"Wait," said Freydis, "until you have a man for a mate." But that made
Gudrid's eyes bright.
"You must not scorn my husband to my face," she said.
"Pooh!" said Freydis; "he's not here for long." Then Gudrid turned
pale, and grew very grave.
"You know that, then?"
"Why," said Freydis, "it is common knowledge. We have all had to do
with Thorberg. She has the second sight."
"That is dreadful to me," Gudrid said, but Freydis took it easily.
"You are woman enough to bear what you must bear," she said. "One of
you must die before the other. I hope you don't want to share graves
with such an old man as Thore? Well, then, suppose it had been you
that were to die first--do you suppose that Thore would have left you
for some other girl? What do you take him for? Not he. He's man
enough to have his pleasure. Trust him for that."
Such was Freydis, who treated her own husband with a high hand, and
sent for him when she wanted him.
Freydis spoke of the marriage of Thorstan and Gudrid as of an appointed
thing. "You will suit each other," she said. "There is good mettle in
Thorstan."
Gudrid could say nothing to that. The fate hung heavy upon her. She
felt that she was killing Thore, and had the knife in readiness with
which to kill--not Thorstan but herself. For she knew that she had
given Thorstan her heart, and that his death would be more certainly
her own.
Meantime, with a dreadful fascination, she watched the doom settling
like a storm about her husband Thore. She only saw it; he himself, now
that he was better, was unconscious of anything impending. He talked
hopefully of what he should do when Thorwald came home with news of
Wineland, having forgotten his dark commerce with Thorstan. But
Thorstan had not forgotten, and seemed to be waiting, like a raven on a
rock, until he should be dead. Gudrid, who was fanciful, saw herself
and him in that guise--silent and watchful, each on a rock, made
patient by certainty. All this was terrible to her, and made her old
before her time. She was not more than three-and-twenty even now.
Thorstan avoided her, which made matters no better, but worse, rather;
for she knew why he did it, and felt spotted, and longed to see him,
and felt that she was accursed.
So life drew along for that summer and autumn; and then the long
Greenland winter began, with the dark and the clinging, frozen fog.
Thore seemed to make no stand against it, but took to his bed, from
which Gudrid knew he would never rise. She waited on him hand and
foot; he lay there watching her with his aching eyes, and wounded her
to the heart. He hardly ever spoke, and seldom asked for anything.
Thorstan used to come up most days to ask how he did. Gudrid knew
quite well when he was on the road, and would tell Thore. "Here is
Thorstan Ericsson coming. Will you not see him?"
"Nay, nay, not yet," was Thore's answer.
Then there came a day when, being very ill, and nearly blind with
fever, Thore asked to see Thorstan. So Gudrid opened the door to him,
and her colour came back to her when she said, "Thore has asked for
you. Come in, then."
Thorstan, glowing in his health and strength, came into the hall.
Gudrid took his furs from him to dry them by the fire, for the fog was
frozen thick upon them.
Thorstan sat on the edge of the bed, and asked Thore how he did. "I do
badly," said Thore, "but before long it will be better with me."
Gudrid was turning away when he said to her, "Nay, do you stop here. I
shall need you." So she stood where she was, a little way from the
bed, half dreading and half glorying in what was to come.
Thore shut his eyes and seemed to wander in sleep. They heard him
talking very fast to himself--counting the same things over and over
again, and always failing at a certain number. They thought he was
counting sheep--but it was salmon in a net. Thorstan watched him
attentively, while Gudrid stood in a spell; but presently Thorstan got
up and fetched a stool for her to sit upon. She could not look at him
to thank him. So the time passed in silence, broken only by the
feverish whispering of the sick man. The thoughts of the man were
deeply upon the woman, and the joy of her nearness made his heart beat.
As for her thoughts, if there was no joy in them, there was great
content, and a sense of peace which she had not known for a long while.
She thought that a word from him might have broken down her peace.
"What need of speech between us two?" she thought. "I would live with
him and know all his thoughts, and tell him all mine without speech at
all."
Presently Thore woke up with a start and asked what time it was. "It
is late," Gudrid said. "I will bring you your broth, and maybe you
will sleep a little." She turned away to the fire, but Thore said
sharply, "Stay; there is no need for broth now." Then he said, "Are
you there, Thorstan? I cannot see you." Thorstan said, "Here I am."
Thore spoke again. "Take the hand of Gudrid, and tell me that you have
it." He faltered for a moment, but then looked at Gudrid, and called
her with that look. She went over and gave him her hand.
"Is it done?" said Thore.
"Yes, it is done," he was told.
"Her father was too quick when he married her to me, and you, maybe,
were over-slow," Thore said. "She would have married you at first if
you had asked her. Now you must make the most of your time, for it
won't be long. And I knew what the matter was between you from the
first, but in those days I loved her dearly and could not let her go.
Now do you two be married soon, and take it not amiss with me that I
have outstayed my time."
"You do wrong to speak so," Thorstan said. "Gudrid has been faithful
and loving to you; and it is no fault of hers that she knew how it
would turn out."
"No, no," said Thore. "She has been good to me."
"Now I will tell you," said Thorstan, "that I have the second sight
myself, and know what my fate is, and that she must take a third
husband. But if it were my fate to die the day after my wedding with
Gudrid, I would wed her if she would take me. You, Thore, are dying a
Christian. See to it, then, that you do not die with hard judgments of
Gudrid in your heart."
Thore lay still, breathing very short. They believed he was struggling
with his thoughts.
Presently he called her, and she went to him, and kneeled by the
bedhead, and put her cheek against his. He lay very still, and she
remained patiently waiting. So then he had a great convulsion, and
struggled in it; and then turned violently in his bed and sat up. He
saw Gudrid kneeling, and smiled at her. It was as if he had newly
awoken out of sleep, and was himself again as she had first known him.
She, as if knowing his mind, leaned towards him. He kissed her
forehead, and lay down again. In a few moments more he was dead.
When they had laid him out, and lighted tapers about him, Thorstan
said: "Do you now go and sleep, and I will sit up with him." She asked
with the eyes that she might stay, but he would not have it. So she
went away and made a bed by the fire, and slept long. He did not touch
her, would not look at her. They neither kissed when they parted, nor
at all until Thore was buried. But after that, when she was at
Brattalithe, and he found her there, he took her in his arms.