Not a soul but a tramping photographer. THE BUTTON-MOULDER. Well, the respite is over. PEER. Ay, everything’s over. The owl smells the daylight. Just list to the hooting! THE BUTTON-MOULDER. It’s the matin-bell ringing—— PEER. [_Pointing._] What’s that shining yonder? THE BUTTON-MOULDER. Only light from a hut. PEER. And that wailing sound——? THE BUTTON-MOULDER. But a woman singing. PEER. Ay, there—there I’ll find The list of my sins—— THE BUTTON-MOULDER. [_Seizing him._] Set your house in order! [_They have come out of the underwood, and are standing near the hut. Day is dawning._ PEER. Set my house in order? It’s there! Away. Get you gone! Though your ladle were huge as a coffin, It were too small, I tell you, for me and my sins. THE BUTTON-MOULDER. Well, to the third cross-road, Peer; but then——. [_Turns aside and goes._ PEER. [_Approaches the hut._] Forward and back, and it’s just as far. Out and in, and it’s just as strait. [_Stops._ No!—like a wild, an unending lament, Is the thought: to come back, to go in, to go home. [_Takes a few steps on, but stops again._ Round about, said the Boyg! [_Hears singing in the hut._ Ah no; this time at least Right through, though the path may be never so strait! [_He runs towards the hut; at the same moment SOLVEIG appears in the doorway, dressed for church, with a psalm-book wrapped in a kerchief, and a staff in her hand. She stands there erect and mild._ PEER. [_Flings himself down on the threshold._] Hast thou doom for a sinner, then speak it forth! SOLVEIG. He is here! He is here! Oh, to God be the praise! [_Stretches out her arms as though groping for him._ PEER. Cry out all my sins and my trespasses! SOLVEIG. In nought hast thou sinned, oh my own only boy. [_Gropes for him again, and finds him._ THE BUTTON-MOULDER. [_Behind the house._]