ELINA. But what then do you purpose? I cannot yet grasp your meaning. LADY INGER. You will soon understand.—Since we cannot trample on the serpent, we must bind it. ELINA. Take heed that it burst not your bonds. LADY INGER. It rests with you to tighten them as you will. ELINA. With me? LADY INGER. I have long seen that Östråt is as a cage to you. The young falcon chafes behind the iron bars. ELINA. My wings are clipped. Even if you set me free—’twould avail me little. LADY INGER. Your wings are not clipped, save by your own will. ELINA. Will? My will is in your hands. Be what you once were, and I too—— LADY INGER. Enough, enough. Hear me further.—It would scarce break your heart to leave Östråt? ELINA. Maybe not, my mother! LADY INGER. You told me once, that you lived your happiest life in your tales and histories. What if that life were to be yours once more? ELINA. What mean you? LADY INGER. Elina—if a mighty noble were to come and lead you to his castle, where you should find damsels and squires, silken robes and lofty halls awaiting you? ELINA. A noble, you say? LADY INGER. A noble. ELINA. [_More softly._] And the Danish envoy comes hither to-night? LADY INGER. To-night. ELINA. If so be, then I fear to read the meaning of your words. LADY INGER. There is naught to fear if you misread them not. It is far from my thought to put force upon you. You shall choose for yourself in this matter, and follow your own rede. ELINA. [_Comes a step nearer._] Know you the tale of the mother who drove across the hills by night, with her little children in the sledge? The wolves were on her track; ’twas life or death with her;—and one by one she cast out her little ones, to win time and save herself. LADY INGER. Nursery tales! A mother would tear the heart from her breast, before she would cast her child to the wolves! ELINA.