I thought it might be At need a friend that should set me free Should the King’s men chance to lay hands on me. But from to-night it has lost its worth; Now will I fight all the kings of earth, Gather my kinsfolk and friends to the strife, And battle right stoutly for freedom and life. [_Is about to throw the phial against a rock._ MARGIT. [_Seizing his arm._] Nay, hold! Let me have it— GUDMUND. First tell me why? MARGIT. I’d fain fling it down to the neckan hard by, Who so often has made my dull hours fleet With his harping and songs, so strange and sweet. Give it me! [_Takes the phial from his hand._ There! [_Feigns to throw it into the river._ GUDMUND. [_Goes to the right, and looks down into the ravine._] Have you thrown it away? MARGIT. [_Concealing the phial._] Aye, surely! You saw— [_Whispers as she goes towards the house._ Now God help and spare me! The ice must now either break or bear me! [_Aloud._ Gudmund! GUDMUND. [_Approaching_.] What would you? MARGIT. Teach me, I pray, How to interpret the ancient lay They sing of the church in the valley there: A gentle knight and a lady fair, They loved each other well. That very day on her bier she lay He on his sword-point fell. They buried her by the northward spire, And him by the south kirk wall; And theretofore grew neither bush nor briar In the hallowed ground at all. But next spring from their coffins twain Two lilies fair upgrew— And by and by, o’er the roof-tree high, They twined and they bloomed the whole year through. How read you the riddle? GUDMUND. [_Looks searchingly at her._] I scarce can say. MARGIT. You may doubtless read it in many a way; But its truest meaning, methinks, is clear: The church can never sever two that hold each other dear. GUDMUND. [_To himself._]