(SCENE.—A street in the "villa quarter" of the town. Between it and another street running parallel with it in the background, are two houses standing in gardens, half of the facade of one of them projecting into the stage on the right. On the left a third street runs at right angles to the others, to the back of the stage. The left side of this third street opens onto a well-wooded park. The house in the foreground on the right is in two stories. There is a narrow strip of garden in front of it, enclosed by an iron railing with a gate in it. The gate is standing open. The entrance door to the house is immediately behind this gate. There is light in a small window by the door; the ground floor windows are in darkness; in those of the upper floor, light is visible through heavy curtains. It is a wintry evening, and everything is swathed in an unusually thick fog, in which the gas lamps in the streets show dimmer and dimmer as they recede in the distance. As the curtain goes up, a lamplighter is seen descending his ladder from a lamp-post, where he has just lit the lamp at the corner of the house.)

The Lamplighter (as he reaches the ground). It's all one whether the lamps are lit or not, in such a fog as this. (MRS. EVJE is seen drawing back the curtain at a window on the first floor. She opens the window and looks out.)

Mrs. Evje. The fog is so thick, my dear, that I can't see across the street.

Evje (coming to the window, with fur coat and cap on). So it is!—Well, so much the better, my dear! (They withdraw into the room; the window is shut and the curtains drawn. Two passers-by come along the street from the right, talking.)

First Passer-by. The Land of Fogs—the old idea of the land of Fogs was that of a vision of confused and faint sensation, with the light of the intelligence dimmed and blurred like these gas lamps in the fog.

Second Passer-by. It would be that, if our hearts did not often act as guiding lights to our befogged intelligences. Look at this house behind us—the brandy distiller's. The devilish workings of his intelligence have befogged the whole country—befogged it with brandy—and some such guiding light is much needed there.

First Passer-by. Ah, well,—the old idea of the Land of Fogs was that fogs were—. (The sound of their conversation dies away as they pass into the park on the left. GERTRUD, closely veiled and wrapped in furs, comes slowly out of the park. She stops at the corner and looks down the street, then passed slowly along to the right, looking up at the house as she goes. She is scarcely out of sight when the house-door opens and EVJE comes out.)

Evje. This is about the time he comes home—I daren't go to his house and ask for him; I don't know if he would admit me. I daren't trust to the Doctor alone.—This uncertainty is dreadful! (He starts at seeing GERTRUD, whom he does not recognise in the fog, walking towards him. She turns suddenly and walks back the way she came.) Who was that? She gave me quite a fright in this fog! Her furs seemed rather like—no, no, it couldn't be. I must not let any one recognise me. (Puts up the high collar of his coat, so that only his nose is visible.) Both of them called me a coward, but they are very much mistaken. It is not cowardice for a man who is respected and honoured to try and avoid scandal. Hm! Naturally those who trade in scandals think otherwise!—To act without attaching weight to the opinion of others, to disregard one's own predilections, to put up with being laughed at—all for the sake of preventing a scandal—that is to be strong and courageous. And it is admirable, too; for it is admirable to act fearlessly in the interest of one's family, and of one's business, and of propriety. (Starts as he hears his door opened. JOHN has come along the street and gone into the house.) Is that some one coming out of my house? No, it is a man going in. And then to think of Harald Rejn beginning that nonsense about my being a coward, because I refused to become a party man! Every one ought to take sides in politics—that is their cry. Hm! I should say it required rather more courage nowadays to refrain from taking sides. (Starts again.) Who is that? Oh, only that woman again. She is waiting for some one too. I expect we shall both catch bad colds. (Walks up and down.) It is an odd sensation to be walking up and down on the watch outside one's own house. Cowardice? Pshaw! To let one's self be abused in a public street without stirring a finger to prevent it, that would be cowardice. I only hope he has not gone round the other way? There is much more traffic in that street, and some one might easily—. I think I will take a turn towards the town, and turn back when I am a little way from here; it will look less suspicious. I must catch him, because his paper will be going to press. (Looks up at his house.) My poor wife, sitting up there dreadfully alarmed on my account! (Goes out to the right. As soon as he has gone, the house-door opens and JOHN comes warily out.)

