[Walks back and forward, brooding silently.
Signë, my sister—? How hateful 'twere
To steal her glad young life from her!
But who can tell? In very sooth
She may love him but with the light love of youth.
[Again silence; she takes out the little phial, looks long at it and says under her breath:
This phial—were I its powers to try—
My husband would sleep for ever and aye!
[Horror-struck.
No, no! To the river's depths with it straight!
[In the act of throwing it out of the window, stops.
And yet I could—'tis not yet too late.—
[With an expression of mingled horror and rapture, whispers.
With what a magic resistless might
Sin masters us in our own despite!
Doubly alluring methinks is the goal
I must reach through blood, with the wreck of my soul.
[Bengt, with the empty beaker in his hand, comes in from the passage-way; his face is red; he staggers slightly.
Bengt.
[Flinging the beaker upon the table on the left.] My faith, this has been a feast that will be the talk of the country.
[Sees Margit.
