Hilda.
[Looks at him with quiet reproach.] And yet you would bar him out. Fie, Mr. Solness!
Solness.
The fight I have been fighting has cost heart's blood enough.—And I am afraid, too, that the helpers and servers will not obey me any longer.
Hilda.
Then you must go ahead without them. There is nothing else for it.
Solness.
It is hopeless, Hilda. The luck is bound to turn. A little sooner or a little later. Retribution is inexorable.
Hilda.
[In distress, putting her hands over her ears.] Don't talk like that! Do you want to kill me? To take from me what is more than my life?
Solness.
And what is that?
Hilda.
The longing to see you great. To see you, with a wreath in your hand, high, high up upon a church-tower. [Calm again.] Come, out with your pencil now. You must have a pencil about you?
Solness.
[Takes out his pocket-book.] I have one here.
