Now Eric could no longer bear the sight of Gudruda weeping. While she wept, hiding her eyes, he rose from behind the screen of reeds and stood beside her in such fashion that his shadow fell upon her. She felt the sunlight pass and looked up. Lo! it was no cloud, but the shape of Eric, and the sun glittered on his golden helm and hair.
“Eric!” Gudruda cried; “Eric!” Then, remembering how she was attired, snatching her cloak, she threw it about her arms and thrust her wet feet into her shoes. “Out upon thee!” she said; “is it not enough, then, that thou shouldst break thy troth for Swanhild’s sake, that thou shouldst slay my brother and turn my hall to shambles? Wouldst now steal upon me thus!”
“Methought that thou didst weep and call upon my name, Gudruda,” he said humbly.
“By what right art thou here to hearken to my words?” she answered. “Is it, then, strange that I should speak the name of him who slew my brother? Is it strange that I should weep over that brother whom thou didst slay? Get thee gone, Brighteyes, before I call my folk to kill thee!”
“Call on, Gudruda. I set little price upon my life. I laid it in the hands of chance when I came from Mosfell to speak with thee, and now I will pay it down if so it pleases thee. Fear not, thy thralls shall have an easy task: for I shall scarcely care to hold my own. Say, shall I call for thee?”
“Hush! Speak not so loud! Folk may hear thee, Eric, and then thou wilt be in danger—I would say that, then shall ill things be told of me, because I am found with him who slew my brother?”
“I slew Ospakar too, Gudruda. Surely the death of him by whose side thou didst sit as wife is more to thee than the death of Björn?”
“The bride-cup was not yet drunk, Eric; therefore I have no blood-feud for Ospakar.”
“Is it, then, thy will that I should go, lady?”
“Yes, go!—go! Never let me see thy face again!”