BORKMAN.
[Murmurs.] No. No ice-hand. It was a metal hand.
[He sinks right down upon the bench.
ELLA RENTHEIM. [Tears off her cloak and throws it over him.] Lie still where you are! I will go and bring help for you.
[She goes a step or two towards the right; then she stops,
returns, and carefully feels his pulse and touches his
face.
ELLA RENTHEIM. [Softly and firmly.] No. It is best so, John Borkman. Best for you.
[She spreads the cloak closer around him, and sinks down in
the snow in front of the bench. A short silence.
[MRS. BORKMAN, wrapped in a mantle, comes through the wood
on the right. THE MAID goes before her carrying a lantern.
THE MAID. [Throwing the light upon the snow.] Yes, yes, ma'am, here are their tracks.
MRS. BORKMAN. [Peering around.] Yes, here they are! They are sitting there on the bench. [Calls.] Ella!
ELLA RENTHEIM.
[Rising.] Are you looking for us?
MRS. BORKMAN.
[Sternly.] Yes, you see I have to.