Sigurd.
[Shrinking back.] Hiördis, Hiördis—I fear thee!
Hiördis.
[Not heeding him.] Our fate no power can alter now! Oh, ’tis better so than if thou hadst wedded me here in this life—if I had sat in thy homestead weaving linen and wool for thee and bearing thee children—pah!
Sigurd.
Hold, hold! Thy sorceries have been too strong for thee; they have made thee soul-sick, Hiördis! [Horror-struck.] Ha, see—see! Gunnar’s hall—it is burning!
Hiördis.
Let it burn, let it burn! The cloud-hall up yonder is loftier than Gunnar’s rafter-roof!
Sigurd.
But Egil, thy son—they are slaying him!