NILS LYKKE. You err; I pursue you not. I am myself pursued.
ELINA. You?
NILS LYKKE. By a multitude of thoughts. Therefore 'tis with
sleep as with you:—it flees me.
ELINA. Go to the window, and there you will find pastime;—a
storm-tossed sea——
NILS LYKKE (smiles). A storm-tossed sea? That I may find in
you as well.
ELINA. In me?
NILS LYKKE. Ay, of that our first meeting has assured me.
ELINA. And that offends you?
NILS LYKKE. Nay, in nowise; yet I could wish to see you of milder mood.
ELINA (proudly). Think you that you will ever have your wish?