“Be silent,” said Asmund.  “This Gudruda, my daughter, whom thou wouldst have foully done to death, is thine own sister, and it is she who, pitying thee, hath pleaded for thy life.”

“I will naught of her pity who have no pity,” she answered; “and this I say to thee who art my father:  shame be on thee who hast not dared to own thy child!”

“Hadst thou not been my child, Swanhild, and had I not loved thee secretly as my child, be sure of this, I had long since driven thee hence; for my eyes have been open to much that I have not seemed to see.  But at length thy wickedness has overcome my love, and I will see thy face no more.  Listen:  none have heard of this shameful deed of thine save those who saw it, and their tongues are sealed.  Now I give thee choice:  wed Atli and go, or stand in the Doom-ring and take thy fate.”

“Have I not said, father, while death may be sought otherwise, that I will never do this last?  Nor will I do the first.  I am not all of the tame breed of you Iceland folk—­other and quicker blood runs in my veins; nor will I be sold in marriage to a dotard as a mare is sold at a market.  I have answered.”

“Fool! think again, for I go not back upon my word.  Wed Atli or die—­by thy own hand, if thou wilt—­there I will not gainsay thee; or, if thou fearest this, then anon in the Doom-ring.”

Now Swanhild covered her eyes with her hands and shook the long hair about her face, and she seemed wondrous fair to Asmund the Priest who watched.  And as she sat thus, it came into her mind that marriage is not the end of a young maid’s life—­that old husbands have been known to die, and that she might rule this Atli and his earldom and become a rich and honoured woman, setting her sails in such fashion that when the wind turned it would fill them.  Otherwise she must die—­ay, die shamed and leave Gudruda with her love.

Suddenly she slipped from the bed to the floor of the chamber, and, clasping the knees of Asmund, looked up through the meshes of her hair, while tears streamed from her beautiful eyes: 

“I have sinned,” she sobbed—­“I have sinned greatly against thee and my sister.  Hearken:  I was mad with love of Eric, whom from a child I have turned to, and Gudruda is fairer than I and she took him from me.  Most of all was I mad this night when I wrought the deed of shame, for ill things counselled me—­things that I did not call; and oh, I thank the Gods—­if there are Gods—­that Gudruda died not at my hand.  See now, father, I put this evil from me and tear Eric from my heart,” and she made as though she rent her bosom—­“I will wed Atli, and be a good housewife to him, and I crave but this of Gudruda:  that she forgive me her wrong; for it was not done of my will, but of my madness, and of the driving of those whom my mother taught me to know.”

Asmund listened and the springs of his love thawed within him.  “Now thou dost take good counsel,” he said, “and of this be sure, that so long as thou art in that mood none shall harm thee; and for Gudruda, she is the most gentle of women, and it may well be that she will put away thy sin.  So weep no more, and have no more dealings with thy Finnish witchcraft, but sleep; and to-morrow I will bear thy word to Atli, for his ship is bound and thou must swiftly be made a wife.”