ite those that do
such things! (The EDITOR rushes in.)

The Editor. Is it here?

The Housekeeper (holds the lamp to him, then starts back). What do _you_
want here?

The Editor. Where am I? A girl came running down the street and told me
I must come up here and help some one that was dying. What do you want
me to do?--or is it not here?

The Housekeeper. And it was _you_ she met? It is the hand of God!

The Editor. What are you babbling about? If it is not here, say so at
once.

The Housekeeper. Yes, it is here. There he lies!

The Editor. Then oughtn't we to get him into bed?

The Housekeeper. Yes. But do you know who it is you are helping?

The Editor (to himself). She is not very polite. (Aloud.) No; but what
does that matter?

The Housekeeper. This much--that it is you that have killed him.

The Editor. I--? She is mad.

The Housekeeper. The man lying there is Halvdan Rejn. And he had been
reading about himself in your paper.--Come, now, and carry him in. (She
goes into the bedroom with the lamp. Her voice is heard from inside the
room.) Now, take hold of him and lift him. You can think afterwards.

The Editor (stoops to lift the body, but gets up again). I don't think
he is dead yet.

The Housekeeper. All the more reason to make haste.

The Editor (stoops down again, but gets up once more.) Let me take his
head.

The Housekeeper. Why?

The Editor. So that--if he should open his eyes

The Housekeeper.--he won't see you. (Comes out of the bedroom). Go in
there, then, and take his head. (He goes in.) What was that?

The Editor (from inside the room). I slipped. There is something wet
here.

The Housekeeper. Yes, he has had a hemorrhage. Carefully, now. (They
carry him in. The stage remains empty for a moment. Then the EDITOR
comes back, wiping his forehead. He walks backwards and forwards,
treading on the paper as he goes, but without noticing it.)

The Editor. What a horrible thing to happen!--Newspapers are not meant
for dying people.--It is not my fault.--Is this blood on my hand? It
is! (Wipes it with his handkerchief.) And now it is on my handkerchief!
(Throws it away.) No, it has my name on it. (Picks it up again.) No one
can say it is my fault. (Sits down, then gets up, wiping his forehead
with his handkerchief without noticing what he is doing.) Ah, I hope I
haven't put blood on my forehead? I seem to feel it there! (Feels
with his hand to see if his brow is wet.) No. (Sits down, th