"This song is new," said Lady Ingé; "it is not so said in the old one: there the faithful lovers are borne to the grave together."
"Much good might it do them!" exclaimed the maiden. "I cannot yet say that I should be pleased, if Mat Jute were to die: a dead bridegroom would never become a living one, were one to go ten times to the grave with him."
"There must have been more fidelity in the olden times," said Ingé, seriously. "It was better also for king and country. They must have been happy people who then lived in Denmark."
"What happiness there was in dying of grief, noble lady, I cannot well conceive; and what does it signify to the king and country, that there is no constancy in a love-smit soldier?"
"I can tell you, little Elsie, that when there is no constancy in a soldier in this respect, there is little in any other; and so he cannot be depended upon when he is called on to defend the throne and the realm. He who can forget and forsake his sweetheart, can still more easily forget and forsake his master."
"By my troth, so does not Mat Jute," replied Elsie. "He would rather slay every man alive, than permit any one to say a bad word concerning his master. He once lifted his knife against me, on that very score, though he vowed he loved me as the apple of his eye. He would not be afraid to make a thrust at the king himself, if a regular war should break out between him and the marsk."
"Are you mad, girl?" exclaimed Lady Ingé, in astonishment. "The marsk is the king's subject. If he should wage war against the king, he would be a traitor and shameless rebel."
"I do not understand that," said Elsie; "but this I know well, that if the marsk could not have his wife secure against our king, when he was waging war for him like a brave man, it is not so unreasonable, that, as a brave man, he should feel angry, and do the best he can to right himself."
"This is certainly a false and shameful rumour. A genuine Skiolding[[17]] can never disgrace his high lineage."
"It is all the same to me," answered the maiden; "but I should be quite as well satisfied if Mat Jute would only keep himself aloof from the great and their quarrels. The small suffer at last, and he may one day meet with some great mishap. I well remember how the ballad goes:--