Have I aught to choose?
Is not mine honor bound by his decree?
And that will I redeem though Angantyr
His paltry gold doth hide in Nastrand's flood.
To-day will I depart.

Ingeborg.

And Ing'borg leave?

Fridthjof.

Nay, nay, I leave thee not, thou goest too.

Ingeborg.

Impossible!

Fridthjof.

O! hear me, ere thou answerest.
Thy crafty brother seemeth to forget,
That Angantyr was my dear father's friend,
As well as Bele's. Perhaps he'll give
Without constraint what I demand; if not
A worthy advocate, a sharp one too,
Have I. 'Tis always ready at my side.
The gold he covets I'll to Helge send,
And thus will I from sacrificial knife
Of this crowned hypocrite redeem us both.