Page:The collected works of Henrik Ibsen (Heinemann Volume 1).pdf/277

 They would oft talk alone and in whispers, the two— Of what? That nobody guessed or knew. There came a night when I leant at ease Against the galley's railing; My thoughts flew onward to Norway's leas, With the milk-white seagulls sailing. Two voices whispered behind my back;— I turned—it was he and she; I knew them well, though the night was black, But they—they saw not me. She gazed upon him with sorrowful eyes And whispered: "Ah, if to southern skies We could turn the vessel's prow, And we were alone in the bark, we twain, My heart, methinks, would find peace again, Nor would fever burn my brow." Sir Audun answers; and straight she replies, In words so fierce, so bold; Like glittering stars I can see her eyes; She begged him—

My blood ran cold.

She begged—?

I arose, and they vanished apace; All was silent, fore and aft;—

But this I found by their resting place.

And that—?