Berent (following him). Shoot, and you will hear a report—that is what you are longing for, I suppose! Or, give up your plan of shooting, think of what you have done, confess, and afterwards hold your tongue!
Tjaelde. No; may the devil take both you and me—
Berent. And the horse?
Tjaelde. The horse?
Berent. I mean the magnificent charger on which you came galloping home from the sale of Möller's estate. You had better let some one shoot you on horseback—on what was your last and greatest piece of business duplicity! (Goes nearer to him and speaks more quietly.) Or—strip yourself of the tissue of lies which enfolds you, and your bankruptcy will bring you more blessing than your riches have ever done. (TJAELDE lets the revolver drop out of his hand, and sinks into a chair in an outburst of tears. There is silence for a moment.) You have made an amazing fight of it for these last three years. I do not believe I know any one who could have done what you have done. But you have lost the fight this time. Do not shrink now from a final settlement and the pain that it must cost you. Nothing else will cleanse your soul for you.
Tjaelde (weeping unrestrainedly, with his face buried in his hands). Oh, oh!
Berent. You have blamed me for my method of proceeding in the matter. My answer to that is that I forgive you for yours. (A pause.) Try now to look the situation in the face, and take it like a man.
Tjaelde (as before). Oh!
Berent. At the bottom of your heart you must be weary of it all; make an end of it all now!
Tjaelde (as before). Oh!