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Bernick.
Oh, you know nothing! But I, I! They are the lights in a dead-room!
Krap.
H'm!
Rummel.
Come now, really—you make far too much of it.
Sandstad.
The boy will have a trip over the Atlantic, and then you'll have him back again.
Vigeland.
Only put your trust in the Almighty, Consul.
Rummel.
And in the ship, Bernick; she's seaworthy enough, I'm sure.
Krap.
H'm
Rummel.
Now, if it were one of those floating coffins we hear of in the great nations
Bernick.
I can feel my very hair growing grey.
Mrs. Bernick, with a large shawl over her head, comes through the garden door.
Mrs. Bernick.
Karsten, Karsten, do you know?
Bernick.
Yes, I know; but you—you who can see nothing—you who have not a mother's care for him!
