[Going.
MARGIT.
[Hesitating.] Are you going? Will you not rather—?
BENGT.
[Laughing, to GUDMUND, as he comes forward again.] See you well— Sir Bengt of Solhoug is the man to make the women fain of him. How short so e'er the space, my wife cannot abide to be without me. [To MARGIT, caressing her.] Content you; I shall soon be with you again.
[He goes out to the back.
MARGIT.
[To herself.] Oh, torture, to have to endure it all.
[A short silence.