Scene I: A prison chamber, dim, built of stone
On the right stands a high, framed tapestry, the design partly worked; beside it, on a table, several harps and instruments of music. On the left, extending centre, the half-completed model of a structure resembling the temple in Act I, Scene I; beside it, wooden blocks and miniature beams; in front of it a stone tablet, upon which Egil—stooped, with an instrument in his hand—is laboriously carving runes. Behind him stands Arfi, at times guiding the hand of his brother, who is evidently being overcome by weariness, against which he struggles for concentration. Finally Egil’s head droops, his hand falls, and his body sinks prone. At the door, Thordis enters.
THORDIS Asleep?
ARFI Quite, quite outworn.
THORDIS The task is done? The runes?
THORDIS [Sighs unconsciously.] How swift he learns!
ARFI Yes, hourly he hath grown through the strange months Since Ingimund entrusted him to us To dispossess the beast that plagues him.
THORDIS Look Now where he lies and dreams.
ARFI There lies a block Of chaos, for our wills to fuse and kindle Into a world, glowing with vital forms Of law and loveliness. Yea, Thordis, we— We are his being’s seasons, you and I; The sun and moon, the starshine and the dew, Of this stark heath and breeding moor of passion, And the large jurisdiction of our love Must ripen there the temperate growths of reason, And stablish the mind’s palaces.