But hardly had she said this before she saw Hjalte's face glow with fierce wrath.
'Why should I help thee to escape the fate that awaits thee?' he asked.
And then he said that he did not think he had any cause to show her mercy. He hated her for having sinned against her sister. The man that she would steal, thief as she was, belonged to Ingegerd. Even a hardened warrior like Hjalte must groan with pain when he thought of how Ingegerd had suffered. But Astrid had felt nothing. In the midst of all that young maiden's sorrow she had come with wicked and cruel cunning, and had only sought her own happiness. Woe unto Astrid! woe unto her!
Hjalte had lowered his voice; it became heavy and dull; it sounded to Astrid as if he were murmuring an incantation.
'It is thou,' he said to her, 'who hast destroyed my most beautiful song.' For the most beautiful song Hjalte had made was the one in which he had joined the most pious of all women with the greatest of all men. 'But thou hast spoiled my song,' he said, 'and made a mockery of it; and I will punish thee, thou child of Hél. I will punish thee; as the Lord punisheth the tempter who brought sin into His world, I will punish thee. But do not ask me,' he continued, 'to protect thee against thine own self. I remember the Princess, and how she must suffer through the trick thou playest on King Olaf. For her sake thou shalt be punished, just as much as for mine. I will not go with thee to betray thee. That is my revenge, Astrid. I will not betray thee. Go thou to Kungahälla, Astrid; and if thou dost not speak of thine own accord, thou wilt become the King's bride. But then, thou serpent, punishment shall overtake thee! I know King Olaf, and I know thee. Thy life shall be such a burden that thou wilt wish for death every day that passes.'
When Hjalte had said this he turned away from her and went his way.
Astrid sat a long time silent, thinking of what she had heard. But then a smile came over her face. He forgot, did old Hjalte, that she had suffered many trials, that she had learnt to laugh at pain. But happiness, happiness, that she had never tried.
And Astrid rose and went to the opening of the tent. She saw the angry Bard's ship. She thought that far, far away she could see Iceland, shrouded in mist, welcoming her much-travelled son with cold and darkness.
III
A sunny day late in the harvest, not a cloud in the sky; a day when one thinks the fair sun will give to the earth all the light she possesses! The fair sun is like a mother whose son is about to set out for a far-off land, and who, in the hour of the leave-taking, cannot take her eyes from the beloved.