[Clasping her hands.
And thus have I lived for three long years--
A life of sorrow, of unstanched tears!
Your coming was rumoured. You know full well
What pride deep down in my heart doth dwell.
I hid my anguish, I veiled my woe,
For you were the last that the truth must know.
GUDMUND. [Moved.]
'Twas therefore, then, that you turned away--
MARGIT. [Not looking at him.]
I thought you came at my woe to jeer.
GUDMUND.
Margit, how could you think--?
MARGIT.
Nay, nay,
There was reason enough for such a fear.
But thanks be to Heaven that fear is gone;
And now no longer I stand alone;
My spirit now is as light and free
As a child's at play 'neath the greenwood tree.
[With a sudden start of fear.
Ah, where are my wits fled! How could I forget--?
Ye saints, I need sorely your succor yet!
An outlaw, you said--?
GUDMUND. [Smiling.]
Nay, now I'm at home;
Hither the King's men scarce dare come.
MARGIT.
Your fall has been sudden. I pray you, tell
How you lost the King's favour.
GUDMUND.
'Twas thus it befell.
You know how I journeyed to France of late,
When the Chancellor, Audun of Hegranes,
Fared thither from Bergen, in royal state,
To lead home the King's bride, the fair Princess,
With her squires, and maidens, and ducats bright.
Sir Audun's a fair and stately knight,
The Princess shone with a beauty rare--
Her eyes seemed full of a burning prayer.
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