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ALLMERS. I have done her a great wrong. But not in this. Oh, think of it, Asta--think of our life together, yours and mine. Was it not like one long holy-day from first to last?
ASTA. Yes, it was, Alfred. But we can never live it over again.
ALLMERS. [Bitterly.] Do you mean that marriage has so irreparably ruined me?
ASTA. [Quietly.] No, that is not what I mean.
ALLMERS. Well, then we two will live our old life over again.
ASTA. [With decision.] We cannot, Alfred.
ALLMERS. Yes, we can. For the love of a brother and sister--
ASTA. [Eagerly.] What of it?
ALLMERS. That is the only relation in life that is not subject to the law of change.
ASTA. [Softly and tremblingly.] But if that relation were not--
ALLMERS. Not--?
ASTA.--not our relation?
ALLMERS. [Stares at her in astonishment.] Not ours? Why, what can you mean by that?
ASTA. It is best I should tell you at once, Alfred.
ALLMERS. Yes, yes; tell me!
ASTA. The letters to mother--. Those in my portfolio--
ALLMERS. Well?
ASTA. You must read them--when I am gone.
ALLMERS. Why must I?
ASTA. [Struggling with herself.] For then you will see that--
ALLMERS. Well?
ASTA.--that I have no right to bear your father's name.
ALLMERS. [Staggering backwards.] Asta! What is this you say!
ASTA. Read the letters. Then you will see--and understand. And perhaps have some forgiveness--for mother, too.
ALLMERS. [Clutching at his forehead.] I cannot grasp this--I cannot realise the thought. You, Asta--you are not--
ASTA. You are not my brother, Alfred.
ALLMERS. [Quickly, half defiantly, looking at her.] Well, but what difference does that really make in our relation? Practically none at all.
ASTA. [Shaking her head.] It makes all the difference, Alfred. Our relation is not that of brother and sister.
ALLMERS. No, no. But it is none the less sacred for that--it will always be equally sacred.
ASTA. Do not forget--that it is subject to the law of change, as you said just now.
ALLMERS. [Looks inquiringly at her.] Do you mean that--
ASTA. [Quietly, but with rearm emotion.] Not a word more--my dear, dear Alfred. [Takes up the flowers from the chair.] Do you see these water-lilies?
ALLMERS. [Nodding slowly.] They are the sort that shoot up--from the very depth.
ASTA. I pulled them in the tarn--where it flows out into the fiord.
[Holds them out to him.] Will you take them, Alfred?
ALLMERS. [Taking them.] Thanks.
ASTA. [With tears in her eyes.] They are a last greeting to you, from--from little Eyolf.
ALLMERS. [Looking at her.] From Eyolf out yonder? Or from you?
ASTA. [Softly.] From both of us. [Taking up her umbrella.] Now come with me to Rita.
[She goes up the wood-path.]
ALLMERS. [Takes up his hat from the table, and whispers sadly.] Asta.
Eyolf. Little Eyolf--!
[He follows her up the path.]
ACT THIRD
[An elevation, overgrown with shrubs, in ALLMERS'S garden. At the back a sheer cliff, with a railing along its edge, and with steps on the left leading downwards. An extensive view over the fiord, which lies deep below. A flagstaff with lines, but no flag, stands by the railing. In front, on the right, a summer-house, covered with creepers and wild vines. Outside it, a bench. It is a late summer evening, with clear sky.
Deepening twilight.]
[ASTA is sitting on the bench, with her hands in her lap. She is wearing her outdoor dress and a hat, has her parasol at her side, and a little travelling-bag on a strap over her shoulder.]
[BORGHEIM comes up from the back on the left. He, too, has a travelling-bag over his shoulder. He is carrying a rolled-up flag.]
BORGHEIM. [Catching sight of ASTA.] Oh, so you are up here!
ASTA. Yes, I am taking my last look out over the fiord.
