By the coast. It is evening; the moon breaks forth now and again, from among dark and ragged storm-clouds. At the back, a black grave-mound, newly heaped up.
Örnulf sits on a stone, in front on the right, his head bare, his elbows resting on his knees, and his face buried in his hands. His men are digging at the mound; some give light with pine-knot torches. After a short pause, Sigurd and Dagny enter from the boat-house, where a wood fire is burning.
Dagny.
[In a low voice.] There sits he still. [Holding Sigurd back.] Nay, speak not to him.
Sigurd.
Thou say'st well; it is too soon; best leave him to himself.
Dagny.
[Goes over to the right, and gazes at her father in quiet sorrow.] So strong was he yesterday when he bore Thorolf's body on his back; strong was he as he helped to heap the grave-mound; but when they were all laid to rest, and earth and stones piled over them—then the sorrow seized him; then seemed it of a sudden as though his fire were quenched. [Dries her tears.] Tell me, Sigurd, when thinkest thou to fare homeward to Iceland?
