Page:The collected works of Henrik Ibsen (Heinemann Volume 2).djvu/239

 me that you were sick; therefore I set forth at once; I have come hither on foot

There was no such haste, Inga!

enters from the right.

God's peace, my honoured lord!

Comes the King?

He is now riding down the Ryen hills, with the Queen and the King-child and a great following.

[Rushes up to ] The King,—the King! Comes he hither?

Inga! You here, much-suffering woman!

She is not much-suffering who has so great a son.

Now will his hard heart be melted.

Not a word to the King of me. Yet, oh, I must see him!—Tell me,—comes he hither?

Ay, presently.