Bengt.
[Seeking to calm him.] Nay, nay, Knut Gesling! Have patience, now. You must understand us aright.
Margit.
There is naught in my words to wound you. My sister knows you only by the songs that are made about you—and these songs sound but ill in gentle ears.
No peaceful home is your father's house.
With your lawless, reckless crew,
Day out, day in, must you hold carouse—
God help her who mates with you.
God help the maiden you lure or buy
With gold and with forests green—
Soon will her sore heart long to lie
Still in the grave, I ween.
Erik.
Aye, aye—true enough—Knut Gesling lives not overpeaceably. But there will soon come a change in that, when he gets him a wife in his hall.
Knut.
And this I would have you mark, Dame Margit: it may be a week since, I was at a feast at Heggë, at Erik's bidding, whom here you see. The ale was strong; and as the evening wore on I vowed a vow that Signë, your fair sister, should be my wife, and that before the year was out. Never shall it be said of Knut Gesling that he brake any vow. You can see, then, that
