IV

Einar spoke to Orme about the affair, and Orme put on a scared look,

though he had been expecting something of the kind. "You will find

Thorbeorn hard to deal with," he said.

Einar replied, "Hard or not, I intend to come at him, for I love

Gudrid, and she loves me. She is worth fighting for, being as good as

she is fair."

"She is so," said Orme; "but, to tell you the truth, I don't know how

you will set about it."

"I shall ask you to be my friend in it," Einar said. "He will listen

to you sooner than any one."

Orme put his head on one side. "I don't care much about your errand.

You will get me into hot water with Thorbeorn. Don't I tell you that

he is a great man, an old settler and what-not? He knows his

forefathers back to Baldur the Beautiful."

"You are telling me what I know already," said Einar, who was rather

red, and showed a frown. "My own birth is no such thing. My father

was a freedman. Well, I couldn't help that."

"If I am telling you stale news, neighbour," said Orme, "it is only

that you may see what I have to tell Thorbeorn."

"Yes, yes, I know," Einar said. "He is a man of rank, and I no such

thing. I grant it. But I have money, do you see? I am well off both

in ships and credit; my name stands well in the world. And I am young,

and he is old. I think I could be useful to Thorbeorn, if he would

allow it--and I need not tell you I set no bounds in reason upon what I

would put down for the sake of the match."

"Well," said Orme, "I will go and see him."

Gudrid could hear nothing of this until the morning; but then Einar

told her what he had arranged with Orme. She now considered herself as

pledged to Einar, though she was nothing of the kind. Loyalty to him

persuaded her of it, and he found that very sweet, and was touched.

They sat close together on the brae; she allowed him her hand, and

rested her cheek on his shoulder. Einar, who was an honest young man,

began to fear that he was doing wrong to allow it. But he could not

resist a word or two for himself. He told her of his birth, saying

that his father, Thorgar, of Thorgar's Fell, had been a freedman, but

had done well since. "It is right you should know these things," he

said.

Gudrid said that it was nothing to her; but Einar warned her that it

might be much to her father. He went on: "To you perhaps it is enough

that I love you dearly--and to me it is enough. But who knows? Maybe

I shall not have the right to talk to you after to-morrow or next day.

Now I wish to say this to you, that I shall never look at another

woman, and will bind myself to you if you will accept it of me."

She sat erect at that and looked gravely at him. "You ought not to

bind yourself," she said, "since I cannot."

"You cannot. I know that," he said. "But I both can and will."

Thereupon he brought out a handful of money from his breast and chose a

gold coin of thin soft gold, with the head of a ragged old king on it.

He told her where it came from, and how he had had it from a dead man

after a battle in the mouth of a great river in Russia. Then he bit it

in the middle with his teeth, and indented it fairly. He bent it to

and fro until it was broken in half; and next he bored a hole in each

portion, and gave one to Gudrid.

"Now I have tokened myself to you, my love," he said. "Do you wear

that upon a chain which I will give you presently, and remember when

you look at it, or take it in your hands, that I wear the fellow. If

ever you want me, you have only to let that half-moon of gold come into

Orme's hands, and sooner or later you will see me again. And so let it

be between us from henceforward if you will."

She took the coin, and closed her hand upon it until he should give her

the chain, but having it, she could not be to him as she had been

before. She sat up straight and looked at the sea. Her hand was free

for him; but he did not take it, and she felt sure he would not.

A constraint fell upon them; neither could find anything to say. Fate

was between them.

So it was until Orme came back with his news.

He had nothing good to report. Thorbeorn had heard him with

impatience, and as soon as he had ended put himself into a rage. His

thin neck stiffened, his faded eyes showed fire. "Do you offer for my

daughter on behalf of a thrall's son? Well for him he put you forward

instead of a smaller man. But I take it ill coming from you whom I

have always treated as a friend."

Orme had excused himself on the score of Einar's merits--for which he

could answer, he said--and well-being. "He has two ships at sea in the

Norway trade. His credit stands high on each side the water. There's

many a worse man than he well married--and he loves your Gudrid beyond

price. There is nothing he will not put down for her."

But that had wounded Thorbeorn in his most sensitive part. He knew

that he was ruined and could not bear that other men should know it

also. "It is hard that his money should tempt you to insult a poor

man," he said. "I am what I am, and that is a man not so poor but he

can keep his honour clear. You must think me poor indeed in other

things than goods when you ask me to trade my own flesh and blood. Let

me hear no more of it for fear I may get angry. It is the case, I see,

that I rate my daughter's marriage more highly than you seem able to

conceive of. I made a great mistake when I left her in your charge

precisely to avoid what you have brought upon me. Now she shall come

home, where she can be valued at the worth of her name and person.