JOHN. So he has gone out, has he! Oh, well, he is bound to come in again! I will wait and catch him, that I will! Tra, la, la, la, la! I can play about here in the fog till he comes back; I have nothing to lose! And it will be best to catch him in the street; he will make less fuss, and can't run away from me! Tra, la, la, la, la! (Lounges out to the right. A moment later, HARALD comes out of the park. He is dressed much as EVJE is, but has not his coat-collar turned up.)

Harald. There is a light in her window! Then she is alone in her room. What am I going to do now? Twice already I have come to look at that light; now I have seen it—and must go away! Good-bye, my darling! Be patient, and wait! I know your thoughts are with me now; and I know you feel that mine are with you! (As he turns away from the house he sees the veiled figure of GERTRUD, who, as soon as she has come nearer, rushes to him, throws up her veil, and falls into his arms in a glad embrace.)

Gertrud. I was certain that, if you could not go into the house again, you would be out here! I knew you would not go away from me, dear!

Harald. No—neither now nor ever.

Gertrud. And, while I was walking up and down here in the fog, I felt that though there might be all this gloom tend cold around us outside, there was the brightness and warmth of certainty in our hearts.

Harald. Yes, our love is the one certainty for me! Fog may obscure the goal I aim at, the road I have to I read, the very ground I stand on; doubts may even for a while attack my faith; but my love for you shines clear through it all!

Gertrud. Thank you, my darling! If that is so, there is nothing that we cannot overcome!

Harald. Of course, you know what took place to-day?

Gertrud. I can guess.

Harald. Is it true that you are ill? Why did you never tell me?

Gertrud. No, the doctor is not telling the truth; I am not ill! Even if I were, what matter? I should go on living as long as I could—and should have done my duty before I gave in!

Harald. That is the way to look at it!

Gertrud. But I am not ill! I suffer, it is true—and am likely to—every time you are persecuted, or my parents on my account. Because I have drawn them into all this that, they are so unfitted for, and that is why it pains me so to see how unprepared it finds them—most of all when, out of tenderness for me, they try to conceal it. But I can't alter things. We are fighting for a cause that you believe to be right, and so do I; surely that is better than never to suffer at all in any good cause. Try me! Let me share the fight with you! I am not weak; it is only that my heart is sore for those I love.

Harald. You splendid, loyal creature!—and you are mine! (Embraces her.)

Gertrud. You should hear what grandfather says!

Harald. Yes, how is the dear old gentleman?

Gertrud. Pretty well, thanks, though he never gets out now. But he is following your work, and he says that what you are aiming at is right, if you ask for God's guidance on your way. Harald—you will always be the same as you are now—good and genuine—won't you, dear? Not like the rest of them—nothing but bitterness and malice, always talking of principles and consequences and all the rest of it, and always attacking others? If one were obliged to be like that, it would be a curse to be a politician.

Harald. I will be what you make me! I think that behind every man's public life you can see his private life—whether he has a real home, and what it is like, or whether he only has a place he lives in—that is to say, no real home.

Gertrud. With God's help I shall try to make a bright, snug and cosy home for you! And this fog is delightful, because it only makes the thought of such a home all the cosier and snugger! It makes us seem so alone, too; no one is out driving or walking; and we can talk as loud as we please, because the fog deadens the sound of our voices. Oh, I feel so happy again now! Do you know, I think it is rather nice to be persecuted a little; it makes our meetings so much more precious!

Harald. But, you know dear, to meet you like this—and just now—

Gertrud (as they walk up and down together). Yes, of course! I had altogether forgotten how much you have to bear just now; I have been chattering away—. Oh, I don't know how I could feel so happy, because I am really dreadfully distressed. But, you know, I sit the whole play beside grandfather, thinking, without even being able to talk. I generally read aloud to him; now and then he makes a remark, but he really lives more in the next world than in this one now. (They hear a cough in the distance, and give a start, because they recognise it. The EDITOR and EVJE, walking along together, EVJE apparently talking very earnestly, are seen, indistinctly through the fog, in the street running parallel with the one HARALD and GERTRUD are in. JOHN is seen following them cautiously. They disappear into the park.)

