LADY INGER. Sir Councillor——!
NILS LYKKE (to LADY INGER). I accept not the wager; for in a moment you will gladly give Ostrat Castle, and more to boot, to be freed from the snare wherein not I but you are tangled.
LADY INGER. Your jest, Sir, grows a vastly merry one.
NILS LYKKE. 'Twill be merrier yet—at least for me. You boast that you have overreached me. You threaten to heap on me all men's scorn and mockery. Ah, beware that you stir not up my vengefulness; For with two words I can bring you to your knees at my feet.
LADY INGER. Ha-ha—— ——!
(Stops suddenly, as if struck by a foreboding.)
And the two words, Nils Lykke?—the two words——?
NILS LYKKE. ——The secret of Sten Sture's son and yours.
LADY INGER (with a shriek). Oh, Jesus Christ——!
OLAF SKAKTAVL. Inger Gyldenlove's son! What say you?
LADY INGER (half kneeling to NILS LYKKE). Mercy! oh be merciful
——!
NILS LYKKE (raises her up). Collect yourself, and let us talk
calmly.