yourself how loath she is to have a hand in our undertaking, you will see that 'tis wisest to give her back her own as soon as may be. Well might it come to pass that in her joy and security and thankfulness—" "—that is now our last hope."
[Sits for a while as though struck dumb with surprise; then exclaims in a low voice:
Aha,—what a letter! Gold would not buy it!
Nils Stensson.
'Tis plain I have brought you weighty tidings. Ay, ay,—Peter Kanzler has many irons in the fire, folk say.
Nils Lykke.
[To himself.] What to do with all this? A thousand paths are open to me—What if I were—? No, 'twere to risk too much. But if—ah, if I—? I will venture it!
[Tears the letter across, crumples up the pieces, and hides them inside his doublet; puts back the other papers into the packet, which he thrusts inside his belt; rises and says:
A word, my young friend!
Nils Stensson.
[Approaching him.] Well—your looks say that the game goes bravely.
