Ingeborg.
To bring you the last sacrifice.
King Skule.
What mean you?
Ingeborg.
[Points to the Priest who stands by the door.] Look at him!—Peter, my son, come hither!
King Skule.
Your son!
Ingeborg.
And <g>yours</g>, King Skule!
King Skule.
[Half bewildered.] Ingeborg!
[Peter approaches in silent emotion, and
throws himself before King Skule.
Ingeborg.
Take him! For twenty years has he been the light and comfort of my life.—Now are you King of Norway; the King's son must enter on his heritage; I have no longer any right to him.
King Skule.
[Raises him up, in a storm of joy.] Here, to my heart, you whom I have yearned for so burningly! [Presses him in his arms, lets him go, looks at him, and embraces him again.] My son! My son! I have a son! Ha-ha-ha! who can stand against me now? [Goes over to Ingeborg and seizes her hand.] And you, you give him to me,
