So the three went along the highway down the Dale, and Hall-face and the Bride talked merrily together and laughed, for she was happy, since she knew that Gold-mane had been to the wood and was back safe and much as he had been before. So indeed it seemed of him; for though at first he was moody and of few words, yet presently he cursed himself for a mar-sport, and so fell into the talk, and enforced himself to be merry; and soon he was so indeed; for he thought: ‘She drew me thither: she hath a deed for me to do. I shall do the deed and have my reward. Soon will the spring-tide be here, and I shall be a young man yet when it comes.’ So came they to the place where he had met the three maidens yesterday; there they also turned from the highway; and as they went down the bent, Gold-mane could not but turn his eyes on the beauty of the Bride and the lovely ways of her body: but presently he remembered all that had betid, and turned away again as one who is noting what it behoves him not to note. And he said to himself: ‘Where art thou, Gold-mane? Whose art thou? Yea, even if that had been but a dream that I have dreamed, yet would that this fair woman were my sister!’ So came they to the Yew-wood, and the brethren fell to work, and the Bride with them, for she was deft with the axe and strong withal. But at midday they rested on the green slope without the Yew-wood; and they ate bread and flesh and onions and apples, and drank red wine of the Dale. And while they were resting after their meat, the Bride sang to them, and her song was a lay of time past; and here ye have somewhat of it: ’Tis over the hill and over the dale Men ride from the city fast and far, If they may have a soothfast tale, True tidings of the host of war. And first they hap on men-at-arms, All clad in steel from head to foot: Now tell true tale of the new-come harms, And the gathered hosts of the mountain-root. Fair sirs, from murder-carles we flee, Whose fashion is as the mountain-trolls’; No man can tell how many they be, And the voice of their host as the thunder rolls. They were weary men at the ending of day, But they spurred nor stayed for longer word. Now ye, O merchants, whither away? What do ye there with the helm and the sword? O we must fight for life and gear, For our beasts are spent and our wains are stayed, And the host of the Mountain-men draws near, That maketh all the world afraid. They left the chapmen on the hill, And through the eve and through the night They rode to have true tidings still, And were there on the way when the dawn was bright. O damsels fair, what do ye then To loiter thus upon the way, And have no fear of the Mountain-men, The host of the carles that strip and slay?