Harald. I hear the enemy! I am sure I caught a glimpse of him over there through the fog, talking to another man.

Gertrud. Is he always about the streets even in weather like this?

Harald. Well, we won't let him disturb us. (They begin walking up and down again in front of the house.)

Gertrud. Do you know whom I met out here? Father!

Harald. Really? Then it is as I thought; the other man over there was your father!

Gertrud. Do you think it was? Poor father!

Harald. Yes, he is weak.

Gertrud. But you must be good to him. He is so good himself. Think how mother loves him; she is absolutely wrapped up in him, because he is so good!

Harald. He is a good man, and an able man. But, but, but—

Gertrud. They have lived a very tranquil life. We of the younger generation try to undertake heavier duties and greater responsibilities than the older generation did. But we must not be angry with them.

Harald. I am afraid it is only too easy to feel angry with them.

Gertrud. No, do as grandfather does! If he thinks any one is going to be amenable to it, he talks to them quietly; if not, he only behaves affectionately to them. Do you understand, dear?—just affectionately.

Harald. Well, to-day—ought I to have put up with their allowing themselves to be treated in such an unseemly way, and their treating me in such an unseemly way?

Gertrud. Was it really as bad as that?

Harald. You would not believe what it was like, I assure you!

Gertrud (standing still). Poor father! Poor father! (Throws her arms round HARALD'S neck.) Be good to them, Harald!—just because of their faults, dear! We are their children, you know, and it is God's commandment, even if we were not their children.

Harald. If only I could take you up in my arms and carry you off home with me now! Your love takes possession of my heart and my will, and purifies both of them. I am at a crisis in my life now—and now you should be on my side!

Gertrud. Listen!—to begin with, I will go with you to your meeting to-night!

Harald. Yes, yes,—I will come and fetch you!

Gertrud. Down at the door here!

Harald. Yes!

Gertrud. And, in the next place, I am going to walls into the town with you now.

Harald. But then I shall have to see you home again.

Gertrud. Do you object?

Harald. No, no! And you shall teach me a lot of things on the way!

Gertrud. Yes, you will be so wise before we get back! (They go out to the right.)

(The EDITOR and EVJE come out of the park. JOHN follows them, unseen by them, and slips past them to the right when they stop for a moment. The following conversation is carried on in hurried tones, and every time the EDITOR raises his voice EVJE hushes him, and speaks himself in a persistently lowered voice.)

Evje. But what concern of yours—or of the public's—are my private affairs? I don't want to have anything to do with politics.

The Editor, Well, then, you ought not to have had anything to do with him.

Evje. When I first made his acquaintance he was not a politician.

The Editor. Then you ought to have dropped him when he became one.

Evje. Ought I to have dropped you too, when you became one?

The Editor. Let me repeat, for the last time, that we are not talking about me!

Evje. Hush, hush! What a fellow you are! You get into a rage if any one chaffs you. But you want to hit out at everybody all round!

The Editor. Do you suppose I am myself?

Evje. Who the devil are you, if you are not yourself?

The Editor. I am merely the servant of the public.

Evje. The public executioner, that is to say?

The Editor. Well, yes, if you prefer it. But you shall pay for that word some day.

Evje. There—you see! Always talking of paying for things!—of revenge!

The Editor. You shall pay for it, I tell you!

Evje. You are absolutely mad!—Poof! I am sweating as if it were the dog days! (Changes his tone.) Think of the time when we used to go to school together—when you never could go to bed without first coming to thank me for the jolly times we were having together!

The Editor. None of that nonsense! I am accustomed to be hated, despised, spit upon, scourged; if any one speaks kindly to me, I do not trust them!

