GUDMUND. [Putting up the phial again.]

That I found it was well for them all. 
In three days more was our voyage ended;
Then I fled, by my faithful men attended. 
For I knew right well, in the royal hall,
That Audun subtly would work my fall,—­
Accusing me—­

MARGIT.

Aye, but at Solhoug he
Cannot harm you.  All as of old will be.

GUDMUND.

All?  Nay, Margit—­you then were free.

MARGIT.

You mean—?

GUDMUND.

I?  Nay, I meant naught.  My brain
Is wildered; but ah, I am blithe and fain
To be, as of old, with you sisters twain. 
But tell me,—­Signe—?

MARGIT. [Points smiling towards the door on the left.]

She comes anon. 
To greet her kinsman she needs must don
Her trinkets—­a task that takes time, ’tis plain.

GUDMUND.

I must see—­I must see if she knows me again.

[He goes out to the left.

MARGIT.

[Following him with her eyes.] How fair and manlike he is! [With a sigh.] There is little likeness ’twixt him and—­ [Begins putting things in order on the table, but presently stops.] “You then were free,” he said.  Yes, then! [A short pause.] ’Twas a strange tale, that of the Princess who—­ She held another dear, and then—­ Aye, those women of far-off lands—­ I have heard it before—­they are not weak as we are; they do not fear to pass from thought to deed. [Takes up a goblet which stands on the table.] ’Twas in this beaker that Gudmund and I, when he went away, drank to his happy return.  ’Tis well-nigh the only heirloom I brought with me to Solhoug. [Putting the goblet away in a cupboard.] How soft is this summer day; and how light it is in here!  So sweetly has the sun not shone for three long years.

     [SIGNE, and after her GUDMUND, enters from the left.

SIGNE. [Runs laughing up to MARGIT.]

Ha, ha, ha!  He will not believe that ’tis I!

MARGIT. [Smiling to GUDMUND.]

You see:  while in far-off lands you strayed,
She, too, has altered, the little maid.

GUDMUND.

Aye truly!  But that she should be—­ Why,
’Tis a marvel in very deed.
     [Takes both SIGNE’s hands and looks at her.

Yet, when I look in these eyes so blue,
The innocent child-mind I still can read—­
Yes, Signe, I know that ’tis you! 
I needs must laugh when I think how oft
I have thought of you perched on my shoulder aloft
As you used to ride.  You were then a child;
Now you are a nixie, spell-weaving, wild.

SIGNE. [Threatening with her finger.]