Halla (stands up; her voice is husky). Better kill me before you go. (Bares her breast.) Stab me with your knife—right here! I won't scream. (Shuts her eyes.) I shall think I am nursing my child, and the little teeth are biting my breast.
Kari. Have you gone mad?
Halla. You haven't the heart, but you have the heart to let me sit here all alone. A wretched little train-oil lamp you would put out before you went; you could not bear to let it burn over nothing. (Sits down.)
Kari (stands silent a long time). I have been guilty of many a bad deed, but so far as I know, I have never been cruel. Nor will I be cruel to you. (Takes off his coat.) Then we shall wait together as you wish. Does that make you feel happier?
Halla. I don't know. I can feel neither joy nor grief any longer. I think I would rather be alone.
Kari. You don't mean that.
Halla. If you think it wiser to go, you must do so.
Kari. I thought it would make you glad if I stayed.
Halla (rising). If you had taken me in your arms and told me that you loved me with all my wretchedness and all my homeliness, that would have made me glad; but you did not.
Kari. Yet you know it was for your sake I stayed.