little. All men are frail, and I have a draught that will make the heart
as wax; but yet the other path is surer."

"And what is that path, my mother?"

"It runs through blood to blackness. By thy side is a knife and in
Gudruda's bosom beats a heart. Dead women are unmeet for love!"

Swanhild tossed her head and looked upon the dark face of Groa her
mother.

"Methinks, with such an end to win, I should not fear to tread that
path, if there be need, my mother."

"Now I see thou art indeed my daughter. Happiness is to the bold. To
each it comes in uncertain shape. Some love power, some wealth, and
some--a man. Take that which thou lovest--I say, cut thy path to it and
take it; else shall thy life be but a weariness: for what does it serve
to win the wealth and power when thou lovest a man alone, or the man
when thou dost desire gold and the pride of place? This is wisdom: to
satisfy the longing of thy youth; for age creeps on apace and beyond is
darkness. Therefore, if thou seekest this man, and Gudruda blocks thy
path, slay her, girl--by witchcraft or by steel--and take him, and in
his arms forget that thine own are red. But first let us try the
easier plan. Daughter, I too hate this proud girl, who scorns me as her
father's light-of-love. I too long to see that bright head of hers dull
with the dust of death, or, at the least, those proud eyes weeping tears
of shame as the man she hates leads her hence as a bride. Were it not
for her I should be Asmund's wife, and, when she is gone, with thy
help--for he loves thee much and has cause to love thee--this I may be