Sigurd.
Most like it is the same thing.
Hiördis.
Ay, most like it is; for if I be a match for the Norn, then sooner or later shalt thou and Gunnar[Breaks off, leans backwards against the table, looks at him with a smile, and says with an altered ring in her voice:] Wouldst know the thought that sometimes comes to me? Oft have I made it my pastime to limn pleasant pictures in my mind; at such times I sit and close my eyes and think: Now comes Sigurd the Strong to the isle;—he will burn us in our house, me and my husband. All Gunnar's men have fallen; only he and I are left; they set light to the roof from without:—"A bow-shot," cries Gunnar, "one bow-shot may save us";—then the bow-string breaks—"Hiördis, cut a tress of thy hair and make of it a bow-string—our life is at stake." But then I laugh—"Let it burn, let it burn—to me, life is not worth a wisp of hair!" Sigurd. There is a strange might in all thy speech. [Approaches her.
Hiördis.
[Looks coldly at him.] Wouldst sit beside me?
Sigurd.
Thou deemest my heart is bitter toward thee. 'Tis the last time, Hiördis, that we shall have speech together; there is something that gnaws me like a sore sickness, and in this wise I cannot part from thee; thou must know me better.
