"you must not do that. Nobody is at fault."
But Halldis thought Einar had been much to blame. She would have
comforted Gudrid and made much of her if she had been able--but Gudrid
would not have that. She served the table as before, and sat by
Halldis afterwards while the men talked and passed the mead about. She
was pale and silent, but did not give way, nor leave them till her
usual time. When she was in her bed she sobbed, and buried her hot
face in the bolster; but even then she did not cry. She was always
impatient of deeds which led nowhere--and crying is a great deed.

In the morning they parted. "I shall sail as soon as may be now," he
told her. "Iceland will be hateful to me if it hold us two apart."

"Maybe you will seek out the new country," she said, with a bleak smile.

"Maybe," he said. "But it may be you who see it first." She shook her
head sadly.

"We do foolishly when we talk of my fate," she said, and then there was
a silence which was like a winter fog. She broke it by throwing
herself into his arms.

"Listen," she said with passion, "listen. They will give me to another
man, but I shall be yours all the while. They might give me to two
men, one on the heels of another, but it would be nothing. Do you
believe it? You must believe it, you must."

"I believe it," said Einar; "but it is dreadful to talk about."

"No, it is not dreadful, because I tell you it is nothing," she said.
"You are free to do what you will, and you offer me yourself. I did
not like to accept it, because I thought I could give you nothing. But
now I know I can. Tell me that you believe me, and then I must go."

He told her as he kissed her that he believed her--but it was not true.
He did not believe her because he could not.

Then they parted. She went back to Orme's house, and he went his way
along the shore of the frith.

V

Gudrid did not see Einar again. Kettle, the reeve of Bathbrink, came
down to fetch her away, and by now she was behind him on his pad, while
Einar was far into the fells. He did not return until late, and then
he told Orme that he should sail with the first tide. "Whither will
you go?" He said that he must go back to Norway to discharge, and
after that did not know what he should do. "I am in heavy trouble over
the way this has turned out. At such times a man cares little what may
become of him."

"Yes, but men get over it," Orme said.

"I think that I shall