Page:The collected works of Henrik Ibsen (Heinemann Volume 4).djvu/182

 It is I, Peter Gynt! Oh, our Lord, give but heed! Hold thy hand o'er me, Father; or else I must perish! Make them back the machine! Make them lower the gig! Stop the robbers! Make something go wrong with the rigging! Hear me! Let other folks' business lie over! The world can take care of itself for the time!— I'm blessed if he hears me! He's deaf as his wont is! Here's a nice thing! A God that is bankrupt of help! [Beckons upwards. Hist; I've abandoned the nigger-plantation! And missionaries I've exported to Asia! Surely one good turn should be worth another! Oh, help me on board! [''A jet of fire shoots into the air from the yacht, followed by thick clouds of smoke; a hollow report is heard. utters a shriek, and sinks down on the sands. Gradually the smoke clears away; the ship has disappeared.''

[Softly, with a pale face.]

That's the sword of wrath! In a crack to the bottom, every soul, man and mouse! Oh, for ever blest be the lucky chance

[With emotion.

A chance? No, no, it was more than a chance. I was to be rescued and they to perish. Oh, thanks and praise for that thou hast kept me,