Page:The collected works of Henrik Ibsen (Volume 6).djvu/418

 Bernick.

Oh, you know nothing! But I, I! They are the lights in a dead-room!

Krap.

H'm!

Rummel.

Come now, really—you make far too much of it.

Sandstad.

The boy will have a trip over the Atlantic, and then you'll have him back again.

Vigeland.

Only put your trust in the Almighty, Consul.

Rummel.

And in the ship, Bernick; she's seaworthy enough, I'm sure.

Krap.

H'm

Rummel.

Now, if it were one of those floating coffins we hear of in the great nations

Bernick.

I can feel my very hair growing grey.

Mrs. Bernick, with a large shawl over her head, comes through the garden door.

Mrs. Bernick.

Karsten, Karsten, do you know?

Bernick.

Yes, I know; but you—you who can see nothing—you who have not a mother's care for him!