Page:The collected works of Henrik Ibsen (Volume 7).djvu/278

 It's nothing but over-work. Trust me, I am right.

Oswald.

[Sadly.] I thought so too, at first; but it isn't so.

Mrs. Alving.

Tell me everything, from beginning to end.

Oswald.

Yes, I will.

Mrs. Alving.

When did you first notice it?

Oswald.

It was directly after I had been home last time, and had got back to Paris again. I began to feel the most violent pains in my head—chiefly in the back of my head, they seemed to come. It was as though a tight iron ring was being screwed round my neck and upwards.

Mrs. Alving.

Well, and then?

Oswald.

At first I thought it was nothing but the ordinary headache I had been so plagued with while I was growing up

Mrs. Alving.

Yes, yes

Oswald.

But it wasn't that. I soon found that out. I couldn't work any more. I wanted to begin upon a big new picture, but my powers seemed to fail me; all my strength was crippled; I could form