Evje. You must trust me!

The Editor. No—and, besides, I observed very clearly to-day that you had counted on having me in reserve if ever you got into a scrape.

Evje. Well, who doesn't count on his friends? Doesn't every one take them into his reckoning?

The Editor. I don't; I have no friends.

Evje. Haven't you me? Do you think I would leave you in the lurch?

The Editor. That is hypocrisy! At times when I have needed it, the very last thing you have thought of has been to give me any help!

Evje. Have I not helped you?

The Editor. That is hypocrisy, too-to pretend you think I am speaking of money. No; when I have been accused of being dishonourable—of lying—you, the "old schoolfellow," the "old friend," the "neighbour," have never once had the courage to come forward on my behalf.

Evje. I never meddle with politics.

The Editor (with rising temper). More hypocrisy! Another of your damned evasions!

Evje. Hush, hush, hush!

The Editor. You try to excuse yourself with a lie! You are doubly a traitor!—And then you expect me to have compassion on you!

Evje. As sure as I stand here, I have never thought of deserting you, however bad things were.

The Editor. And you have the face to take credit to yourself for that? It is all calculation from beginning to end! You thought it would be the best way of making me remember your loyalty, and reward you for it.

Evje. This is abominable!

The Editor. Oh, you are cunning enough! You represent wealth of another kind, which at first was not entirely irreproachably come by—

Evje. There you go again!

The Editor.—and want to give it the cachet of good society; so you take care to keep friends with a newspaper that may be able to give you a helping hand in gaining what you want. Can you deny it?

Evje. There may be a slight tinge of calculation even in our highest purposes. But the misfortune about you is that you can see nothing but the calculation, though it may be only an infinitesimal part of the whole thing.

The Editor. Oho—I have had experience of you!

Evje. Then you must have had experience of your party's loyalty, too.

The Editor. My party's loyalty!

Evje. Well, after all, it keeps you where you are to-day.

The Editor. It keeps me there?

Evje. And you have friends in that party-myself amongst others—who certainly would rather stand outside altogether, but nevertheless give you their advice and support when you are in difficulties. You cannot deny that.

The Editor. I have friends in the party? Oh yes; and if we lose a fight these fine counsellors are the first to run away! They are always egging me on and egging me on; but only let public opinion once get tired of me, and they will throw me overboard without more ado! By that sort of treachery they manage to fill the sails of the party craft with a new breeze—and leave me to shift the best way I can!—they, for whom I have fought with all my might and main! I despise my opponents—they are either scoundrels and thieves, or they are blockheads and braggarts. But my supporters are lick-spittles, fools, cravens. I despise the whole pack of them, from first to last! If any one would give me the assurance that if, as a pledge that I would never use a pen again, I were to chop off my right hand I should thereby gain the prospect of a peaceful life a thousand miles away from here, I believe I would do it!—I despise the whole pack of them—oh, how I despise them!

Evje. But this is horrible! Do you find no comfort in religion? Or, at all events, you have your paper!

The Editor. My paper, yes—but what good do you suppose that is to me? And do you think I give the impression of being a religious man?

Evje. Then what do you work for?

The Editor. Perhaps you think I work for your sake?—or for the sake of prosperity, or order, or whatever it is you cowards or self-seekers like to imagine it is that you personify? No, the whole human race is not worth the powder and shot that they are holding at each other's heads.

Evje. Then why do you come and almost threaten my life, if the whole thing seems so worthless to you?

The Editor. Do you seriously suppose that I would give in, so as to spare you or some other shopkeeper?—so that you should be able to say triumphantly, "You see he didn't dare! He didn't dare quarrel with Capital!"—or, "You see he has given in—he has turned tail!" No; what I should like to do would be to lay a mine underground, and blow myself and the whole lot of you sky high!

Evje. And I and all the happiness of my family life are to be sacrificed in order that you shall not have to give in on a side issue of no importance!—Oh, I am chilled to the bone!

