Page:The collected works of Henrik Ibsen (Heinemann Volume 1).pdf/56



I will send you guerdonless to the foul fiend, if you prate of Lady Inger but one unseemly word more.

[Breaking from his grasp.] Why—did I make the song?

Hark—what is that?

A horn. Then there come guests to-night.

[At the window.] They are opening the gate. I hear the clatter of hoofs in the courtyard. It must be a knight.