Who knows what plots and plans were laid, and all with the best intentions? The upshot of it was, one fine day appears Asdis herself, with men and maids, come to visit her dear friend Halldora in the new house. For three days it was “O Thorstein, how well you boys have managed! what a fine house! what bonny gear! what a sweet spot!” and so forth. And everything was Thorstein’s doing, as if he had built the fells and rigged the very sky overhead.

“Heigho!” she sighed, when Hundi and Halldora had left them alone, “it’s bad to be illfavoured.”

“Who’s illfavoured?” said Thorstein.

“Not Halldora, in her own house at home: and with a man of her own fit to kiss the ground she steps on.”

“I warrant Hundi is a lucky fellow: but the mistress of Asmundarlea must be ill to suit if she waits a day longer than she likes.”

“That’s your London talk, Thorstein: thou’st gitten o’er fine for us hereaway.”

“Never say so. Nay, Asdis: there’s not an earl of the Northmen nor an English thane would be o’er fine for thee.”

She rewarded him with a very sweet smile.

“What, we are old friends, lass, are we not?”

“Aye, neighbour Thorstein,” and she gave him another smile and a blush.

“And I always spoke well of thee, even to her—to her that’s gone.”

“Nay, was it so? Poor lass, she’s gone. Often have I wished I had managed to make friends with her: it was my fault.”

“What was thy fault? That you were not friends? Nay Asdis: it was thou that was good to her, but she, poor thing, she couldn’t understand.”

“Ah, Thorstein, if there’s goodness anywhere it’s in thee. And well I know that after her the rest of us are nought.”

“My dear, it’s years she’s gone; and it’s months I have greeted for her: and now my heart is like a stone.”

“Poor lad.”

Her voice was like the cooing of doves in the wood, and the tears were in her eyes: for she was as fond of him as she could be of anyone. And then she was so pretty.

It was a few days after Asdis was gone that Hundi was late in his chamber, though their porridge stood ready for breakfast: and when he came, “What, man,” cried Thorstein, “it’s no Thing to-day: and thou with thy best clothes donned.”

“Well, lad,” answered Hundi, “it’s a fine morning, and I just thought mayhappen we might be riding over to Asmundarlea, and I might as well be ready first as last.”

Thorstein blushed. “I don’t care if I do,” said he.

“Well said,” cried Halldora clapping her hands. “Here, sup thy pottage, Thorstein, good lad: and then don thy red silk kirtle that ye bought in Londonburg. No lass could say nay to thee in that.”

So by noon they were at Greenodd door to ask Orm to go with them. For it was the custom when a man went a-wooing to take all his folk with him; not only to show that everything was fair and above-board, and to have witnesses of the word given on both sides, but also to show what good friends and kinsfolk he had to back him. For in times when wealth was held only by the strong hand, the best of havings was a good following of friends and friendly neighbours who would see one righted if need was.

But Orm said he was throng and could not come: and when they pressed him, he would not; and Unna said there was no need, for she warranted the job was no hard one to manage. So Hundi and Thorstein, with all their ship-crew, and all the farm servants that could be spared, rode over the fell, and knocked at Asmund’s door.

They sat in the hall, and Asdis served them meat and drink, and Asmund sat in his high seat and talked of this and that, as though nobody knew on what errand they might be bound. It was an open winter: they settled that. And king Athelstan was dead: they talked that over. And folk seemed to take the new king, Eadmund they called him, a deal quieter than was expected. “Aye,” said Asmund, “now is the time for decent quiet folk to be setting up house and settling down.”

“Well, master,” says Hundi, “it is a job of that make brings us hither. My brother Thorstein here has made up his mind seemingly to take land and build house, the same as I have done: and he has the money, and the means, and all he wants is the mistress. And we were just thinking that if thy daughter could be spared, and if she would take to it kindly, she might happen do worse than settle down with my brother: and I am sure there’s nought but he would do for her to make her happy; and as to money matters, ye can suit yourselves.”

Then master Asmund put on his sober face, and hemmed, and said, “Well, neighbour, it’s a fair offer: but it’s not for me to say aye or nay until we have spoken with the lass.”

By this time the servants had fetched in Asdis, who had slipped out, as was proper, when things began to look like business. And there she was, blushing and rosy, standing by her father’s seat, and plucking at her apron.

“Well, lass, and what are we to say? Wilt thou take the young man Thorstein Sweinson? For that’s the job they have come about.”

“Nay, father, it’s not for me to say.”

“Come, come, lass: that means aye?”

“As you please, father: and as it pleases Master Thorstein Sweinson. I am sure it is a great honour for the likes of me.”

Then Asmund sent out to the neighbours, bidding them to a handfasting or betrothal feast, which should be held next day: and until then Hundi and Thorstein and their company were well entertained at Asmundarlea. In this while they talked over the dowry that Asdis should have from her father, and the settlement she should have from her husband, and when the wedding should be, and so forth.

When the neighbours were come, they bade them listen to the business on hand, and told them what had been done on both sides. Then Thorstein went over to where Asmund sat, and Asmund put his daughter’s hand into the hand of Thorstein, who said aloud, “We call upon all to witness that thou Asdis Asmund’s daughter dost lawfully pledge thyself to me Thorstein Sweinson, with dowry due and holden hands, to finish and fulfil our whole agreement both trusted and true. This handfasting is fairly done.”

And so the wooing of Asdis was accomplished.