“I have thought much and overmuch,” answered the Earl, stroking his grey beard; “but ships old and new drive before a gale.”
“Ay, Atli, and the new ship rides, where the old one founders.”
“A true rede, a heavy rede, Asmund; yet I am minded to sail this sea, and, if it sink me—well, I have known fair weather! Great longing has got hold of me, and I think the maid looks gently on me, and that things may yet go well between us. I have many things to give such as women love. At the least, if thou givest me thy good word, I will risk it, Asmund: for the bold thrower sometimes wins the stake. Only I say this, that, if Swanhild is unwilling, let there be an end of my wooing, for I do not wish to take a bride who turns from my grey hairs.”
Asmund said that it should be so, and they made an end of talking just as the light faded.
Now Asmund went out seeking Swanhild, and presently he met her near the stead. He could not see her face, and that was well, for it was not good to look on, but her mien was wondrous wild.
“Where hast thou been, Swanhild?” he asked.
“Mourning Eric Brighteyes,” she made answer.
“It is meeter for Gudruda to mourn over Eric than for thee, for her loss is heavy,” Asmund said sternly. “What hast thou to do with Eric?”
“Little, or much; or all—read it as thou wilt, foster-father. Still, all wept for are not lost, nor all who are lost wept for.”
“Little do I know of thy dark redes,” said Asmund. “Where is Gudruda now?”