THE VOICE OF ARFI The redstart and the rose, The clear sunrise, What mortal knows Their grace to immortalise? Seek them again, where Death can never find, By love, within the mind—the enamour’d mind.
EGIL It must not be.—Yorul!—What, I Was mad, who now am sane and innocent. Come back! It shall not—Yorul!
THORDIS [Calls outside.] Egil!
EGIL [Pausing.] She!
[Enter, right, Thordis and Arfi. They are dressed in white, the dwarf being quaintly garlanded. They are followed by Wuldor. Thordis goes gaily toward Egil, extending both her hands.]
THORDIS Deserter! runagate!—Look, Arfi, here’s Our truant brought to bay. And will not yield! And will not even surrender up his eyes To his imploring gaolers.—O proud brother! Not even a hand-clasp in return for all Thy struck-off shackles? [Taking her hands, he still looks off left.]
EGIL Lady!
THORDIS Still no eyes For mortals? Quite enamoured of a wood-sprite? Alas! we’ve broke a tryst and she has flown! Call her: perchance she’ll hear.
EGIL [Looking upon Thordis.] Lady!— [Quickly then turning away, speaks under his breath to Wuldor.] A word, A word!
ARFI He’s deeply moved.