is true," said Gudruda.

"Wherefore, then, dost thou taunt me with being Swanhild's love--with
being the love of her whom of all alive I hate the most--and whose
wicked guile has brought these sorrows on us?"

But Gudruda did not answer.

"And for this matter of the death of Bjoern at my hands, think, Gudruda:
was I to blame in it? Did not Bjoern thrust the cloven shield before my
feet, and thus give me into the hand of Ospakar? Did he not afterwards
smite at me from behind, and would he not have slain me if Skallagrim
had not caught the blow? Was I, then, to blame if I smote back and if
the sword flew home? Wilt thou let the needful deed rise up against our
love? Speak, Gudruda!"

"Talk no more of love to me, Eric," she answered; "the blood of Bjoern
has blotted out our love: it cries to me for vengeance. How may I speak
of love with him who slew my brother? Listen!" she went on, looking on
him sidelong, as one who wished to look and yet not seem to see: "here
thou must hide an hour, and, since thou wilt not sit in silence, speak
no tender words to me, for it is not fitting; but tell me of those
deeds thou didst in the south lands over sea, before thou wentest to woo
Swanhild and camest hither to kill my brother. For till then thou wast
mine--till then I loved thee--who now love thee not. Therefore I would
hear of the deeds of that Eric whom once I loved, before he became as
one dead to me."

"Heavy words, lady," said Eric--"words to make death easy."

"Speak not so," she said; "it is unmanly thus to work upon my fears.
Tell me those tidings of which I ask."

So Eric told her all his deeds, though he showed small boastfulness
about them. He told her how he had smitten the war-dragons of Ospakar,
how he had boarded the Raven and with Skallagrim slain those who sailed
in her. He told her also of his deeds in Ireland, and of how he took the
viking ships and came to London town.

And as he told, Gudruda listened as one who hung upon her lover's dying
words, and there was but one light in the world for her, the light of
Eric's eyes, and there was but one music, the music of his voice. Now
she looked upon him sidelong no longer, but with open eyes and parted
lips she drank in his words, and always, though she knew it not herself,
she crept closer to his side.

Then he told her how he had been greatly honoured of the King of
England, and of the battles he had fought in at his side. Lastly, Eric
told her how the Ki