Nils Lykke.
Death and destruction!
Lady Inger.
It boots not to resist. You come not from this place. So rest you quiet; ’tis your wisest course.
Nils Lykke.
[To himself.] Ah,—I am overreached. She has been craftier than I. [A thought strikes him.] But if I yet——?
Lady Inger.
[To Olaf Skaktavl.] Ride with Count Sture’s troops to the frontier; then without pause to Peter Kanzler, and bring me back my child. Now has he no longer any plea for keeping from me what is my own.
[Adds, as Olaf Skaktavl is going:
Wait; a token—. He that wears Sten Sture’s ring, he is my son.