Signë.
[As before, looking downwards.] You said to me this morning: if a wooer came riding hither—?
Margit.
That is true. [To herself.] Knut Gesling—has he already—? [Eagerly, to Signë.] Well? What then?
Signë.
[Softly, but with exultation.] The wooer has come! He has come, Margit! I knew not then whom you meant; but now—!
Margit.
And what have you answered him?
Signë.
Oh, how should I know? [Flinging her arms round her sister’s neck.] But the world seems to me so rich and beautiful since the moment when he told me that he held me dear.