“O remember this, and this, when at last I am gone from thee!”

But when they sundered her face was bright, but the tears were on it, and she said:  “O Thiodolf, thou wert fain hadst thou done a wrong to me so that I might forgive thee; now wilt thou forgive me the wrong I have done thee?”

“Yea,” he said, “Even so would I do, were we both to live, and how much more if this be the dawn of our sundering day!  What hast thou done?”

She said:  “I lied to thee concerning the Hauberk when I said that no evil weird went with it:  and this I did for the saving of thy life.”

He laid his hand fondly on her head, and spake smiling:  “Such is the wont of the God-kin, because they know not the hearts of men.  Tell me all the truth of it now at last.”

She said: 

“Hear then the tale of the Hauberk and the truth there is to tell:  There was a maid of the God-kin, and she loved a man right well, Who unto the battle was wending; and she of her wisdom knew That thence to the folk-hall threshold should come back but a very few; And she feared for her love, for she doubted that of these he should not be; So she wended the wilds lamenting, as I have lamented for thee; And many wise she pondered, how to bring her will to pass (E’en as I for thee have pondered), as her feet led over the grass, Till she lifted her eyes in the wild-wood, and lo! she stood before The Hall of the Hollow-places; and the Dwarf-lord stood in the door And held in his hand the Hauberk, whereon the hammer’s blow The last of all had been smitten, and the sword should be hammer now.  Then the Dwarf beheld her fairness, and the wild-wood many-leaved Before his eyes was reeling at the hope his heart conceived; So sorely he longed for her body; and he laughed before her and cried, ’O Lady of the Disir, thou farest wandering wide Lamenting thy beloved and the folk-mote of the spear, But if amidst of the battle this child of the hammer he bear He shall laugh at the foemen’s edges and come back to thy lily breast And of all the days of his life-time shall his coming years be best.’  Then she bowed adown her godhead and sore for the Hauberk she prayed; But his greedy eyes devoured her as he stood in the door and said; ’Come lie in mine arms!  Come hither, and we twain the night to wake!  And then as a gift of the morning the Hauberk shall ye take.’  So she humbled herself before him, and entered into the cave, The dusky, the deep-gleaming, the gem-strewn golden grave.  But he saw not her girdle loosened, or her bosom gleam on his love, For she set the sleep-thorn in him, that he saw, but might not move, Though the bitter salt tears burned him for the anguish of his greed; And she took the hammer’s offspring, her unearned morning meed, And went her ways from the rock-hall and was glad for her warrior’s sake.  But behind her dull speech followed, and the voice of the hollow spake:  ’Thou hast left me bound in anguish, and hast gained thine