You shall teach me all of your songs! You must!
GUDMUND. [Softly, as he follows her with his eyes.]
She has flushed to the loveliest rose of May,
That was yet but a bud in the morning's ray.
SIGNE. [Returning with the harp.]
Behold!
GUDMUND. [Taking it.]
My harp! As bright as of yore!
[Striking one or two chords.
Still the old chords ring sweet and clear—
On the wall, untouched, thou shalt hang no more.
MARGIT. [Looking out at the back.]
Our guests are coming.