The Editor. Ha, ha! It is good to hear you speaking like yourself again, because it reminds me that it is time to put an end to this solemn nonsense! (Looks at his watch.) A quarter past! You must be quick!

Evje. Are you really in earnest?

The Editor. I often play off jokes on you, it is true. But I don't know how you will like this one to-morrow morning.

Evje. Then let me tell you that I solemnly refuse! I will not break off the engagement! Put me in your paper, if you like; I am a free man.

The Editor. Bah! nobody is that. Then you refuse? Good-bye! (Walks away from EVJE.)

Evje (going after him). No, no—where are you going?

The Editor (stopping). Nowhere—or rather, I am going home.

Evje. But you won't really do what you said?

The Editor. Ha! ha! ha! (Moves away.)

Evje (following him). No, listen! Listen to me for a minute.

The Editor (turning back). Do you think I have time to stop at all the stations your vanity or your fright will invent on the way? (Moves away.)

Evje. You mad creature—listen to me! (The EDITOR stops.) Tell me exactly what you mean to do?

The Editor. Fiddlesticks! (Moves on.)

Evje (following him). Do you mean to put in the paper that I have broken off this match?

The Editor (stopping). Better than that—I shall spread the news in the town; then it will get about, and all the journalists will get a hold of it.

Evje. Give me a day or two to think it over!

The Editor. Oh, no—you are not going to catch me like that! It is election time, and the other side must be made to feel that all decent people have deserted them.

Evje. But it is a lie, you know!

The Editor. What is lying, and what is truth? But your resignation from the Stock Exchange Committee and your subsequent failure to be elected to any public position will be no lies, I can assure you! Public opinion is not to be trifled with, you know!

Evje. And this from you!

The Editor. Bah! Public opinion is a very faithless friend.

Evje. But who, after all, constitute public opinion?

The Editor. Oh, no—you are not going to lead me into a trap again! Besides—it would be very difficult to say exactly who does constitute it.

Evje. This is really—! Then you won't put that in the paper?

The Editor. The news of a broken engagement travels quickest by foot-post—ha, ha, ha! (Coughs; then adds seriously:) But won't you, of your own accord, break off what are really absolutely inadmissible relations with a man who scandalises all your acquaintances?

Evje. Lay the blame on me, of course! I know his credentials are no longer first class; but my daughter—ah, you would not be able to understand that. The circumstances are quite exceptional, and—. Look here, shall we go up and talk it over with my wife?

The Editor. Ha, ha!—you turned me out of the house this morning!

Evje. Oh, forget all about that!

The Editor (looking at his watch). Half past! Now, without any more evasions—will you, or will you not?

Evje (with a struggle). No! I repeat, no! (The EDITOR moves away.) Yes, yes!—It nearly kills me to do it!

The Editor. "The Capitalist, secure in his position, who needs pay no regard to," etc., etc.—that is the "common form," isn't it, you man of first-class credentials? Ha, ha! Good-bye. I am going home to send the boy to the printers; he has waited long enough. (Moves away.)

Evje (following him). You are the cruellest, hardest, most reckless—

The Editor (who has been laughing, suddenly becomes serious). Hush! Do you see?

Evje (turning round). What? Where?

The Editor. Over there!

Evje. Those two?

The Editor. Yes—your daughter and Mr. Harald Rejn.

Evje. But he swore this morning that he would never set foot in my house again!

The Editor. But he will stay outside your house, as you see! These gentlemen of the Opposition, when they give any assurance, always do it with a mental reservation! You can't trust the beggars! Come round the corner. (They do so.)

Evje. An assignation in the street in the fog! To think my daughter would let herself be induced to do such a thing!

The Editor. Evil communications corrupt good manners! You are a mere bungler in delicate matters, Evje. You made a bad choice in that quarter!

Evje. But he seemed to be—

The Editor. Yes, yes, I know! A real gentleman would have guessed what he would develop into. He has a brother, you know! (HARALD and GERTRUD come in slowly, arm-in-arm.)

