Page:The collected works of Henrik Ibsen (Heinemann Volume 3).djvu/131

 Enter.

[Hurries to meet him.]

Say! say! How?

She stands before her Maker now.

Dead!—But repentant?

Scarcely so; She hugg'd Earth's goods with all her heart Till the Hour struck, and they must part.

[Looking straight before him in deep emotion.]

Is here an erring soul undone?

She will be mildly judged, maybe;— And Law temper'd with equity,

[In a low tone.]

What said she?

Low she mutter'd: He Is no hard dealer, like my son.

[Sinking in anguish upon the bench]

Guilt-wrung or dying, still that lie That every soul is ruin'd by!

[Hides his face in his hands.