ELIS. Hush,—I hear Lindkvist coming.
MRS. HEYST. What? Can you hear him in all this snow?
ELIS. Yes, I can hear his stick striking the pavement—and his squeaking galoshes. Please, mother, go into the house.
MRS. HEYST. No. I shall stay and tell him a few things.
ELIS. Dear, dear mother, you must go in or it will be too painful.
MRS. HEYST [Rising, with scorn]. Oh, may the day that I was born be forgotten—
CHRISTINE. Don't blaspheme, mother.
MRS. HEYST. Should not the lost have this trouble rather than that the worthy should suffer torture?
ELIS. Mother!
MRS. HEYST. Oh, God! Why have you forsaken me and my children? [Goes out L.]