Page:The collected works of Henrik Ibsen (Heinemann Volume 3).djvu/278



Priest, thou walkest lame afoot.

I was hunted.

Red thy brow As the blood of thy heart's root!

I was beaten.

Musical Was thy voice of old, that now Rattles like the leaves of Fall.

I was

What?

By one and all Spurn'd.

[Looking at him with great eyes.]

Aha,—I know thee now! For the priest I took thee;—pest Take the priest and all the rest! The One, greatest Man art thou!

So I madly dared to trust.