MRS. HALM. Ah, really? STRAWMAN. Three of whom Are still too infantine to take to heart A loving father’s absence, when I come To town for sessions. MISS JAY [_to_ MRS. HALM, _bidding farewell_]. Now I must depart. MRS. HALM. O, it is still so early! MISS JAY. I must fly To town and spread the news. The Storms, I know, Go late to rest, they will be up; and oh! How glad the aunts will be! Now, dear, put by Your shyness; for to-morrow a spring-tide Of callers will flow in from every side! MRS. HALM. Well, then, good-night. [_To the others._ Now friends, what would you say To drinking tea? [_To_ MRS. STRAWMAN. Pray, madam, lead the way. [MRS. HALM, STRAWMAN, _his wife and children, with_ GULDSTAD, LIND, _and_ ANNA _go into the house._ MISS JAY [_taking_ STIVER’S _arm_]. Now let’s be tender! Look how softly floats Queen Luna on her throne o’er lawn and lea!— Well, but you are not looking! STIVER [_crossly_]. Yes, I see; I’m thinking of the promissory notes. [_They go out to the left._ FALK, _who has been continuously watching_ STRAWMAN _and his wife, remains behind alone in the garden. It is now dark; the house is lighted up._ FALK. All is as if burnt out;—all desolate, dead—! So thro’ the world they wander, two and two; Charred wreckage, like the blackened stems that strew The forest when the withering fire is fled. Far as the eye can travel, all is drought, And nowhere peeps one spray of verdure out! [SVANHILD _comes out on to the verandah with a flowering rose-tree which she sets down._ Yes one—yes one—! SVANHILD. Falk, in the dark? FALK. And fearless! Darkness to me is fair, and light is cheerless But are not _you_ afraid in yonder walls Where the lamp’s light on sallow corpses falls— SVANHILD. Shame! FALK [_looking after_ STRAWMAN _who appears at the window_].