Earl Skule.
You, my sister?
Håkon.
You will enter a nunnery!
Sigrid.
[Rising.] Since my wedding-night of blood, when the Baglers came and hewed down my bridegroom, and many hundreds with him, and fired Nidaros town at all its corners—since then, it has been as though the blood and flames had dulled and deadened my sight for the world around me. But power was given me to catch glimpses of that which other eyes see not—and one thing I see now: a time of great dread hanging over this land!
Earl Skule.
[Vehemently.] She is sick! Heed her not!
Sigrid.
A plenteous harvest is ripening for him that reaps in the darkness. Every woman in Norway will have but one task now—to kneel in church and cloister, and pray both day and night.
Håkon.
[Shaken.] Is it prophecy or soul-sickness that speaks thus?
Sigrid.
Farewell, my brother—we shall meet once more.
Earl Skule.
[Involuntarily.] When?
