Page:The collected works of Henrik Ibsen (Volume 5).djvu/146

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With the shades.

Name my guests!

Not now. Hark, hark!

What is that? There is a rushing, as of a storm, through the house

[Shrieks.] Julian! Julian! Julian! Speak, speak! What is befalling us? The hour of annunciation is upon thee! [Springing up and shrinking far back from the table.] Ah! [The table lamps seem on the point of extinction; over the great bronze lamp rises a bluish circle of light.

[Casting himself wholly down.] Thine eye toward the light!

Yonder?

Yes, yes!