She had made us none the less welcome for _that_. But mark well that then our coming had made a stir. The peasants round about had held it for an outrage against Lady Inger; she had risen high in their favour once more—and with that, look you, we were ill served. JENS BIELKE. May be so. But what am I to do now? Count Sture is in Östråt, you say. Ay, but how does that profit me? Be sure Lady Inger Gyldenlöve has as many hiding-places as the fox, and more than one outlet to them. You and I, alone, may go snuffing about here as long as we please. I would the devil had the whole affair! NILS LYKKE. Well, then, my friend—if you like not the turn your errand has taken, you have but to leave the field to me. JENS BIELKE. To you? What will you do? NILS LYKKE. Caution and cunning may in this matter prove of more avail than force of arms.—And to say truth, Captain Jens Bielke—something of the sort has been in my mind ever since we met in Trondhiem yesterday. JENS BIELKE. Was that why you persuaded me to leave the men-at-arms? NILS LYKKE. Both your purpose at Östråt and mine could best be served without them; and so—— JENS BIELKE. The foul fiend seize you—I had almost said! And me to boot! Might I not have known that there is guile in all your dealings? NILS LYKKE. Be sure I shall need all my guile here, if I am to face my foe with even weapons. And let me tell you, ’tis of the utmost moment to me that I acquit me of my mission secretly and well. You must know that when I set forth I was scarce in favour with my lord the King. He held me in suspicion; though I dare swear I have served him as well as any man could, in more than one ticklish charge. JENS BIELKE. That you may safely boast. God and all men know you for the craftiest devil in all the three kingdoms. NILS LYKKE. I thank you! Though, after all, ’tis not much to say. But this present errand I count as indeed a crowning test of my powers; for here I have to outwit a woman—— JENS BIELKE. Ha-ha-ha! In _that_ art you have long since given crowning proofs of your skill, dear brother. Think you we in Sweden know not the song— Fair maidens a-many they sigh and they pine: “Ah God, that Nils Lykke were mine, mine, mine!” NILS LYKKE.