Page:The collected works of Henrik Ibsen (Heinemann Volume 1).pdf/265



[Laughing.] Why, Margit, of what are you thinking? I told you but a moment agone that your kinsman—

[Crossing to the table on the right.] Twelve years is a long time, Gudmund. The freshest plant may wither ten times over in that space.

'Tis seven years since last we met.

Surely it must be more than that.

[Looking at her.] I could almost think so. But 'tis as I say.

How strange! I must have been but a child then; and it seems to me a whole eternity since I was a child. [Throws herself down on a chair.] Well, sit you down, my kinsman! Rest you, for to-night you shall dance, and rejoice us with your singing. [With a forced smile.] Doubtless you know we are merry here to-day—we are holding a feast.

'Twas told me as I entered your homestead.