Nils Lykke.
[Moves towards him.] Rash boy! What would you here? Said I not you should wait within until I called you?
Nils Stensson.
How could I? Now you have told me that Inger Gyldenlöve is my mother, I thirst more than ever to see her face to face
Oh, it is she! How proud and high her mien! Even thus did I ever picture her. Fear not, dear Sir,—I shall do nought rashly. Since I have learnt this secret, I feel, as it were, older and wiser. I will no longer be wild and heedless; I will be even as other well-born youths.—Tell me,—knows she that I am here? Surely you have prepared her?
Nils Lykke.
Ay, sure enough; but
Nils Stensson.
Well?
Nils Lykke.
She will not own you for her son.
Nils Stensson.
Will not own me? But she is my mother.—Oh, if it be that she doubts that—[takes out a ring which he wears on a cord round his neck]—show her this ring. I have worn it since my earliest childhood; she must surely know its history.
