Page:The collected works of Henrik Ibsen (Volume 7).djvu/287

 Oswald.

If it were only the illness, I should stay with you, mother, you may be sure; for you are the best friend I have in the world.

Mrs. Alving.

Yes, indeed I am, Oswald; am I not?

Oswald.

[Wanders restlessly about.] But it's all the torment, the gnawing remorse—and then, the great, killing dread. Oh—that awful dread!

Mrs. Alving.

[Walking after him.] Dread? What dread? What do you mean?

Oswald.

Oh, you mustn't ask me any more. I don't know. I can't describe it.

Mrs. Alving.

[Goes over to the right and pulls the bell.]

Oswald.

What is it you want?

Mrs. Alving.

I want my boy to be happy—that is what I want. He sha'n't go on brooding over things. [To Regina, who appears at the door:] More champagne—a large bottle. [Regina goes.

Oswald.

Mother!