Now as he thought, he saw men and horses draw near, and one man, whose helm gleamed in the moonlight, bore something in his arms.

“Who passes?” he called.

“Eric Brighteyes, Skallagrim Lambstail, and Gudruda, Asmund’s daughter,” answered a voice; “who art thou?”

Then Asmund the Priest sprang forward, most glad at heart, for he never thought to see Eric again.

“Welcome, and thrice welcome art thou, Eric,” he cried; “for, know, we deemed thee dead.”

“I have lately gone near to death, lord,” said Eric, for he knew the voice; “but I am hale and whole, though somewhat weary.”

“What has come to pass, then?” asked Asmund, “and why holdest thou Gudruda in thy arms?  Is the maid dead?”

“Nay, she does but swoon.  See, even now she stirs,” and as he spake Gudruda awoke, shuddering, and with a little cry threw her arms about the neck of Eric.

He set her down and comforted her, then once more turned to Asmund: 

“Three things have come about,” he said.  “First, I have slain one Baresark, and won another to be my thrall, and for him I crave thy peace, for he has served me well.  Next, we two were set upon by Ospakar Blacktooth and his fellowship, and, fighting for our hands, have wounded Ospakar, slain Mord his son, and six other men of his following.”

“That is good news and bad,” said Asmund, “since Ospakar will ask a great weregild[*] for these men, and thou wilt be outlawed, Eric.”

[*] The penalty for manslaying.

“That may happen, lord.  There is time enough to think of it.  Now there are other tidings to tell.  Coming to the head of Goldfoss I found Gudruda, my betrothed, mourning my death, and spoke with her.  Afterwards I left her, and presently returned again, to see her hanging over the gulf, and Swanhild hurling rocks upon her to crush her.”

“These are tidings in truth,” said Asmund—­“such tidings as my heart feared!  Is this true, Gudruda?”

“It is true, my father,” answered Gudruda, trembling.  “As I sat on the brink of Goldfoss, Swanhild crept behind me and thrust me into the gulf.  There I clung above the waters, and she brought a rock to hurl upon me, when suddenly I saw Eric’s face, and after that my mind left me and I can tell no more.”

Now Asmund grew as one mad.  He plucked at his beard and stamped on the ground.  “Maid though she be,” he cried, “yet shall Swanhild’s back be broken on the Stone of Doom for a witch and a murderess, and her body hurled into the pool of faithless women, and the earth will be well rid of her!”

Now Gudruda looked up and smiled:  “It would be ill to wreak such a vengeance on her, father,” she said; “and this would also bring the greatest shame on thee, and all our house.  I am saved, by the mercy of the Gods and the might of Eric’s arm, and this is my counsel:  that nothing be told of this tale, but that Swanhild be sent away where she can harm us no more.”