Elina.
I hear you, Sir Knight.
Nils Lykke.
I know you hate me.
Elina.
You are keen-sighted, I perceive.
Nils Lykke.
But I know, too, that I have fully merited your hate. Unseemly and wounding were the words I wrote of you in my letter to Lady Inger.
Elina.
Like enough; I have not read them.
Nils Lykke.
But at least their purport is not unknown to you; I know your mother has not left you in ignorance of the matter; at the least she has told you how I praised the lot of the man who—; surely you know the hope I nursed—
Elina.
Sir Knight—if 'tis of that you would speak—
Nils Lykke.
I speak of it, only to ask pardon for my words; for no other reason, I swear to you. If my fame—as I have too much cause to fear—has gone before me to Östråt, you must needs know enough of my life not to wonder that in
