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me that you were sick; therefore I set forth at once; I have come hither on foot
Bishop Nicholas.
There was no such haste, Inga!
Dagfinn the Peasant enters from the right.
Dagfinn.
God's peace, my honoured lord!
Bishop Nicholas.
Comes the King?
Dagfinn.
He is now riding down the Ryen hills, with the Queen and the King-child and a great following.
Inga.
[Rushes up to Dagfinn.] The King,—the King! Comes <g>he</g> hither?
Dagfinn.
Inga! You here, much-suffering woman!
Inga.
She is not much-suffering who has so great a son.
Dagfinn.
Now will his hard heart be melted.
Inga.
Not a word to the King of me. Yet, oh, I must see him!—Tell me,—comes he hither?
Dagfinn.
Ay, presently.
