Page:The collected works of Henrik Ibsen (Volume 5).djvu/206

170

[Entering hastily from the right.] Oh merciful Redeemer! Myrrha! What is the matter? Oh kind heaven, my mistress   Your mistress,—what of her? Sickness or frenzy; help, help! Helena sick! The physician! Oribases must come, Sintula! Summon him! ['' goes out by the back. is hastening out to the right, when at the door he meets the, surrounded by female slaves. Her countenance is wild and distorted, her hair and clothes are in disorder.''

Loosen the comb! Loosen the comb, I say! It is red hot. My hair is on fire; I burn, I burn!

Helena! For God's pity's sake!

Will no one help me? They are killing me with needle-pricks!