YORUL A miracle! O Frida, speak to me!
THE LEECH [To the folk.] Stand off! Give air!
WULDOR [To the folk.] Hath Yorul then deceived us?
ROLF Behold, they live!
FRIDA [Rising, faintly.] Thanks; lead me to the temple.
INGIMUND What hath befallen?
WULDOR Hail, Ingimund! The portent Of Odin hath befallen.
INGIMUND Saw ye, or what?
[Wuldor and the folk whisper among themselves. Yorul supports Frida toward the temple.]
YORUL But how? What chanced?