is burning hot!
Burris.—What’s the difference, hot or cold. Soon we shall all be cold. Even then I shall not be so cold as I am now. The chills are grinding my bones to powder. (He frees his hand from her grasp.)
Lena.—We have all suffered much since last night. Perhaps now we may say that our troubles, in the main, are behind us. (Sighs.) I came to see how you are. The doctor told me late this morning that you sustained some bruises, but he seemed to talk with double meaning. In one breath he would say that you are not at all seriously ill, and in the next that you must stay in a week or more. And Bara comes in with the report that there is nothing at all the matter with you. I came to see—just listen to me, see—I can’t even guess where you are. (Anxiously.) Mr. Kar!!
(He only groans.)
Lena.—If you are ill, perhaps I did wrong to come. I am very anxious—oh, so anxious . . . (With assumed spirit.) Just think! I have not been in this office since . . . do you remember how we used to come here as children to console father when he was not permitted to sleep over there? Why don’t you speak, Mr. Karl?
Burris.—Miss Lena, any one who has spoken as much as I have . . . as much as I spoke yesterday . . . has enough to think about for the rest of his life.
Lena.—I hear tears in your voice—you have heard?
Burris—Yes, I know I am a murderer—of my own child! Oh, Miss Lena!
Lena.—You poor man! Dr. Dustin asked me to break it to you gradually and here you already know!
Burris.—They got ahead of you—your duty has been discharged.
Lena.—Not my whole duty, however. I want to console you somehow.
Burris.—Perhaps my consolation has been arranged for, too; who knows. (To himself.) So to singe one’s wings. Such a flood of abuse! And she is my wife. No son could live beneath a heart that could so loathe its father!
Lena.—Poor, poor Karl!
Burris.—No, no, no! I do not deserve pity. I’ll tell you why, now that I have confessed so far. When I realized that it took a uniform, and a campaign, and the part of a hero to make
