Page:The collected works of Henrik Ibsen (Volume 11).djvu/352



[With a shriek; clutching at his breast.] Ah! [Feebly.] Now it let me go again. [Shaking him.] What was it, John? [Sinking down against the back of the seat.] It was a hand of ice that clutched at my heart. John! Did you feel the ice-hand again! [Murmurs.] No. No ice-hand. It was a metal hand. [He sinks right down upon the bench.

[Tears off her cloak and throws it over him.] Lie still where you are! I will go and bring help for you. [She goes a step or two towards the right; then she stops, returns, and carefully feels his pulse and touches his face.

[Softly and firmly.] No. It is best so, John Borkman. Best so for you.