Then with much labour they loosed the grip of the two men one from the other, and they set Skallagrim on the plank.  But eight men bore Eric up the cliff between them, and the task was not light, though the Earl held his head, from which the golden hair hung like seaweed from a rock.

At length they came to the hall and carried them in.  Swanhild, seeing them come, moved down from the high seat.

“Bring lamps, and pile up the fires,” cried Atli.  “A strange thing has come to pass, Swanhild, and thou dost dream wisely, indeed, for here we have Eric Brighteyes and Skallagrim Lambstail.  They were locked like lovers in each other’s arms, but I know not if they are dead or living.”

Now Swanhild started and came on swiftly.  Had the Familiar tricked her and had she paid the price for nothing?  Was Eric taken from Gudruda and given to her indeed—­but given dead?  She bent over him, gazing keenly on his face.  Then she spoke.

“He is not dead but senseless.  Bring dry clothes, and make water hot,” and, kneeling down, she loosed Eric’s helm and harness and ungirded Whitefire from his side.

For long Swanhild and Atli tended Eric at one fire, and the serving women tended Skallagrim at the other.  Presently there came a cry that Skallagrim stirred, and Atli with others ran to see.  At this moment also the eyes of Eric were unsealed, and Swanhild saw them looking at her dimly from beneath.  Moved to it by her passion and her joy that he yet lived, Swanhild let her face fall till his was hidden in her unbound hair, and kissed him upon the lips.  Eric shut his eyes again, sighing heavily, and presently he was asleep.  They bore him to a bed and heaped warm wrappings upon him.  At daybreak he woke, and Atli, who sat watching at his side, gave him hot mead to drink.

“Do I dream?” said Eric, “or is it Earl Atli who tends me, and did I but now see the face of Swanhild bending over me?”

“It is no dream, Eric, but the truth.  Thou hast been cast away here on my isle of Straumey.”

“And Skallagrim—­where is Skallagrim?”

“Skallagrim lives—­fear not!”

“And my comrades, how went it with them?”

“But ill, Eric.  Ran has them all.  Now sleep!”

Eric groaned aloud.  “I had rather died also than live to hear such heavy tidings,” he said.  “Witch-work! witch-work! and that fair witch-face wrought it.”  And once again he slept, nor did he wake till the sun was high.  But Atli could make nothing of his words.

When Swanhild left the side of Eric she met Hall of Lithdale face to face and his looks were troubled.

“Say, lady,” he asked, “will Brighteyes live?”

“Grieve not, Hall,” she answered, “Eric will surely live and he will be glad to find a messmate here to greet him, having left so many yonder,” and she pointed to the sea.

“I shall not be glad,” said Hall, letting his eyes fall.

“Why not, Hall?  Fearest thou Skallagrim? or hast thou done ill by Eric?”