The Banquet Hall. It is still night. The hall is but dimly lighted by a branch-candlestick on the table, in front, on the right.
Lady Inger is sitting by the table, deep in thought.
Lady Inger.
[After a pause.] They call me keen-witted beyond all others in the land. I believe they are right. The keenest-witted—No one knows how I became so. For more than twenty years I have fought to save my child. That is the key to the riddle. Ay, that sharpens the wits!
My wits? Where have they flown to-night? What has become of my forethought? There is a ringing and rushing in my ears. I see shapes before me, so lifelike that methinks I could lay hold on them.
[Springs up.
Lord Jesus—what is this? Am I no longer mistress of my reason? Is it to come to that?
[Presses her clasped hands over her head; sits down again, and says more calmly:
Nay, 'tis nought. 'Twill pass. There is no fear;—it will pass.
How peaceful it is in the hall to-night! No
149
