“Rich bait for mighty fish!” said Skallagrim. “This I tell thee: that, strive as thou mayest against thy fate, that maid will be thy bane and mine also.”
“Things foredoomed will happen,” said Eric; “but if thou fearest a maid, the cure is easy: depart from my company.”
“Who was the other?” asked the Baresark—“she who crept and peered, listened, then crept back again, hid her face in her hands, and talked with a grey wolf that came to her like a dog?”
“That must have been Swanhild,” said Eric, “but I did not see her. Ever does she hide like a rat in the thatch, and as for the wolf, he must be her Familiar; for, like Groa, her mother, Swanhild plays much with witchcraft. Now I will away back to Gudruda, for my heart misdoubts me of this matter. Stay thou here till I come, Lambstail!” And Eric turns and gallops back to the head of Goldfoss.
When Eric left her, Gudruda drew yet nearer to the edge of the mighty falls, and seated herself on their very brink. Her breast was full of joy, and there she sat and let the splendour of the night and the greatness of the rushing sounds sink into her heart. Yonder shone the setting sun, poised, as it were, on Westman’s distant peaks, and here sped the waters, and by that path Eric had come back to her. Yea, and there on Sheep-saddle was the road that he had trod down Goldfoss; and but now he had slain one Baresark and won another to be his thrall, and they two alone had smitten the company of Ospakar, and come thence with honour and but little harmed. Surely no such man as Eric had ever lived—none so fair and strong and tender; and she was right happy in his love! She stretched out her arms towards him whom but an hour gone she had thought dead, but who had lived to come back to her with honour, and blessed his beloved name, and laughed aloud in her joyousness of heart, calling:
“Eric! Eric!”
But Swanhild, creeping behind her, did not laugh. She heard Gudruda’s voice and guessed Gudruda’s gladness, and jealousy arose within her and rent her. Should this fair rival live to take her joy from her?
“Grey Wolf, Grey Wolf! what sayest thou?”
See, now, if Gudruda were gone, if she rolled a corpse into those boiling waters, Eric might yet be hers; or, if he was not hers, yet Gudruda’s he could never be.
“Grey Wolf, Grey Wolf! what is thy counsel?”