Now while all men shouted such a welcome that the hall shook, and as Unna, smiling, drank from the cup, the eyes of Asmund fell upon Groa who stood beneath him, and lo! her eyes seemed to flame and her face was hideous as the face of a troll.

Asmund grew white and put his hand to his head, as though to think, then cried aloud: 

“Drink not, Unna! the draught is drugged!” and he struck at the vessel with his hand.

He smote it indeed, and so hard that it flew from her hand far down the hall.

But Unna had already drunk deep.

“The draught is drugged!” Asmund cried, and pointed to Groa, while all men stood silent, not knowing what to do.

“The draught is drugged!” he cried a third time, “and that witch has drugged it!” And he began to tear at his breast.

Then Groa laughed so shrilly that men trembled to hear her.

“Yes, lord,” she screamed, “the draught is drugged, and Groa the Witch-wife hath drugged it!  Ay, tear thy heart out, Asmund, and Unna, grow thou white as snow—­soon, if my medicine has virtue, thou shalt be whiter yet!  Hearken all men.  Asmund the Priest is Swanhild’s father, and for many a year I have been Asmund’s mate.  What did I tell thee, lord?—­that I would see the two of you dead ere Unna should take my place!—­ay, and on Gudruda the Fair, thy daughter, and Bjoern thy son, and Eric Brighteyes, Gudruda’s love, and many another man—­on them too shall my curse fall!  Tear thy heart out, Asmund!  Unna, grow thou white as snow!  The draught is drugged and Groa, Ran’s gift!  Groa the Witch-Wife!  Groa, Asmund’s love! hath drugged it!”

And ere ever a man might lift a hand to stay her Groa glided past the high seat and was gone.

For a space all stood silent.  Asmund ceased clutching at his breast.  Rising he spoke heavily: 

“Now I learn that sin is a stone to smite him who hurled it.  Gudruda the Gentle spoke sooth when she warned me against this woman. New wed, new dead! Unna, fare thee well!”

And straightway Asmund fell down and died there by the high seat in his own hall.

Unna gazed at him with ashen face.  Then, plucking at her bosom she sprang from the dais and rushed along the hall, screaming.  Men made way for her, and at the door she also fell dead.

This then was the end of Asmund Asmundson the Priest, and Unna, Thorod’s daughter, Eric’s cousin, his new-made wife.

For a moment there was silence in the hall.  But before the echoes of Unna’s screams had died away, Bjoern cried aloud: 

“The witch! where is the witch?”

Then with a yell of rage, men leaped to their feet, seizing their weapons, and rushed from the stead.  Out they ran.  There, on the hill-side far above them, a black shape climbed and leapt swiftly.  They gave tongue like dogs set upon a wolf and sped up the hill.

They gained the crest of the hill, and now they were at Goldfoss brink.  Lo! the witch-wife had crossed the bed of the torrent, for little rain had fallen and the river was low.  She stood on Sheep-saddle, the water running from her robes.  On Sheep-saddle she stood and cursed them.