Woe! Woe! I myself am the Hill-King’s wife!
And there cometh none to free me from the prison of my life.
[Signë, radiant with gladness, comes running in from the back.
Signë.
[Calling.] Margit, Margit,—he is coming!
Margit.
[Starting up.] Coming? Who is coming?
Signë.
Gudmund, our kinsman!
Margit.