Page:The collected works of Henrik Ibsen (Heinemann Volume 3).djvu/63



He tempts God! Mark what I foretell.

Your God ne'er wrought a miracle!

See, see! the storm!

Stab,—stone him! chase The flinty fellow from the place!

[''The peasants close menacingly round. The intervenes. , wild and dishevelled, comes hurriedly down the slopes.'']

[Crying out towards the throng.]

Oh, where is help, for Jesus' grace!

What do you need? Explain your case.

Nothing I need; no alms I seek, But oh, the horror, horror

Speak!

I have no voice,—O comfort, aid! Where is the priest?

Here there is none—