[A little narrow glen by the side of the fiord, on ALLMERS'S property.
On the left, lofty old trees overarch the spot. Down the slope in the
background a brook comes leaping, and loses itself among the stones on
the margin of the wood. A path winds along by the brook-side. To the
right there are only a few single trees, between which the fiord is
visible. In front is seen the corner of a boat-shed with a boat drawn
up. Under the old trees on the left stands a table with a bench and one
or two chairs, all made of thin birch-staves. It is a heavy, damp day,
with driving mist wreaths.]
[ALFRED ALLMERS, dressed as before, sits on the bench, leaning his arms
on the table. His hat lies before him. He gazes absently and immovably
out over the water.]
[Presently ASTA ALLMERS comes down the woodpath. She is carrying an open
umbrella.]
ASTA. [Goes quietly and cautiously up to him.] You ought not to sit down
here in this gloomy weather, Alfred.