Gertrud. While your brother has been ill you have received many gratifying proofs of the good feeling and goodwill that there is in this town-haven't you?

Harald. Yes, I have. I have found no ill-will against him, nothing but kindness on all sides—with the exception of one person, of course.

Gertrud. But even he has a heart! It has often seemed to me as if I heard a cry of yearning and disappointment from it—and that just when he spoke most bitterly.

Harald. Yes, it needs no very sharp sight to see that he, who makes so many unhappy, is himself the unhappiest of all.

The Editor. What the deuce are they talking about?

Evje. We cannot hear from here. And the fog deadens their voices.

The Editor. Go a bit nearer, then!

Evje. Not before they separate. You only understand him!

Harald (to GERTRUD). What are you holding there?

Gertrud (who has taken off her glove and then a ring from her finger). The ring they gave me when I was confirmed. Give me your hand! No, take your glove off!

Harald. Do you want me to try your ring on? I shall not be able to get it on.

Gertrud. On the little finger of your left hand? Yes!

Harald (putting it on). So I can. Well?

Gertrud. You mustn't laugh at me. I have been beating up my courage to do this all this time. It was really why I wanted to walk a little farther with you first! I wanted to bring the conversation round to it, you see! I am so convinced that your happiness, and consequently mine, depends on your being able to be kind. You have got this meeting before you to-night. It will be a decisive moment for you. If you, when you are facing all this horrible persecution, can be a kind boy, you will win all along the line! (Pulls at his buttons in an embarrassed way.) So I wanted you to wear this ring to remind you. The diamonds in it sparkle; they are like my tears when you are hard and forget us two. I know it is stupid of me (wipes her eyes hastily), but now, when it comes to the point, I can't say what I—. But do wear it!

Harald (kissing her). I will wear it! (Gently.) Its pure rays shall shed a light on my life.

Gertrud. Thank you! (Throws her arms round him and kisses him.)

The Editor. What they are doing now is all right! Ha, ha, ha!

Evje. I won't stand it! (The EDITOR coughs loudly.) What are you doing? (The EDITOR goes to the neighbouring house and rings the bell. The door is opened and he goes in, laughing as he goes.)

Gertrud (who has started from HARALD'S arms at the sound of the cough). That is—!

Harald. It sounds like him! (Turns, and sees Evje.)

Gertrud. Father! (Turns to run away, but stops.) No, it is cowardly to run away. (Comes back, and stands at HARALD'S side. EVJE comes forward.)

Evje. I should not have expected my daughter, a well-brought-up girl, to make an assignation in the street with—with—

Gertrud. With her fiancÉ.

Evje.—with a man who has made a mock of her father and mother, and of his own doing has banished himself from our house.

Harald. From your house, certainly; but not from my future wife.

Evje. A nice explanation! Do you suppose we will consent to have as our son-in-law a man who spurns her parents?

Gertrud. Father!

Evje. Be quiet, my child! You ought to have felt that yourself.

Gertrud. But, father, you surely do not expect him to submit to your being abused and himself ill-treated in our house?

Evje. Are you going to teach your parents—?

Gertrud (putting her arm round his neck). I don't want to teach you anything; because you know yourself, dear, that Harald is worth far more—and far more to us—than the man who went away just now! (At this moment the printer's boy, who has come out of the EDITOR'S house, runs past them towards the town.)

Evje (seeing the boy, tries to get away). Go in now, Gertrud! I have something I wish to talk to Mr. Rejn about.

Gertrud. You have nothing to talk to Harald about that I cannot hear.

Evje. Yes, I have.

Harald. But why may she not hear it? What you want is to break off our engagement.

Gertrud. Father—! (Moves away from him.) Is that true?

Evje. Well-since it cannot be otherwise-it is true; that is to say, for the moment. (Aside.) Good Lord, they can make it up right enough when this is all over!

Gertrud (who is standing as if thunderstruck). I saw you with him!—Ah! that is how it is! (Looks at her father, bursts into tears and rushes to the door of their house, pulls the bell and disappears into the house.)

