"Often hast thou been more glad, master, than thou art now, but thou hast some right to be so."
"Of a truth," said Flosi, "that hath now come on my hands, which I would give all my goods that it had never happened. Ill seed has been sown, and so an ill crop will spring from it."
Thence he rode over Arnstacksheath, and so to Solheim that evening. There dwelt Lodmund Wolf's son, but he was a great friend of Flosi, and there he stayed that night, and next morning Lodmund rode with him into the Dale.
There dwelt Runolf, the son of Wolf Aurpriest.
Flosi said to Runolf—
"Here we shall have true stories as to the slaying of Hauskuld, the Priest of Whiteness. Thou art a truthful man, and hast got at the truth by asking, and I will trust to all that thou tellest me as to what was the cause of quarrel between them."
"There is no good in mincing the matter," said Runolf, "but we must say outright that he has been slain for less than no cause; and his death is a great grief to all men. No one thinks it so much a loss as Njal, his foster-father."
"Then they will be ill off for help from men," says Flosi; "and they will find no one to speak up for them."
"So it will be," says Runolf, "unless it be otherwise foredoomed."
"What has been done in the suit?" says Flosi.