Page:The collected works of Henrik Ibsen (Heinemann Volume 4).djvu/45



[Stopping.]

It is true—each blessed word!

[Confronting him.]

Don't you blush before your mother? First you skulk among the mountains Monthlong in the busiest season, Stalking reindeer in the snows; Home you come then, torn and tattered, Gun amissing, likewise game;— And at last, with open eyes, Think to get me to believe All the wildest hunters'-lies!— Well, where did you find the buck, then?

West near Gendin.

[Laughing scornfully.]

Ah! Indeed.

Keen the blast towards me swept; Hidden by an alder-clump, He was scraping in the snow-crust After lichen

[As before.]

Doubtless, yes!

Breathlessly I stood and listened,