Evje. What is it? What is the matter with her?

Harald. I think I know. She realises that her life's happiness has been bought and sold. (Bows to EVJE.) Good-bye! (Goes out to the right.)

Evje (after standing dumb for some moments). Bought and sold? Some people take everything so dreadfully solemnly. It is only a manoeuvre—to get out of this difficulty. Why is it that I cannot get free of it! They both of them exaggerate matters so absurdly; first of all this crazy fellow, and then Harald with his "Good-bye," spoken as if the ground were giving way beneath his feet! I—I—feel as if every one had deserted me. I will go in to my wife—my dear, good wife; she will understand me. She is sitting up there, full of anxiety about me. (He turns towards his house; but, on reaching the garden gate, sees JOHN standing there.)

John (touching his hat respectfully). Excuse me, Mr. Evje—

Evje. You, John! Go away! I told you never to set foot in my house again.

John (very respectfully). But won't you allow me to stand outside your house either, sir?

Evje. No!

John (standing in EVJE'S way, but still with a show of great respect). Not at the door here?

Evje. What are you standing in my way for, you scoundrel?

John. Shall I assist you to call for help, sir? (Calls out.) Help!

Evje. Be quiet, you drunken fool! Don't make a disturbance! What do you want? Be quick!

John. I want, with all respect, to ask you, sir, why you have sent me away.

Evje. Because you are a swine that gets drunk and then talks nonsense. You don't know what a dilemma you have put me in.—Now go away from here, quietly!

John. I know all about it! I was following you and the Editor all the time, you know!

Evje. What?

John. These articles, that were to go in the paper—the printing was at a standstill, waiting for them.

Evje. Hush, hush, John! So you overheard that, did you? You are too clever; you ought never to have been a servant.—Now, be off with you! Here is a shilling or two for you. Good-bye.

John. Thank you very much, sir.—This was how it was, sir. You see, I thought of the number of times I had run over to the printer's with messages when that nice Editor gentleman was spending an evening with you—and so I thought I might just as well run over with this one.

Evje (starting back in alarm). What? What have you done?

John. Just to do you a good turn, sir, I ran along and told them they might print those articles.

Evje. What articles?

John. The ones about you, sir. "Print away," I said—and they printed away. By Jove, how they worked, and then off to the post with the papers!

Evje. You had the impudence, you—! Ah, it's not true! I saw the printer's boy myself, running to the office to countermand the instructions.

John. I caught him up outside here and told him that a message had been sent from Mr. Evje's house. And I gave him sixpence to go to the theatre with; but he must have had to run for it, to be in time, because I am sure it was after seven. Excuse me, sir, but it is after seven now, isn't it?

Evje. You scoundrel! You vindictive brute!

John. You can have a look at the paper, sir, if you like.

Evje. Have you got a copy?

John. Yes, sir, the first copy struck off is always sent to the Editor, so I volunteered to bring it to him. But you must be anxious to see it, sir! (Holds it out to EVJE.)

Evje (snatching it from him). Give it to me! Let me see—. (Moves towards his door, but stops.) No, my wife mustn't—. Here, under the gas-lamp! This filthy fog! I can't—. (Feels in his pocket for his glasses, and pasts them on.) Ah, that's better! (Holds the paper under the light.) What a mischance! The blackguard—! Where is the article, then? Oh, here—I can't see properly, my heart is beating so!

John. Shall I run for the doctor, sir?

Evje. Will you go away, you—! (Holds the paper first up, and then down, in his attempts to see better.) Ah, here it is! "The Stock Exchange Committee"—oh! (Lowers the paper.)

John (mimicking him). Oh!

Evje (trying to read). What a vile thing to do!

John. Oh, go on! go on!

Evje (as he reads). This beats everything I ever—Oh!

John. Oh! We are in a bad way!

Evje (wiping his forehead). What a different thing it is to read libellous attacks on others—and on one's self! (Goes on reading.) Oh! Oh! What horrible, revolting rascality! What is it he says here? I must read through it again! Oh, oh!

