BERTEL. Go, of course we'll go, she'll warm herself and march along.

HOLGER. But she is ill. (_Turns to_ STEEN _with new decision in his
manner_) Thou shalt go with Uncle but I--must stay with her.

BERTEL. Nonsense, Holger!

HOLGER. No, it isn't!--If we should all go now, the fire would go out
and the light,--and she would wake up in the cold darkness and not know
where to turn for help.

BERTEL. Na, by Saint Christopher!--Miss a miracle to keep company with
a beggar!--Who held her hand before thou camest along? Send her packing
and make haste, Holger.

STEEN. Oh, do, Holger!

HOLGER. If there were some place near that we could take her.

BERTEL. There isn't a place on the road,--they've all gone to town long
ago. Bid her fare there also!

HOLGER. (_Looks at the_ OLD WOMAN, _then at_ BERTEL, _then back to the_
OLD WOMAN, _then he shakes his head_) Mother wouldn't treat her
so,--she'd be good to her.

BERTEL. Think of what you'll miss! (_An expression of anguish passes
over_ HOLGER'S _face, but he shakes his head and turns toward the old
woman_) Well, this is idle talk, thou and I will go, Steen.