[_To himself._] What to do with all this? A thousand paths are open to me—What if I were—? No, ’twere to risk too much. But if—ah, if I—? I will venture it! [_Tears the letter across, crumples up the pieces, and hides them inside his doublet; puts back the other papers into the packet, which he thrusts inside his belt; rises and says:_ A word, my young friend! NILS STENSSON. [_Approaching him._] Well—your looks say that the game goes bravely. NILS LYKKE. Ay, by my soul it does. You have given me a hand of nought but court cards,—queens and knaves—— NILS STENSSON. But what of me, that have brought all these good tidings? Have I nought more to do? NILS LYKKE. You? Ay, that have you. You belong to the game. You are a king—and king of trumps too. NILS STENSSON. I a king? Oh, now I understand; you are thinking of my exaltation—— NILS LYKKE. Your exaltation? NILS STENSSON. Ay; that which you foretold for me, if King Gustav’s men got me in their clutches—— [_Makes a motion to indicate hanging._ NILS LYKKE. True enough;—but let that trouble you no more. It now lies with yourself alone whether within a month you shall have the hempen noose or a chain of gold about your neck. NILS STENSSON. A chain of gold? And it lies with me? [NILS LYKKE _nods._ NILS STENSSON. Why then, the devil take doubting! Do you but tell me what I am to do. NILS LYKKE. I will. But first you must swear me a solemn oath that no living creature in the wide world shall know what I confide to you. NILS STENSSON. Is that all? You shall have ten oaths, if you will. NILS LYKKE. Not so lightly, young Sir! ’Tis no jesting matter. NILS STENSSON. Well, well; I am grave enough. NILS LYKKE. In the Dales you called yourself a Count’s son;—is’t not so? NILS STENSSON. Nay—begin you now on _that_ again? Have I not made free confession—— NILS LYKKE. You mistake me. What you said in the Dales was the truth. NILS STENSSON. The truth? What mean you by that? Tell me but——!