“Nay, sweet, my May, Valhalla shuts its gates to me, a deedless man; up Bifrost’s rainbow bridge I may not travel, for I do not die with byrnie on breast and sword aloft.  To Hela shall we go, and hand in hand.”

“Art thou sure, Eric, that men find these abodes?  To say sooth, at times I misdoubt me of them.”

“I am not so sure but that I also doubt.  Still, I know this:  that where thou goest there I shall be, Gudruda.”

“Then things are well, and well work the Norns.[*] Still, Eric, of a sudden I grow fey:  for it comes upon me that I shall not die to-night, but that, nevertheless, I shall die with thy arms about me, and at thy side.  There, I see it on the snow!  I lie by thee, sleeping, and one comes with hands outstretched and sleep falls from them like a mist—­by Freya, it is Swanhild’s self!  Oh! it is gone.”

[*] The Northern Fates.

“It was nothing, Gudruda, but a vision of the snow—­an untimely dream that comes before the sleep.  I grow cold and my eyes are heavy; kiss me once again.”

“It was no dream, Eric, and ever I doubt me of Swanhild, for I think she loves thee also, and she is fair and my enemy,” says Gudruda, laying her snow-cold lips on his lips.  “Oh, Eric, awake! awake!  See, the snow is done.”

He stumbled to his feet and looked forth.  Lo! out across the sky flared the wild Northern fires, throwing light upon the darkness.

“Now it seems that I know the land,” said Eric.  “Look:  yonder are Golden Falls, though we did not hear them because of the snow; and there, out at sea, loom the Westmans; and that dark thing is the Temple Hof, and behind it stands the stead.  We are saved, Gudruda, and thus far indeed thou wast fey.  Now rise, ere thy limbs stiffen, and I will set thee on the horse, if he still can run, and lead thee down to Middalhof before the witchlights fail us.”

“So it shall be, Eric.”

Now he led Gudruda to the horse—­that, seeing its master, snorted and shook the snow from its coat, for it was not frozen—­and set her on the saddle, and put his arm about her waist, and they passed slowly through the deep snow.  And Swanhild, too, crept from her place, for her burning rage had kept the life in her, and followed after them.  Many times she fell, and once she was nearly swallowed in a drift of snow and cried out in her fear.

“Who called aloud?” said Eric, turning; “I thought I heard a voice.”

“Nay,” answers Gudruda, “it was but a night-hawk screaming.”

Now Swanhild lay quiet in the drift, but she said in her heart: 

“Ay, a night-hawk that shall tear out those dark eyes of thine, mine enemy!”

The two go on and at length they come to the banked roadway that runs past the Temple to Asmund’s hall.  Here Swanhild leaves them, and, climbing over the turf-wall into the home meadow, passes round the hall by the outbuildings and so comes to the west end of the house, and enters by the men’s door unnoticed of any.  For all the people, seeing a horse coming and a woman seated on it, were gathered in front of the hall.  But Swanhild ran to that shut bed where she slept, and, closing the curtain, threw off her garments, shook the snow from her hair, and put on a linen kirtle.  Then she rested a while, for she was weary, and, going to the kitchen, warmed herself at the fire.