HEMMING. [As though beside himself.] Ingeborg! Ingeborg! then nothing shall henceforth terrify me! Not that you have a betrothed, not that you are my master's daughter;—yea, as sure as I live, I shall steal you tonight!
INGEBORG. [Vehemently, as she constantly struggles to suppress a smile.] Help me, God! what is amiss with you? What is it you are thinking of? Will you steal your master's daughter? You must be sick or mad to conceive such a thing! Yet, it shall be forgotten—for this once. Go, now! and thank heaven you escape so lightly; for you have certainly earned a blow—
INGEBORG. [Raises the twigs, but lets them fall, and says in a changed tone.] —and my red golden ring—see there, take it!
[Throws him a ring, which she has removed from her arm, and rushes out quickly to the left.]
SCENE VIII
[HEMMING. Shortly afterwards OLAF Liljekrans from the, background. The moon rises.]
HEMMING. The golden ring unto me she has granted, Then still is she true, I am not deceived! 'Twas only in jest that she scolded and ranted As though she were bitterly grieved. All will I venture, no more will I dread!
HEMMING. [Despondent.] And yet, I am only a penniless swain, And early tomorrow is she to be wed!