NILS LYKKE. Nay, that I know not. Sure you yourself can best
say that.
NILS STENSSON (softly). Oh, the devil! (Stretches himself in the chair.) Well, you see—'tis not yet certain. I, for my part, were nothing loath to stay quiet here awhile; but——
NILS LYKKE. ——But you are not in all points your own master?
There be other duties and other circumstances——?
NILS STENSSON. Ay, that is just the rub. Were I to choose, I would rest me at Ostrat at least the winter through; I have seldom led aught but a soldier's life—— (Interrupts himself suddenly, fills a goblet, and drinks.) Your health, Sir!
NILS LYKKE. A soldier's life? Hm!
NILS STENSSON. Nay, what I would have said is this: I have been eager to see Lady Inger Gyldenlove, whose fame has spread so wide. She must be a queenly woman,—is't not so?—The one thing I like not in her, is that she shrinks so cursedly from open action.
NILS LYKKE. From open action?
NILS STENSSON. Ay ay, you understand me; I mean she is so loath
to take a hand in driving the foreign rulers out of the land.
NILS LYKKE. Ay, you are right. But if you do your best now,
you will doubtless work her to your will.
NILS STENSSON. I? God knows it would but little serve if I——