And she wept all that day, and neither ate nor drank. And all that week they rode on, though Torfrida would not ride aside of him, but kept aloof and sighed and wept anon. At length Feargus broke silence, and begged her to ride in front, for he wished that she might be ever in his eye though he gave reason to her that he might see if harm befell her. So she rode in front, and his soul was full with gazing on her, so great was her loveliness. And thereafter she found him so merry therewith that she was angered the more at seeing him so content to ride without her. So she threw many hard sayings back to humble him; then the big man was almost like to weep, for the sight of her drew him one way and her high words drew him another, till the heart within him was nigh drawn asunder between the sweetness of her look and the sharpness of the words she spoke.
Then at length she said, “No longer will I ride in front of thee to be gazed upon in this wise,” and she turned towards the rear.
Then said Feargus, “Nay, now, if I may not even see thee, I will die here where I stand.”
“Thou mayst die when thou listeth, but the season is ill chosen for my comfort; it seems thou hast brought me here to desert me and leave me to the wolves—I would have fared better at the hands of Osbert or of —— but ride not over me I pray thee!” For Feargus had drawn near in his eagerness to hear the name she had on her lips; then he fell back and thought much of her words, and had great fear, so that at length he rode forward and cried, “Torfrida!” And she answered coldly, “And who asked thee to ride aside of me?”
“Sweet Torfrida, ’twas but to ask thee the name of him whose name was now almost on thy lips.”
Then she tossed her head half-saucily, half-tearfully, and made no answer, but struck her beast so that he leapt a good two lengths ahead. So they rode on and one night took up their quarters at a woodman’s cottage, and after having eaten Feargus went out in the moonlight to look around and found the woodman, and soon learnt from him that they had yet gone but a little way, and were still within easy reach of the horsemen of Sigmund and Osbert. As he was returning he happened to look to the left of him and there among the trees caught sight of a party of men resting upon the ground. Then a feeling of hopelessness came upon him, his hands shook, his knees trembled, and he sat down perforce on a piece of fallen timber; when he had recovered himself he arose and crept near to where the party was camping, and saw that surely enough they were the men of Osbert. Then he hied him back to the woodman’s cottage and stripped off his trappings, helm and sword and byrny, and took them in his hands and bade the wife rouse Torfrida. And when she had arisen she came out and eyed him coldly without speaking. Then said he to her in Gaelic—
“Know, Torfrida, that I have been out into the forest, and there lighted upon a party of warriors of thy father and Osbert, who are doubtless seeking us.”
Then Torfrida’s face turned pale as death, for seldom had she seen him look so sad.
“And now, Torfrida, here is the noble sword thou gavest me and here my good bow which I cut from the forest trees in my days of darkness when I had broken my oath through trysting with thee and so brought ruin upon king Penda. Here too is my byrny that belonged to thy noble mother’s kin and like to which there is none other.”