Swanhild, it would be better if thou
gavest thy words to him who is thy lord."

She let the bridle-rein drop from her hands. "I am answered," she said;
"ride on."

Now pity stirred in Eric's heart, for Swanhild's mien was most heavy,
and he leaped down from his horse. "Nay," he said, "speak on, if thou
hast anything to tell me."

"I have this to tell thee, Eric; that now, before we part for ever, I am
come to ask thy pardon for my ill-doing--ay, and to wish all joy to thee
and thy fair love," and she sobbed and choked.

"Speak no more of it, Swanhild," he said, "but let thy good deeds cover
up the ill, which are not small; so thou shalt be happy."

She looked at him strangely, and her face was white with pain.

"How then are we so differently fashioned that thou, Eric, canst prate
to me of happiness when my heart is racked with grief? Oh, Eric, I blame
thee not, for thou hast not wrought this evil on me willingly; but I
say this: that my heart is dead, as I would that I were dead. See those
flowers: they smell sweet--for me they have no odour. Look on the light
leaping from Coldback to the sea, from the sea to Westman Isles, and
from the Westman crown of rocks far into the wide heavens above. It is
beautiful, is it not? Yet I tell thee, Eric, that now to my eyes howling
winter darkness is every whit as fair. Joy is dead within me, music's
but a jangled madness in my ears, food hath no savour on my tongue, my
youth is sped ere my dawn is day. Nothing is left to me, Eric, save this
fair body that thou didst scorn, and the dreams which I may gather from
my hours of scanty sleep, and such shame as befalls a loveless bride."

"Speak not so, Swanhild," he said, and clasped her by the hand, for,
though he loathed her wickedness, being soft-hearted and but young, it
grieved him to hear her words and see the anguish of her mind. For it is
so with men, that they are easily moved by the pleading of a fair woman
who loves them, even though they love her not.

"Yea, I will speak out all my mind before I seal it up for ever. See,
Eric, this is my state and thou hast set this crown of sorrow on my
brows: and thou comest singing down the fell, and I go weeping o'er the
sea! I am not all so ill at heart. It was love of thee that drove me
down to sin, as love of thee might otherwise have lifted me to holiness.
But, loving thee as thou seest, this day I wed a dotard, and go his
chattel and his bride across the sea, and leave thee