’Tis seven years since last we met.
Margit.
Surely it must be more than that.
Gudmund.
[Looking at her.] I could almost think so. But ’tis as I say.
Margit.
How strange! I must have been but a child then; and it seems to me a whole eternity since I was a child. [Throws herself down on a chair.] Well, sit you down, my kinsman! Rest you, for to-night you shall dance, and rejoice us with your singing. [With a forced smile.] Doubtless you know we are merry here to-day—we are holding a feast.
Gudmund.
’Twas told me as I entered your homestead.
Bengt.