GUNNAR. You are so passionate, Gunlöd!
GUNLÖD. I suffer to say I would rather be a heathen.
GUNNAR. What are you saying, girl!
GUNLÖD. [After a pause]. Forgive me, forgive me—I am in such a wild mood—and when I see the Christians, who should be examples, commit such deeds—
GUNNAR. Crush out that thought, Gunlöd—it is ungodly. Do you see this wreath?
GUNLÖD. Where did you gather it?
GUNNAR. You recognize the flowers, Gunlöd?
GUNLÖD. They grew in my father's garden—may I keep them?
GUNNAR. Gladly—but, why do you care to have them when we are going to journey there ourselves?
GUNLÖD. I shall look at them the long winter through—the hemlock shall remind me of the green woods and the anemones of the blue sky.