GUDMUND. [Looks searchingly at her.]
I scarce can say.
MARGIT.
You may doubtless read it in many a way;
But its truest meaning, methinks, is clear:
The church can never sever two that hold each other dear.
GUDMUND. [To himself.]
Ye saints, if she should—? Lest worse befall,
'Tis time indeed I told her all!
[Aloud.
Do you wish for my happiness—Margit, tell!
MARGIT. [In joyful agitation.]
Wish for it! I!