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Gunnar.
Doubtless I must.
[A pause; Gunnar paces up and down the hall, notices what Hiördis is doing, and approaches her.
Gunnar.
What dost thou there?
Hiördis.
[Without looking up.] I am twisting a bow-string; canst thou not see?
Gunnar.
A bow-string—of thine own hair?
Hiördis.
[Smiling.] Great deeds are born with every hour in these times; yesterday thou didst slay my foster-brother, and I have woven this since daybreak.
Gunnar.
Hiördis, Hiördis!
Hiördis.
[Looking up.] What is amiss?
Gunnar.
Where wast thou last night?
Hiördis.
Last night?
Gunnar.
Thou wast not in the sleeping-room.
Hiördis.
Know'st thou that?
