MARGIT. [Looking toward the window.]
And he comes to Solhoug! He, as a guest!
SIGNE.
What say you?
MARGIT. [Turning.]
Naught.—Deck you out in your best.
That fortune which seemeth to you so bright
May await yourself.
SIGNE.
Margit, say what you mean!
MARGIT. [Stroking her hair.]
I mean—nay, no more! 'Twill shortly be seen—;
I mean—should a wooer ride hither to-night—?