That is what I have to say to you, Orme." With that he had looked Orme

straight in the face, and there had been no more to urge.

Einar heard it from Orme, but it was Halldis who told Gudrid the news.

Gudrid received it in silence, but put her hand up and laid it over the

token which fluttered in her bosom. "My pretty one," said Halldis, "I

blame myself."

"No, no," Gudrid said, "you must not do that. Nobody is at fault."

But Halldis thought Einar had been much to blame. She would have

comforted Gudrid and made much of her if she had been able--but Gudrid

would not have that. She served the table as before, and sat by

Halldis afterwards while the men talked and passed the mead about. She

was pale and silent, but did not give way, nor leave them till her

usual time. When she was in her bed she sobbed, and buried her hot

face in the bolster; but even then she did not cry. She was always

impatient of deeds which led nowhere--and crying is a great deed.

In the morning they parted. "I shall sail as soon as may be now," he

told her. "Iceland will be hateful to me if it hold us two apart."

"Maybe you will seek out the new country," she said, with a bleak smile.

"Maybe," he said. "But it may be you who see it first." She shook her

head sadly.

"We do foolishly when we talk of my fate," she said, and then there was

a silence which was like a winter fog. She broke it by throwing

herself into his arms.

"Listen," she said with passion, "listen. They will give me to another

man, but I shall be yours all the while. They might give me to two

men, one on the heels of another, but it would be nothing. Do you

believe it? You must believe it, you must."

"I believe it," said Einar; "but it is dreadful to talk about."

"No, it is not dreadful, because I tell you it is nothing," she said.

"You are free to do what you will, and you offer me yourself. I did

not like to accept it, because I thought I could give you nothing. But

now I know I can. Tell me that you believe me, and then I must go."

He told her as he kissed her that he believed her--but it was not true.

He did not believe her because he could not.

Then they parted. She went back to Orme's house, and he went his way

along the shore of the frith.

V

Gudrid did not see Einar again. Kettle, the reeve of Bathbrink, came

down to fetch her away, and by now she was behind him on his pad, while

Einar was far into the fells. He did not return until late, and then

he told Orme that he should sail with the first tide. "Whither will

you go?" He said that he must go back to Norway to discharge, and

after that did not know what he should do. "I am in heavy trouble over

the way this has turned out. At such times a man cares little what may

become of him."

"Yes, but men get over it," Orme said.

"I think that I shall not. There is that in her which will prevent me."

"She is like all women, I fancy," Orme said; "very tender where they

are loved. They set more store upon love than men do, and whosoever

offers it to them, it is a valuable thing, and enhances the offerer."

"That is not Gudrid's way," said Einar.

Orme felt sorry for him.

"Thorbeorn will make a marriage for Gudrid, you may be sure," he said.

"And I dare swear she will be a good wife to the man who gets her."

"It is certain," said Einar.

Early next day he weighed his anchor and went down the frith. Now he

leaves the tale.

But he did not leave Gudrid's mind, who now had little else to think

of. Her father said nothing to her of the reason which had brought her

home. He was stately and remote. Nor did he mention his difficulties,

which were gathering so close about his house. But they were common

knowledge at Bathbrink, and Gudrid heard of little else from morning

till night. There was scarcity there, not of provision, but of guests.

No young men came about the house, or filled the great table in the

hall. Other men came, who wanted money, and went grumbling away, with

voices which rose higher in complaint as they went further from the

house. Thorbeorn himself was often away, and used to come back more

silent and proud than he had gone out. The winter set in with wind and

drifting snow. Darkness drew closer about the country; the sky was

lemon colour, the fells were black. It was the time of great fires,

and long festivals within-doors; but Thorbeorn's hall remained empty.

In the face of such manifest misery the love she had given to Einar and

received from him shone far off like a winter star, which had no warmth

for the blood. She used to look fondly at her token and try to make

herself believe that his strong teeth had bitten the deep gauffres into

its edge. When she succeeded the scene came back to her, she felt

again as she had when he had been standing there beside her on the brae

overlooking the racing water. Her eyes grew misty as she looked away

into the dark, holding her relic clenched in her hand. But it was not

real; these were only dreams of him.

So the winter came upon Bathbrink and lapped it in snow, and love grew

numb with cold.