John. And often of a morning, when you have been reading the paper, I have heard you laughing till the bed shook under you!

Evje. Yes, I who have so often laughed at others! (Reads.) No, this is beyond belief! I can't read any more! This will ruin my position in the town; I can hear every one laughing at me—he knows all my weaknesses, and has managed to make it all so hideously ludicrous! (Tries to go on reading.) Why, here is some more! (Reads.) It begins even worse than the other! (Lowers the paper, panting, then tries to go on reading.) No, I can't—I can't! I must wait! Everything seems going round and round—and my heart is beating so violently that I know I shall have one of my attacks! What a devil it is that I have been making a friend of! What a creature to have broken bread with!—an unprincipled scoundrel! And the disgrace of it!—the disgrace! What will they say at the Exchange? What will—? I shall not dare to go out of my house, at least for some weeks! And then people will only say I have taken to my bed! Oh, oh! I feel as if it were the end of everything!

John (solicitously). Can I help you, sir?

Evje. Will you leave me alone—! No, I will have my revenge on him immediately! I will go and ring his bell, and go into his house and call him a scoundrel and spit in his face—! Did I bring my stick out with me? Where is my stick? I will send my man for it, and then I will thrash him round and round his own room!

John (eagerly). I will fetch it for you, sir!

Evje (without hearing him). No, it would only make more scandal!—How can I take my revenge? I must do him some injury—some real injury that will seem to poison his food for him and rob him of his rest. Scoundrels like that don't deserve sleep! It must be something, too, that will make his family every bit as unhappy as mine will be when they have read this—something that will make them hide their heads for shame—something that will make them terrified every time their door-bell rings, out of shame for what their servants may hear! No, no, I am getting as evil-minded as he is, now!—What a horrible trade—for ever sowing the seeds of sin and reaping a crop of curses! Now I understand what Harald Rejn meant by saying that no one ought to give his help to such things!—Heavens, hear my vow: never again will I give my help to such things!—What am I to say to my wife—my dear, good wife, who has no suspicion how disgraced I am! And Gertrud, our good Gertrud—ah, at all events I can give her some pleasure at once. I cannot conceal it from them; but I will tell them myself, so that they shall not read it.

John. Is there anything else I can do for you, sir?

Evje (almost screaming at him). Once for all, can't you let me alone!

Mrs. Evje (leaning out of a window she has opened). The sound must have come from the street, all the same. Are you there, my dear?

Evje (drawing back in alarm). There she is! Shall I answer?

Mrs. Evje. Are you there, my dear?

Evje. Yes, dear, here I am!

Mrs. Evje. So you are! I heard your voice, and looked all over the house. What is the matter, dear?

Evje. Oh, I am so unhappy!

Mrs. Evje. Good heavens, are you, dear? Come along in—or shall I come down to you?

Evje. No, I will come in. Shut the window, or you will catch cold.

Mrs. Evje. Do you know, Gertrud is sitting up here, crying?

Evje. Good gracious, is she? I will come up—I will come up!

John. I will help him up, ma'am! (Pretends to be doing so.)

Mrs. Evje. Is that you, John?

Evje (in a low voice). Will you be off!

John. Yes, it is me, ma'am. He is so unwell.

Mrs. Evje. Is he! Heavens, it is one of his attacks! Help him, John!

Evje (as before). Don't you dare!

John (who has rung the bell loudly). I do hope you will moon be better, sir! (Calls up to the window.) I can leave him now, ma'am! (To EVJE, as he goes.) This has been a bit of luck, for me; but you shall have some more of it! (Disappears into the fog as EVJE goes into his house. The two Passers-by, that were seen at the beginning of the scene, are now indistinctly seen returning along the street at the back.)

First Passer-by. Well, the land of Fogs used to be thought by the ancients to lie in the north, where all confused ideas come from—

Second Passer-by (who does not seem to be able to get a word in). But, listen to me for a moment-do you think it means—?

[Curtain]