heart gave a leap, for there came out from the
woman's door a lady tall and beautiful to see, and with golden hair
that flowed about her breast. It was Gudruda, and he saw that she bore a
napkin in her hand. Then Eric knew, according to her custom on the warm
mornings, that she came alone to bathe in the river, as she had always
done from a child. It was her habit to bathe here in this place: for at
the bottom of the dell was a spot where reeds and bushes grew thick, and
the water lay in a basin of rock and was clear and still. For at this
spot a hot spring ran into the river.

Eric went down the dell, hid himself close in the bushes and waited, for
he feared to speak with Gudruda in the open field. A while passed, and
presently the shadow of the lady crept over the edge of the dell, then
she came herself in that beauty which since her day has not been known
in Iceland. Her face was sad and sweet, her dark and lovely eyes were
sad. On she came, till she stood within a spear's length of where Eric
lay, crouched in the bush, and looking at her through the hedge of
reeds. Here a flat rock overhung the water, and Gudruda sat herself
on this rock, and, shaking off her shoes, dipped her white feet in the
water. Then suddenly she threw aside her cloak, baring her arms, and,
gazing upon the shadow of her beauty in the mirror of the water, sighed
and sighed again, while Eric looked at her with a bursting heart, for as
yet he could find no words to say.

Now she spoke aloud. "Of what use to be so fair?" she said. "Oh,
wherefore was I born so fair to bring death to many and sorrow on myself
and him I love?" And she shook her golden hair about her arms of snow,
and, holding the napkin to her eyes, wept softly. But it seemed to Eric
that between her sobs she called upon his name.

Now Eric could no longer bear the sight of Gudruda weeping. While she
wept, hiding her eyes, he rose from behind the screen of reeds and stood
beside her in such fashion that his shadow fell upon her. She felt the
sunlight pass and looked up. Lo! it was no cloud, but the shape of Eric,
and the sun glittered on his golden helm and hair.

"Eric!" Gudruda cried; "Eric!" Then, remembering how she was attired,
snatching her cloak, she threw it about her arms and thrust her wet feet
into her shoes. "Out upon thee!" she said; "is it not enough, then, that
thou shouldst break thy troth for Swanhild's sake, that thou shouldst
slay my brother and turn my hall to