ll.

ELLA RENTHEIM.
[In the doorway.] Help me to hold him, Gunhild!

MRS. BORKMAN.
[Coldly and sharply, standing in the middle of the room.] I
will not try to hold any one in all the world. Let them go away
from me--both the one and the other! As far--as far as ever they
please. [Suddenly, with a piercing shriek.] Erhart, don't leave
me!

[She rushes with outstretched arms towards the door. ELLA
RENTHEIM stops her.

ACT FOURTH

An open space outside the main building, which lies to the right.
A projecting corner of it is visible, with a door approached by
a flight of low stone steps. The background consists of steep
fir-clad slopes, quite close at hand. On the left are small
scattered trees, forming the margin of a wood. The snowstorm
has ceased; but the newly fallen snow lies deep around. The
fir-branches droop under heavy loads of snow. The night is
dark, with drifting clouds. Now and then the moon gleams out
faintly. Only a dim light is reflected from the snow.

BORKMAN, MRS. BORKMAN and ELLA RENTHEIM are standing upon the
steps, BORKMAN leaning wearily against the wall of the house.
He has an old-fashioned cape thrown over his shoulders, holds
a soft grey felt hat in one hand and a thick knotted stick in
the other. ELLA RENTHEIM carries her cloak over her arm. MRS.
BORKMAN's great shawl has slipped down over her shoulders, so
that her hair is uncovered.

ELLA RENTHEIM.
[Barring the way for MRS. BORKMAN.] Don't go after him, Gunhild!

MRS. BORKMAN.
[In fear and agitation.] Let me pass, I say! He must not go
away from me!

ELLA RENTHEIM.
It is utterly useless, I tell you! You will never overtake him.

MRS. BORKMAN.
Let me go, Ella! I will cry aloud after him all down the road.
And he must hear his mother's cry!

ELLA RENTHEIM.
He cannot hear you. You may be sure he is in the sledge already.

MRS. BORKMAN.
No, no; he can't be in the sledge yet!

ELLA RENTHEIM.
The doors are closed upon him long ago, believe me.

MRS. BORKMAN.
[In despair.] If he is in the sledge, then he is there with
her, with her--her!

BORKMAN.
[Laughing gloomily.] Then he probably won't hear his mother's
cry.

MRS. BORKMAN.
No, he will not hear it. [Listening.] Hark! what is that?

ELLA RENTHEIM.
[Also listening.] It sounds like sledge-bells.

MRS. BORKMAN.
[With a suppressed scream.]