SIGNË. They crossed themselves, women and men; [_Pressing her hands to her breast._ But strange thoughts arose within me then; For the heavenly song familiar grew: Gudmund oft sang it to me and you— Ofttimes has Gudmund carolled it, And all he e’er sang in my heart is writ. MARGIT. And you think that it may be—? SIGNË. I know it is he! I know it! I know it! You soon shall see! [_Laughing._ From far-off lands, at the last, in the end, Each song-bird homewards his flight doth bend! I am so happy—though why I scarce know—! Margit, what say you? I’ll quickly go And take down his harp, that has hung so long In there on the wall that ’tis rusted quite; Its golden strings I will polish bright, And tune them to ring and to sing with his song. MARGIT. [_Absently._] Do as you will— SIGNË. [_Reproachfully._] Nay, this is not right. [_Embracing her._ But when Gudmund comes will your heart grow light— Light, as when I was a child, again. MARGIT. [_To herself._] So much has changed—ah, so much!—since then— SIGNË. Margit, you _shall_ be happy and gay! Have you not serving-maids many, and thralls? Costly robes hang in rows on your chamber walls; How rich you are, none can say. By day you can ride in the forest deep, Chasing the hart and the hind; By night in a lordly bower you can sleep, On pillows of silk reclined. MARGIT. [_Looking towards the window._] And he comes to Solhoug! He, as a guest! SIGNË. What say you? MARGIT. [_Turning._] Naught.—Deck you out in your best. That fortune which seemeth to you so bright May await yourself. SIGNË. Margit, say what you mean! MARGIT. [_Stroking her hair._] I mean—nay, no more! Twill shortly be seen—; I mean—should a wooer ride hither to-night—? SIGNË. A wooer? For whom? MARGIT.