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Brand.
[Softly.]
The Yule light! Ha!
Agnes.
[Putting them on the table.]
Have I been slow?
Brand.
No, no.
Agnes.
Thou must be cold, Brand!
Brand.
[Loudly.]
No
Agnes.
[Smiling, fills the stove.]
How stern! It is thy pride of will,
That scorns the darkness and the chill.
Brand.
[Walking up and down.]
H'm, Will!
Agnes.
[To herself as she decks the room.]
Here must the candles stand.
Last year he stretch'd his tiny hand
After the glancing, dancing light:
He was so joyous and so bright;
He started from his little chair,
And ask'd me if a sun it were.
[Moves the candles a little.]
See! now the candle's glow falls—<g>there</g>!
