MARGIT.
In the hall there is gladness and revelry;
The dancers foot it with jest and glee.
The air weighed hot on my brow and breast;
For Gudmund, he was not there.
[She draws a deep breath.
Out here 'tis better: here's quiet and rest.
How sweet is the cool night air!
[A brooding silence.
The horrible thought! Oh, why should it be
That wherever I go it follows me?
The phial—doth a secret contain;
A drop of this in my—enemy's cup,
And his life would sicken and wither up;
The leech's skill would be tried in vain.
[Again a silence.
Were I sure that Gudmund—held me dear—
Then little I'd care for—
[GUDMUND enters from the house.
GUDMUND.
You, Margit, here?
And alone? I have sought you everywhere.
MARGIT.
'Tis cool here. I sickened of heat and glare.
See you how yonder the white mists glide
Softly over the marshes wide?
Here it is neither dark nor light,
But midway between them—
[To herself.