Hurrah, to-morrow, Sunday—I’ll create!
Guldstad [laughing].
Yes, strip, and tackle it like a man, that’s right!
But first go in and sleep on it. Good-night!
[Goes out to the left. Svanhild appears in the room over the verandah; she shuts the window and draws down the blind.
Falk.
No, first I’ll act. I’ve slept too long and late.
[Looks up at Svanhild’s window, and exclaims, as if seized with a sudden resolution:
Good-night! Good-night! Sweet dreams to-night be thine;
To-morrow, Svanhild, thou art plighted mine!