Page:The collected works of Henrik Ibsen (Heinemann Volume 4).djvu/159

 Mother! Have you gone out of your wits?

[Goes to the head of the bed. You mustn't lie there and stare so! Speak, mother; it's I, your boy! [Feels her forehead and hands cautiously; then throws the string on the chair, and says softly:  Ay, ay!—You can rest yourself, Granë;   For e'en now the journey's done. [Closes her eyes, and bends over her. For all of your days I thank you,   For beatings and lullabys! But see, you must thank me back, now— [Presses his cheek against her mouth.    There; that was the driver's fare. [Entering.]  What? Peer! Ah, then we are over  The worse of the sorrow and need! Dear Lord, but she's sleeping soundly—  Or can she be? Hush; she is dead. [ weeps besides the body; walks up and down the room for some time; at last he stops beside the bed.

See mother buried with honour. I must try to fare forth from here.

Are you faring afar?