The hall in Gunnar's house. It is day.
Hiördis sits on the bench in front of the smaller high-seat, busy twisting a bow-string; on the table lie a bow and some arrows.
Hiördis.
[Pulling at the bow-string.] It is tough and strong; [With a glance at the arrows] the shaft is both keen and well-weighted—[Lets her hands fall in her lap] but where is the hand that! [Vehemently.] Flouted, flouted by him—by Sigurd! I must hate him more than others, that can I well mark; but many days shall not pass ere I have[Meditating.] Ay, but the arm, the arm that shall do the deed? Gunnar enters, silent and thoughtful, from the back.
Hiördis.
[After a short pause.] How goes it with thee, my husband?
Gunnar.
Ill, Hiördis; I cannot away with that deed of yesterday; it lies heavy on my heart.
Hiördis.
Do as I do; get thee some work to busy thee.
