[_To herself._ —as in my breast. [_Looking at him._ Is’t not so—when you wander on such a night You hear, though but half to yourself confessed, A stirring of secret life through the hush, In tree and in leaf, in flower and in rush? [_With a sudden change of tone_. Can you guess what I wish? GUDMUND. Well? MARGIT. That I could be The nixie that haunts yonder upland lea. How cunningly I should weave my spell! Trust me—! GUDMUND. Margit, what ails you? Tell! MARGIT. [_Paying no heed to him._] How I should quaver my magic lay! Quaver and croon it both night and day! [_With growing vehemence._ How I would lure the knight so bold Through the greenwood glades to my mountain hold. There were the world and its woes forgot In the burning joys of our blissful lot. GUDMUND. Margit! Margit! MARGIT. [_Ever more wildly._] At midnight’s hour Sweet were our sleep in my lonely bower;— And if death should come with the dawn, I trow ’Twere sweet to die so;—what thinkest thou? GUDMUND. You are sick! MARGIT. [_Bursting into laughter._] Ha, ha!—Let me laugh! ’Tis good To laugh when the heart is in laughing mood! GUDMUND. I see that you still have the same wild soul As of old— MARGIT. [_With sudden seriousness._] Nay, let not that vex your mind, ’Tis only at midnight it mocks control; By day I am timid as any hind. How tame I have grown, you yourself must say, When you think on the women in lands far away— Of that fair Princess—ah, _she_ was wild! Beside her lamblike am I and mild. She did not helplessly yearn and brood, She would have acted; and that— GUDMUND. ’Tis good You remind me; straightway I’ll cast away What to me is valueless after this day— [_Takes out the phial._ MARGIT. The phial! You meant—? GUDMUND.