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[Softly Skule.] Farewell, Skule Bårdsson—and God grant you a blessed end.
[Goes out by the gate; the Birchlegs close it
after him, and go into the chapel.
Lady Ragnhild.
Ay, let Håkon come; I will not loose you; I will hold you straitly and tenderly in my arms, as I never held you before.
Margrete.
Oh, how pale you are—and aged; you are cold.
King Skule.
I am not cold—but I am weary, weary.
Margrete.
Come in then, and rest you
King Skule.
Yes, yes; 'twill soon be time to rest.
Sigrid.
[From the chapel.] You come at last, my brother!
King Skule.
Sigrid! you here?
Sigrid.
I promised that we should meet when you were fain of me in your sorest need.
King Skule.
Where is your child, Margrete?
Margrete.
He sleeps, in the sacristy.
