And if you will so bear you till the year be past,
You may win my sister for your bride at last.
KNUT.
[With suppressed rage.] You know how to order your words
cunningly, Dame Margit. Truly, you should have been a priest,
and not your husbands wife.
BENGT.
Oh, for that matter, I too could--
KNUT.
[Paying no heed to him.] But I would have you take note that
had a sword-bearing man spoken to me in such wise--
BENGT.
Nay, but listen, Knut Gesling--you must understand us!
KNUT.
[As before.] Well, briefly, he should have learnt that the axe
sits loose in my hand, as you said but now.
BENGT.
[Softly.] There we have it! Margit, Margit, this will never
end well.
MARGIT.
[To KNUT.] You asked for a forthright answer, and that I have
given you.
KNUT.
Well, well; I will not reckon too closely with you, Dame Margit.
You have more wit than all the rest of us together. Here is my
hand;--it may be there was somewhat of reason in the keen-edged
words you spoke to me.
MARGIT.
This I like well; now are you already on the right way to
amendment. Yet one word more--to-day we hold a feast at Solhoug.
KNUT.
A feast?
BENGT.
Yes, Knut Gesling: you must know that it is our wedding day;
this day three years ago made me Dame Margit's husband.
MARGIT.
[Impatiently, interrupting.] As I said, we hold a feast to-day.
When Mass is over, and your other business done, I would have you
ride hither again, and join in the banquet.
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