- —leaden-grey—with splashes of yellow—and
reflecting the rain-clouds.
Asta.
[Imploringly.] Oh, Alfred, don't sit staring out over the fiord!
Allmers.
[Not heeding her.] Over the surface, yes. But in the depths—there sweeps the rushing undertow
Asta.
[In terror.] Oh, for God's sake—don't think of the depths!
Allmers.
[Looking gently at her..] I suppose you think he is lying close outside here? But he is not, Asta. You must not think that. You must remember how fiercely the current sweeps out here—straight to the open sea.
Asta.
[Throws herself forward against the table, and, sobbing, buries her face in her hands.] Oh, God! Oh, God!
Allmers.
[Heavily.] So you see, little Eyolf has passed so far—far away from us now.
Asta.
[Looks imploringly up at him.] Oh, Alfred, don't say such things!
