Page:The collected works of Henrik Ibsen (Volume 7).djvu/317

 the illness that has driven you home to me. For I see very plainly that you are not mine: I have to win you.

Oswald.

[Impatiently.] Yes yes yes; all these are just so many phrases. You must remember that I am a sick man, mother. I can't be much taken up with other people; I have enough to do thinking about myself.

Mrs. Alving.

[In a low voice.] I shall be patient and easily satisfied.

Oswald.

And cheerful too, mother!

Mrs. Alving.

Yes, my dear boy, you are quite right. [Goes towards him.] Have I relieved you of all remorse and self-reproach now?

Oswald.

Yes, you have. But now who will relieve me of the dread?

Mrs. Alving.

The dread?

Oswald.

[Walks across the room.] Regina could have been got to do it.

Mrs. Alving.

I don't understand you. What is this about dread—and Regina?

Oswald.

Is it very late, mother?