_Broddi_.--What may a woman effect in such a great feud? It will be a
most perilous journey. Who knows what may happen there!

_Jorun_.--The life of my husband is more precious to me than my own. But
I need a man's clothes, deacon, and then let us ride after the others.
Lend me the garments of your son who died when half grown. Permit me to
wear them on the journey, so that no one may recognize me at Flugumyr.

_Sigurd_ (_drying a tear_).--You are welcome to the boy's clothes.

_Jorun_.--And that you will have to promise me, deacon, to let no one
know who I am, whatever happen.

_Sigurd_ (_hands her a key, wiping off a tear_).--I promise it. The
boy's clothes lie in my chest under my vestments. Take them and may they
help you, Lady Jorun, you blessed woman!

_Jorun_.--There is still more to do, deacon. While I get myself ready,
you are to tell the stewardess that she is to give the servant girls and
men servants the food they choose to have, and as much and as good food
as if it were prepared for a banquet.

_Sigurd_.--It does not seem to me, though, as if any festival were at
hand this evening.

_Jorun_.--Do as I bid you! Probable it is that this will be the last
time that I have prepared food for my servants. (_She takes the crucifix
from her neck, hangs it upon a chair and kneels down before the
cross_. DEACON SIGURD _looks at her awhile, then leaves the room in all
stillness_.)