MARGIT. [Beseechingly.]
Oh, hear me!
GUDMUND.
My soul is not base as a thrall's.
Now life to me seems a thing of nought;
Truly I hold it scarce worth a thought.
You have killed all that I hold most dear;
Of my fairest hopes I follow the bier.
Farewell, then, Dame Margit!
MARGIT.
Nay, Gudmund, hear!
By all that is holy--!
GUDMUND.
Live on as before
Live on in honour and joyance--
Never shall Gudmund darken your door,
Never shall cause you 'noyance.
MARGIT.
Enough, enough. Your bitterness
You presently shall rue.
Had I known you outlawed, shelterless,
Hunted the country through--
Trust me, the day that brought you here
Would have seemed the fairest of many a year;
And a feast I had counted it indeed
When you turned to Solhoug for refuge in need.
GUDMUND.
What say you--? How shall I read your mind?
MARGIT. [Holding out her hand to him.]
Read this: that at Solhoug dwell kinsfolk kind.
GUDMUND.
But you said of late--?
MARGIT.
To that pay no heed,
Or hear me, and understand indeed.
For me is life but a long, black night,
Nor sun, nor star for me shines bright.
I have sold my youth and my liberty,
And none from my bargain can set me free.
My heart's content I have bartered for gold,
With gilded chains I have fettered myself;
Trust me, it is but comfort cold
To the sorrowful soul, the pride of pelf.
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