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“Clean sheets, I suppose,” says Aud, but her hand quavered as she wound her hair.

“Woman!” cried Finnward, “these are the bed-sheets of Thorgunna–these are the sheets she died in! do not lie to me!”

At that Aud turned and looked at him. “Well?” says she, “they have been washed.”

Finnward lay down again in the bed between Thorgunna’s sheets, and groaned; never a word more he said, for now he knew he was a coward and a man dishonoured. Presently his wife came beside him, and they lay still, but neither slept.

It might be twelve in the night when Aud felt Finnward shudder so strong that the bed shook.

“What ails you?” said she.

“I know not,” he said. “It is a chill like the chill of death. My soul is sick with it.” His voice fell low. “It was so Thorgunna sickened,” said he. And he arose and walked in the hall in the dark till it came morning.

Early in the morning he went forth to the sea-fishing with four lads. Aud was troubled at heart and watched him from the door, and even as he went down the beach she saw him shaken with Thorgunna’s shudder. It was a rough day, the sea was wild, the boat laboured exceedingly, and it may be that Finnward’s mind was troubled with his sickness. Certain it is that they struck, and their boat was burst, upon a skerry under Snowfellness. The four lads were spilled into the sea, and the sea broke and buried them, but Finnward was cast upon the skerry, and clambered up, and sat there all day long: God knows his thoughts. The sun was half-way down, when a shepherd went by on the cliffs about his business, and spied a man in the midst of the breach of the loud seas, upon a pinnacle of reef. He hailed him, and the man turned and hailed again. There was in that cove so great a clashing of the seas and so shrill a cry of sea-fowl that the herd might hear the voice and nor the words. But the name Thorgunna came to him, and he saw the face of Finnward Keelfarer like the face of an old man. Lively ran the herd to Finnward’s house; and when his tale was told there, Eyolf the boy was lively to out a boat and hasten to his father’s aid. By the strength of hands they drove the keel against the seas, and with skill and courage Eyolf won upon the skerry and climbed up, There sat his father dead; and this was the first vengeance of Thorgunna against broken faith.

It was a sore job to get the corpse on board, and a sorer yet to bring it home before the rolling seas. But the lad Eyolf was a lad of promise, and the lads that pulled for him were sturdy men. So the break-faith’s body was got home, and waked, and buried on the hill. Aud was a good widow and wept much, for she liked Finnward well enough. Yet a bird sang in her ears that now she might marry a young man. Little fear that she might have her choice of them, she thought, with all Thorgunna’s fine things; and her heart was cheered.

Now, when the corpse was laid in the hill, Asdis came where Aud sat solitary in hall, and stood by her awhile without speech.

“Well, child?” says Aud; and again “Well?” and then “Keep us holy, if you have anything to say, out with it!”

So the maid came so much nearer, “Mother,” says she, “I wish you would not wear these things that were Thorgunna’s.”

“Aha,” cries Aud. “This is what it is? You begin early, brat! And who has been poisoning your mind? Your fool of a father, I suppose.” And then she stopped and went all scarlet. “Who told you they were yours?” she asked again, taking it all the higher for her stumble. “When you are grown, then you shall have your share and not a day before. These things are not for babies.”