SIGNË. But, Gudmund, wait—you have still to see How I’ve shielded your harp from the dust and the rust. [_As she goes out to the left._ You shall teach me all of your songs! You must! GUDMUND. [_Softly, as he follows her with his eyes._] She has flushed to the loveliest rose of May, That was yet but a bud in the morning’s ray. SIGNË. [_Returning with the harp._] Behold! GUDMUND. [_Taking it._] My harp! As bright as of yore! [_Striking one or two chords._ Still the old chords ring sweet and clear— On the wall, untouched, thou shalt hang no more. MARGIT. [_Looking out at the back._] Our guests are coming. SIGNË. [_While_ GUDMUND _preludes his song._] Hush—hush! Oh, hear! GUDMUND. [_Sings._] I roamed through the uplands so heavy of cheer; The little birds quavered in bush and in brere; The little birds quavered, around and above: Wouldst know of the sowing and growing of love? It grows like the oak tree through slow-rolling years; ’Tis nourished by dreams, and by songs, and by tears; But swiftly ’tis sown; ere a moment speeds by, Deep, deep in the heart love is rooted for aye. [_As he strikes the concluding chords, he goes towards the back, where he lays down his harp._ SIGNË. [_Thoughtfully, repeats to herself._] But swiftly ’tis sown; ere a moment speeds by, Deep, deep in the heart love is rooted for aye. MARGIT. [_Absently._] Did you speak to me?—I heard not clearly—? SIGNË. I? No, no. I only meant— [_She again becomes absorbed in dreams._ MARGIT. [_Half aloud; looking straight before her._] It grows like the oak tree through slow-rolling years; ’Tis nourished by dreams, and by songs and by tears. SIGNË. [_Returning to herself._] You said that—? MARGIT. [_Drawing her hand over her brow._] Nay, ’twas nothing. Come, we must go meet our guests. [BENGT _enters with many_ GUESTS, _both men and women, through the passageway._