Rings of red gold! And a belt beside—! ’Twas with gold the Hill-King wedded his bride! [_In despair; sinks down on a bench beside the table on the left._ Woe! Woe! I myself am the Hill-King’s wife! And there cometh none to free me from the prison of my life. [SIGNË, _radiant with gladness, comes running in from the back._ SIGNË. [_Calling._] Margit, Margit,—he is coming! MARGIT. [_Starting up._] Coming? Who is coming? SIGNË. Gudmund, our kinsman! MARGIT. Gudmund Alfson! Here! How can you think—? SIGNË. Oh, I am sure of it. MARGIT. [_Crosses to the right._] Gudmund Alfson is at the wedding-feast in the King’s hall; you know that as well as I. SIGNË. Maybe; but none the less I am sure it was he. MARGIT. Have you seen him? SIGNË. Oh, no, no; but I must tell you— MARGIT. Yes, haste you—tell on! SIGNË. ’Twas early morn, and the church bells rang, To Mass I was fain to ride; The birds in the willows twittered and sang, In the birch-groves far and wide. All earth was glad in the clear, sweet day; And from church it had well-nigh stayed me; For still, as I rode down the shady way, Each rosebud beguiled and delayed me. Silently into the church I stole; The priest at the altar was bending; He chanted and read, and with awe in their soul, The folk to God’s word were attending. Then a voice rang out o’er the fiord so blue; And the carven angels, the whole church through, Turned round, methought, to listen thereto. MARGIT. O Signë, say on! Tell me all, tell me all! SIGNË. ’Twas as though a strange, irresistible call Summoned me forth from the worshipping flock, Over hill and dale, over mead and rock. ’Mid the silver birches I listening trod, Moving as though in a dream; Behind me stood empty the house of God; Priest and people were lured by the magic, ’twould seem, Of the tones that still through the air did stream. No sound they made; they were quiet as death; To hearken the song-birds held their breath, The lark dropped earthward, the cuckoo was still, As the voice re-echoed from hill to hill. MARGIT. Go on.