AS time went on, Thorstein Egilson married his daughter Helga to a man
called Thorkel, son of Hallkel, who lived west in Hraundale. Helga went
to his house with him, but loved him little, for she cannot cease to
think of Gunnlaug, though he be dead. Yet was Thorkel a doughty man, and
wealthy of goods, and a good skald.
They had children together not a few, one of them was called Thorarin,
another Thorstein, and yet more they had.
But Helga’s chief joy was to pluck at the threads of that cloak,
Gunnlaug’s gift, and she would be ever gazing at it.
But on a time there came a great sickness to the house of Thorkel and
Helga, and many were bed-ridden for a long time. Helga also fell sick,
and yet she could not keep abed.
So one Saturday evening Helga sat in the fire-hall, and leaned her head
upon her husband’s knees, and had the cloak Gunnlaug’s gift sent for;
and when the cloak came to her she sat up and plucked at it, and gazed
thereon awhile, and then sank back upon her husband’s bosom, and was
dead. Then Thorkel sang this:--
“Dead in mine arms she droopeth,
My dear one, gold-rings bearer,
For God hath changed the life-days
Of this Lady of the linen.
Weary pain hath pined her,
But unto me, the seeker
Of hoard of fishes highway,
Abiding here is wearier.”
Helga was buried in the church there, but Thorke dwelt yet at Hraundale:
but a great matter seemed the death of Helga to all, as was to be looked
for.
AND HERE ENDETH THE STORY.