"Thore's people—from Ramfirth."
"Where is Thore?" They pointed to the woman.
"Yonder he lies hurt. That is his wife."
"And you are for Ericshaven?"
They said that they were. "Then you are well met," said Leif, and stepped on to the rock.
Gudrid's eyes were great and serious. Leif came to her and took her hands. "I little thought we should meet again like this."
"We must have died without you," she said.
Then he asked to look at poor Thore. He was unconscious, and had a great wound in his temple, cut open almost to the bone. Gudrid told him that when they struck, Thore, who had been at the helm, was thrown out upon the edge of the rock. One of his men, thrown out also, had pulled him up out of the sea. Gudrid herself had been below, sleeping. She did not know how she had been saved. She awoke at the shock to find herself in water. Then Leif saw that she was wet through and almost rigid with cold. He did not believe Thore was dead, nor did she. "No, no, he won't die so. He will die in my arms." So Gudrid said.
They took off the sick man first, and Gudrid with him. Both of them were put to bed, where Gudrid, who was now in a fever, soon became light-headed. Leif attended to her like a woman. It was wonderful to see so big a man so gentle and light in the hand.
He brought them all in safely, and Thore and Gudrid were taken up to Brattalithe, to lodge with Eric until one at least of them was well again. Gudrid very soon recovered, and seemed none the worse, but in all her glow of beauty and health. Thore was much slower. His wound pained him a great deal. Cold had got into it and inflamed it. The pain made him fretful; he seemed much older than a year and a half's absence could account for, and was anxious to get home.