink it, but I see none.  Well, one cup to wish them joy!  There is no harm in a cup of ale,” and he drew the spigot from the cask and watched the brown drink flow into the cup.  Then he lifted it to his lips and drank, saying “Skoll! skoll!"[*] nor did he cease till the horn was drained.  “This is wondrous good ale,” said Skallagrim as he wiped his grizzled beard.  “One more cup, and evil thoughts shall cease to haunt me.”

[*] “Health! health!”

Again he filled, drank, sat down, and for a while was merry.  But presently the black thoughts came back into his mind.  He rose, looked through the shutter-hole to the hillside.  He could see nothing on it except the shadows of the clouds.

“Trolls walk the winds to-night,” he said.  “I feel them pulling at my beard.  One more cup to frighten them.”

He drank another draught of ale and grew merry.  Then ale called for ale, and Skallagrim drained cup on cup, singing as he drained, till at last heavy sleep overcame him, and he sank drunken on the ground there by the barrel, while the brown ale trickled round him.

Now Eric Brighteyes and Gudruda the Fair slept side by side, locked in each other’s arms.  Presently Gudruda was wide awake.

“Rouse thee, Eric,” she said, “I have dreamed an evil dream.”

He awoke and kissed her.

“What, then, was thy dream, sweet?” he said.  “This is no hour for bad dreams.”

“No hour for bad dreams, truly, husband; yet dreams do not weigh the hour of their coming.  I dreamed this:  that I lay dead beside thee and thou knewest it not, while Swanhild looked at thee and mocked.”

“An evil dream, truly,” said Eric; “but see, thou art not dead.  Thou hast thought too much on Swanhild of late.”

Now they slept once more, till presently Eric was wide awake.

“Rouse thee, Gudruda,” he said, “I too have dreamed a dream, and it is full of evil.”

“What, then, was thy dream, husband?” she asked.