SIGNE. [Bursts into tears.]
Farewell, my poor sister! Like my mother tender
Thou hast guarded the ways my feet have trod,
Hast guided my footsteps, aye praying to God,
The Almighty, to be my defender.—
Gudmund—here is a goblet filled with mead;
Let us drink to her; let us wish that ere long
Her soul may again be calm and strong,
And that God may be good to her need.
[She takes the goblet into her hands.
GUDMUND.
Aye, let us drain it, naming her name!
[Starts.
Stop!
[Takes the goblet from her.
For meseems it is the same—
SIGNE.
'Tis Margit's beaker.
GUDMUND. [Examining it carefully.]