’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 a stately knight, The Princess shone with a beauty rare— Her eyes seemed full of a burning prayer. They would oft talk alone and in whispers, the two— Of what? That nobody guessed or knew. There came a night when I leant at ease Against the galley’s railing; My thoughts flew onward to Norway’s leas, With the milk-white seagulls sailing. Two voices whispered behind my back;— I turned—it was he and she; I knew them well, though the night was black, But they—they saw not me. She gazed upon him with sorrowful eyes And whispered: “Ah, if to southern skies We could turn the vessel’s prow, And we were alone in the bark, we twain, My heart, methinks, would find peace again, Nor would fever burn my brow.” Sir Audun answers; and straight she replies, In words so fierce, so bold; Like glittering stars I can see her eyes; She begged him— [_Breaking off._ My blood ran cold. MARGIT. She begged—? GUDMUND. I arose, and they vanished apace; All was silent, fore and aft;— [_Producing a small phial._ But this I found by their resting place. MARGIT. And that—? GUDMUND. [_Lowering his voice._] Holds a secret draught. A drop of this in your enemy’s cup And his life will sicken and wither up. No leechcraft helps ’gainst the deadly thing. MARGIT. And that—? GUDMUND. That draught was meant for the King. MARGIT. Great God! GUDMUND. [_Putting up the phial again._] That I found it was well for them all. In three days more was our voyage ended; Then I fled, by my faithful men attended. For I knew right well, in the royal hall, That Audun subtly would work my fall,— Accusing me— MARGIT. Aye, but at Solhoug he Cannot harm you. All as of old will be. GUDMUND. All? Nay, Margit—you then were free. MARGIT.