All day Eric sat thus, looking on his dead love’s face, till the hour came round when he and Gudruda had drunk the bride-cup.  Then he rose and kissed dead Gudruda on the lips, saying: 

“I did not look to part with thee thus, sweet!  It is sad that thou shouldst have gone and left me here.  Natheless, I shall soon follow on thy path.”

Then he called aloud: 

“Art sober, drunkard?”

Skallagrim came and stood before him, saying nothing.

“Take thou the feet of her whom thou didst bring to death, and I will take her head.”

So they lifted up Gudruda and bore her to the grave.  Then Eric stood near the grave, and, taking dead Gudruda in his arms, looked upon her face by the light of the fire and of the candles that were set about.

He looked thrice, then sang aloud: 

     “Long ago, when swept the snow-blast,
     Close we clung and plighted troth. 
     Many a year, through storm and sword-song,
     Sore I strove to win thee, sweet! 
     But last night I held thee, Fairest,
     Lock’d, a wife, in lover’s arms. 
     Now, Gudruda, in thy death-rest,
     Sleep thou soft till Eric come!

     “Hence I go to wreak thy murder. 
     Hissing fire of flaming stead,
     Groan of spear-carles, wail of women,
     Soon shall startle through the night. 
     Then on Mosfell, Kirtle-Wearer,
     Eric waits the face of Death. 
     Freed from weary life and sorrow,
     Soon we’ll kiss in Hela’s halls!”

Then he laid her in the grave, and, having shrouded a sheet over her, they filled it in together, hiding Gudruda the Fair from the sight of men for ever.

Afterwards Eric armed himself, and this Skallagrim did also.  Then he strode from the hall, and Skallagrim followed him.  In the yard those horses were still tied that should have carried them to the ship, and on one was the saddle of Gudruda.  She had ridden on this horse for many years, and loved it much, for it would follow her like a dog.  Eric looked at him, then said aloud: 

“Gudruda may need thee where she is, Blackmane,” for so the horse was named.  “At the least, none shall ride thee more!” And he snatched the axe from the hand of Skallagrim and slew the horse at a blow.

Then they rode away, heading for Coldback.  The night was wild and windy, and the sky dark with scudding clouds, through which the moon peeped out at times.  Eric looked up, then spoke to Skallagrim: 

“A good night for burning, drunkard!”

“Ay, lord; the flames will fly briskly,” answered Skallagrim.

“How many, thinkest thou, walked over thee, drunkard, when thou didst lie yonder in the ale?”

“I know not,” groaned Skallagrim; “but I found this in the soft earth without:  the print of a man’s and a woman’s feet; and this on the hill side:  the track of two horses ridden hard.”