NILS LYKKE (aside). Letters and papers for Olaf Skaktavl.
(To NILS STENSSON.)
The packet is open, I see. 'Tis like you know what it contains?
NILS STENSSON. No, good sir; I am ill at reading writing; and
for reason good.
NILS LYKKE. I understand; you have given most care to the trade of arms. (Sits down by the table on the right, and runs through the papers.) Aha! Here is light enough and to spare on what is brewing. This small letter tied with a silken thread—— (Examines the address.) This too for Olaf Skaktavl. (Opens the letter, and glances through its contents.) From Peter Kanzler. I thought as much. (Reads under his breath.) "I am hard bested, for——; ay, sure enough; here it stands,—"Young Count Sture has been gathered to his fathers, even at the time fixed for the revolt to break forth"—"—but all may yet be made good——" What now? (Reads on in astonishment.) "You must know, then, Olaf Skaktavl, that the young man who brings you this letter is a son of——" Heaven and earth—can it be so?—Ay, by Christ's blood, even so 'tis written! (Glances at NILS STENSSON.) Can he be——? Ah, if it were so! (Reads on.) "I have nurtured him since he was a year old; but up to this day I have ever refused to give him back, trusting to have in him a sure hostage for Inger Gyldenlove's faithfulness to us and to our friends. Yet in that respect he has been of but little service to us. You may marvel that I told you not this secret when you were with me here of late; therefore will I confess freely that I feared you might seize upon him, even as I had done. But now, when you have seen Lady Inger, and have doubtless assured yourself how loath she is to have a hand in our undertaking, you will see that 'tis wisest to give her back her own as soon as may be. Well might it come to pass that in her joy and security and thankfulness—" —— "—that is now our last hope." (Sits for awhile as though struck dumb with surprise; then exclaims in a low voice:) Aha,—what a letter! Gold would not buy it!
NILS STENSSON. 'Tis plain I have brought you weighty tidings.
Ay, ay,—Peter Kanzler has many irons in the fire, folk say.
NILS LYKKE (to himself). What to do with all this? A thousand
paths are open to me—— Suppose I——? No, 'twere to risk too
much. But if—ah, if I——? I will venture it.
(Tears the letter across, crumples up the pieces, and hides
them inside his doublet; puts back the other papers into
the packet, which he sticks inside his belt; rises and says:)
A word, my friend!
NILS STENSSON. Well—your looks say that the game goes bravely.
NILS LYKKE. Ay, by my soul it does. You have given me a hand
of nought but court cards,—queens and knaves and——
NILS STENSSON. But what of me, that have brought all these good
tidings? Have I nought more to do?
NILS LYKKE. You? Ay, that have you. You belong to the game.
You are a king—and king of trumps too.
NILS STENSSON. I a king? Oh, now I understand; you are thinking
of my exaltation——