Page:The collected works of Henrik Ibsen (Heinemann Volume 1).pdf/315



Signë, my sister—? How hateful 'twere To steal her glad young life from her! But who can tell? In very sooth She may love him but with the light love of youth.

This phial—were I its powers to try— My husband would sleep for ever and aye!

No, no! To the river's depths with it straight!

And yet I could—'tis not yet too late.—

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.

[Flinging the beaker upon the table on the left.] My faith, this has been a feast that will be the talk of the country.