pass!

OSWALD. [Also outside.] You shall not go out. And no one shall come
in. [The locking of a door is heard.]

MRS. ALVING. [Comes in again.] Oswald! Oswald--my child!

OSWALD. [Follows her.] Have you a mother's heart for me--and yet
can see me suffer from this unutterable dread?

MRS. ALVING. [After a moment's silence, commands herself, and
says:] Here is my hand upon it.

OSWALD. Will you--?

MRS. ALVING. If it should ever be necessary. But it will never be
necessary. No, no; it is impossible.

OSWALD. Well, let us hope so. And let us live together as long as
we can. Thank you, mother. [He seats himself in the arm-chair which
MRS. ALVING has moved to the sofa. Day is breaking. The lamp is
still burning on the table.]

MRS. ALVING. [Drawing near cautiously.] Do you feel calm now?

OSWALD. Yes.

MRS. ALVING. [Bending over him.] It has been a dreadful fancy of
yours, Oswald--nothing but a fancy. All this excitement has been
too much for you. But now you shall have along rest; at home with