MARGIT. To have stayed in the royal hall, indeed, Sir Knight, had better become your fame. GUDMUND. [_Stops._] In the royal hall? Do you scoff at my need? MARGIT. Your need? You are ill to content, my friend; Where, I would know, do you think to end? You can dress you in velvet and cramoisie, You stand by the throne, and have lands in fee— GUDMUND. Do you deem, then, that fortune is kind to me? You said but now that full well you knew What brought me to Solhoug— MARGIT. I told you true! GUDMUND. Then you know what of late has befallen me;— You have heard the tale of my outlawry? MARGIT. [_Terror-struck._] An outlaw! You, Gudmund! GUDMUND. I am indeed. But I swear, by the Holy Christ I swear, Had I known the thoughts of your heart, I ne’er Had bent me to Solhoug in my need. I thought that you still were gentle-hearted, As you ever were wont to be ere we parted: But I truckle not to you; the wood is wide, My hand and my bow shall fend for me there; I will drink of the mountain brook, and hide My head in the wild beast’s lair. [_On the point of going._ MARGIT. [_Holding him back._] Outlawed! Nay, stay! I swear to you That naught of your outlawry I knew. GUDMUND. It is as I tell you. My life’s at stake; And to live are all men fain. Three nights like a dog ’neath the sky I’ve lain, My couch on the hillside forced to make, With for pillow the boulder grey. Though too proud to knock at the door of the stranger, And pray him for aid in the hour of danger, Yet strong was my hope as I held on my way: I thought: When to Solhoug you come at last Then all your pains will be done and past. You have sure friends there, whatever betide.— But hope like a wayside flower shrivels up; Though your husband met me with flagon and cup, And his doors flung open wide, Within, your dwelling seems chill and bare; Dark is the hall; my friends are not there. ’Tis well; I will back to my hills from your halls. MARGIT. [_Beseechingly._] Oh, hear me! GUDMUND.