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This eBook from the Gutenberg Project consists of approximately 50 pages of information about The Feast at Solhoug.

And yet I could—­’tis not yet too late.—­
     [With an expression of mingled horror and rapture, whispers.

With what a magic resistless might
Sin masters us in our own despite! 
Doubly alluring methinks is the goal
I must reach through blood, with the wreck of my soul.

     [BENGT, with the empty beaker in his hand, comes in from
       the passageway; his face is red; he staggers slightly.

BENGT.

[Flinging the beaker upon the table on the left.] My faith, this has been a feast that will be the talk of the country. [Sees MARGIT.] Eh, are you there?  You are well again.  Good, good.

MARGIT.

[Who in the meantime has concealed the phial.] Is the door barred?

BENGT.

[Seating himself at the table on the left.] I have seen to everything.  I went with the last guests as far as the gates.  But what became of Knut Gesling to-night?—­Give me mead, Margit!  I am thirsty Fill this cup.

     [MARGIT fetches a flagon of the mead from a cupboard, and
       and fills the goblet which is on the table before him.

MARGIT.

[Crossing to the right with the flagon.] You asked about Knut Gesling.

BENGT.

That I did.  The boaster, the braggart!  I have not forgot his threats of yester-morning.

MARGIT.

  He used worse words when he left to-night.

BENGT.

  He did?  So much the better.  I will strike him dead.

MARGIT.

  [Smiling contemptuously.] H’m—­

BENGT.

I will kill him, I say!  I fear not to face ten such fellows as he.  In the store-house hangs my grandfather’s axe; its shaft is inlaid with silver; with that axe in my hands, I tell you—! [Thumps the table and drinks.] To-morrow I shall arm myself, go forth with all my men, and slay Knut Gesling.

     [Empties the beaker.

MARGIT.

  [To herself.] Oh, to have to live with him!

     [Is in the act of leaving the room.

BENGT.

Margit, come here!  Fill my cup again. [She approaches; he tries to draw her down on his knee.] Ha, ha, ha!  You are right fair, Margit!  I love thee well!

MARGIT.

  [Freeing herself.] Let me go!

     [Crosses, with the goblet in her hand, to the left.

BENGT.

You are not in the humour to-night.  Ha, ha, ha!  That means no great matter, I know.

MARGIT.

[Softly, as she fills the goblet.] Oh, that this might be the last beaker I should fill for you.

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