Gudrid's fortune was envied by the girls of the house, who expressed themselves freely about it. "With your looks," they said, "it was to be expected she would take notice of you. But to see so much, and to tell you all!" The poor girl herself, however, took it very hard, and saw herself punished for impiety. She felt as if she was branded for ever—the girl who was to kill two men, and perhaps a third. In her mind's eye she could see that doomed first husband of hers, the shadow coldly upon him, herself looking sorrowfully at him, seeing him in the shadow but not able to speak of it. Her heart gave a leap of gratitude that Einar had been sent away by her father. It might have been he in the shadow. But would he be the second? Ah, no, she vowed he should not. Or would he be the third? Not if the third was to be an ugly man. Then there was the promise of the end: "Your ways tend to Iceland . . . thither you will return . . . you shall end your life-days in the way that pleases you best." Could that mean that Einar——? But after three honourable men had received death at her hand! She shuddered and hugged herself against the cold. Not even the promise of Einar seemed fortification enough for that. Nevertheless, there was comfort in the last days. She told her bedfellow stoutly that she did not believe a word of it, but the girl merely stared at her. Then she said: "I know who your first husband will be if he can persuade Thorbeorn. It is Skeggi of Whitewaterstrand." After that Gudrid had to be told all about it.

She told her father too—but not so stoutly—that she did not believe it; but in her heart she felt that it must be true. As for Thorbeorn, who had heard it all through the wall, whatever he may have thought, he was very indignant, and angry with her too. "Put such mummery out of your head. We are not Christians for nothing, I should hope. A scandalous hag with her bell-wether voice and airs of a great lady! What has she to do with good women, well brought up? A woman's duty is to leave match-making to her parents, and the future to God and His Angels. Who can foretell his end? Can the priest? Can the bishop? No. And who would wish to know it? Ask yourself. I am vexed that we should have fallen upon a heathen house, and much more that you should have lent yourself to its wicked customs."

Gudrid excused herself. "I couldn't help myself. They are kind people. It would have been ungracious. And I did know the songs. How could I have said I did not?"

"And who taught you such songs?"

"Halldis sang them," she said; "I learnt them of her."

He had to allow for much that she urged. "Well, think no more of it," he bade her.

"No, I must not," she said.

"When the time comes, when we are settled by Eric Red, I shall find a good husband for you, beyond a doubt."

"Yes," said Gudrid.

"Then we shall have the laugh of these mystery-mongers."

"Yes."

"As for me, I never heard such nonsense in my days."

"No," said Gudrid, looking about for a way of escape. She could neither put it out of her head, nor believe it nonsense. Fate hung heavy on her like a pall of smoke.

She had Skeggi of Whitewaterstrand pointed out to her by her room-mate, and recognised him as a young man she had often seen at the house. Now immediately she looked upon him with tenderness, and received his advances to acquaintance with such kindness that he conceived high hopes and went about with his chest swelling with pride. But all the time he was talking to her, or at her, rather, with the other girls, her heart was calling to him, "Do not marry me, do not, do not——" which he, unfortunately, interpreted in the opposite sense.

Oddly enough, though every one in the Settlement had heard the soothsay, and nobody doubted it, she was the only person concerned who took it closely to heart. Young Skeggi was earnest to have her to wife, and asked Heriolf to put his case forward to Thorbeorn. Thorbeorn, however, would have nothing to say to him. Skeggi disappeared, and Gudrid had a moment's ease.

The first things foretold by Thorberg came about with the quickening of the year. With the first blowing of the warm wet wind of the west, the fogs began to roll away off the land and pile themselves upon the flanks of the mountains. Then, when the earth had warmth enough in her body to thaw the iron mail about her ribs, the sickness in the Settlement abated. Men felt the light, and saw whence it came. The sun showed himself, first like a silver coin, then with sensible heat. The cattle were put out to pasture, the sheep could move and nibble about the foothills. Hens began to lay, cows to give milk, sheep to drop lambs. Thorbeorn made ready to sail to Ericsfrith, and Gudrid was able to forget that she was marked with a curse.

So the day for sailing came, a bright spring day with a soft wind, which crisped the waters of the bay and heaped froth upon the stones. At parting, old Heriolf twinkled his kind and frosty eyes upon Gudrid. "Farewell, my child," he said; "you are a notable woman who will do great things." She smiled, but sadly. "It seems I am to bring unhappiness to many," she said. "No, no, that's not how I look at it," said Heriolf. "Men must die, we all know. But more than one are to have your love and kindness while they live—and that is more than they ought to expect. If I were not so old, or my son Biorn were at home, we would keep you in the family. Who wants a long life? Not I, though I have had it. But who wants a good wife? Who does not?"

Gudrid said, "To be good is the least I can do. It seems very easy.
But to be happy is difficult."

"I never found it so," said old Heriolf. And so they parted, she whither Fate beckoned her, and he to go fishing.