Page:The collected works of Henrik Ibsen (Volume 7).djvu/276

 Mrs. Alving.

Hiding what? What is it?

Oswald.

[As before.] I could never bring myself to write to you about it; and since I've come home

Mrs. Alving.

[Seizes him by the arm.] Oswald, what is the matter?

Oswald.

Both yesterday and to-day I have tried to put the thoughts away from me—to cast them off; but it's no use.

Mrs. Alving.

[Rising.] Now you must tell me everything, Oswald!

Oswald.

[Draws her down to the sofa again.] Sit still; and then I will try to tell you.—I complained of fatigue after my journey

Mrs. Alving.

Well? What then?

Oswald.

But it isn't that that is the matter with me; not any ordinary fatigue

Mrs. Alving.

[Tries to jump up.] You are not ill, Oswald?

Oswald.

[Draws her down again.] Sit still, mother. Do