ALLMERS. [Gazing at her.] Is it really true then, Asta? Or have I gone mad? Or am I only dreaming? Oh, if it were only a dream! Just think, if I were to waken now! ASTA. Oh, if I could only waken you! ALLMERS. [Looking out over the water.] How pitiless the fiord looks to-day, lying so heavy and drowsy--leaden-grey--with splashes of yellow--and reflecting the rain-clouds. ASTA. [Imploringly.] Oh, Alfred, don't sit staring out over the fiord! ALLMERS. [Not heeding her.] Over the surface, yes. But in the depths--there sweeps the rushing undertow-- ASTA. [In terror.] Oh, for God's sake don't think of the depths! ALLMERS. [Looking gently at her.] I suppose you think he is lying close outside here? But he is not, Asta. You must not think that. You must remember how fiercely the current sweeps gut here straight to the open sea. ASTA. [Throws herself forward against the table, and, sobbing, buries her face in her hands.] Oh, God! Oh, God! ALLMERS. [Heavily.] So you see, little Eyolf has passed so far--far away from us now. ASTA. [Looks imploringly up at him.] Oh, Alfred, don't say such things! ALLMERS. Why, you can reckon it out for yourself--you that are so clever. In eight-and-twenty hours--nine-and-twenty hours--Let me see--! Let me see--! ASTA. [Shrieking and stopping her ears.] Alfred! ALLMERS. [Clenching his hand firmly upon the table.] Can you conceive the meaning of a thing like this? ASTA. [Looks at him.] Of what? ALLMERS. Of this that has been done to Rita and me. ASTA. The meaning of it? ALLMERS. [Impatiently.] Yes, the meaning, I say. For, after all, there must be a meaning in it. Life, existence--destiny, cannot be so utterly meaningless.