arken: I was mad with love of Eric, whom from a child I have
turned to, and Gudruda is fairer than I and she took him from me. Most
of all was I mad this night when I wrought the deed of shame, for ill
things counselled me--things that I did not call; and oh, I thank the
Gods--if there are Gods--that Gudruda died not at my hand. See now,
father, I put this evil from me and tear Eric from my heart," and she
made as though she rent her bosom--"I will wed Atli, and be a good
housewife to him, and I crave but this of Gudruda: that she forgive me
her wrong; for it was not done of my will, but of my madness, and of the
driving of those whom my mother taught me to know."

Asmund listened and the springs of his love thawed within him. "Now thou
dost take good counsel," he said, "and of this be sure, that so long as
thou art in that mood none shall harm thee; and for Gudruda, she is the
most gentle of women, and it may well be that she will put away thy sin.
So weep no more, and have no more dealings with thy Finnish witchcraft,
but sleep; and to-morrow I will bear thy word to Atli, for his ship is
bound and thou must swiftly be made a wife."

He went out, bearing the light with him; but Swanhild rose from the
ground and sat on the edge of the bed, staring into the darkness and
shuddering from time to time.

"I shall soon be made his wife," she murmured, "who would be but one
man's wife--and methinks I shall soon be made a widow also. Thou wilt
have me, dotard--take me and thy fate! Well, well; better to wed an Earl
than to be shamed and stretched across the Doom-stone. Oh, weak arms
that failed me at my need, no more will I put trust in you! When next I
wound, it shall be with the tongue; when next I strive to slay, it shall
be by another's hand. Curses on thee, thou ill counseller of darkness,
who didst betray me at the last! Is it for this that I worshipped thee
and swore the oath?"

The morning came, and at the first light Asmund sought the Earl. His
heart was heavy because of the guile that his tongue must practise, and
his face was dark as a winter dawn.

"What news, Asmund?" asked Atli. "_Early tidings are bad tidings_, so
runs the saw, and thy looks give weight to it."

"Not altogether bad, Earl. Swanhild gives herself to thee."

"Of her own will, Asmund?"

"Ay, of her own will. But I have warned thee of her temper."

"Her temper! Little hangs to a maid's temper. Once a wife and it
will melt in softness lik