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. How blithe was my childhood—how free from care! Our house was lowly and scant our store; But treasures of hope in my breast I bore. GUDMUND. [_Whose eyes have been fixed upon her._] E’en then you were growing to beauty rare. MARGIT. Mayhap; but the praises showered on me Caused the wreck of my happiness—that I now see. To far-off lands away you sailed; But deep in my heart was graven each song You had ever sung; and their glamour was strong; With a mist of dreams my brow they veiled. In them all the joys you had dwelt upon That can find a home in the beating breast; You had sung so oft of the lordly life ’Mid knights and ladies. And lo! anon Came wooers a many from east and from west; And so—I became Bengt Gauteson’s wife. GUDMUND. Oh, Margit! MARGIT.