ASTA. [Quietly, but with warm emotion.] Not a word more--my dear,
dear Alfred. [Takes up the flowers from the chair.] Do you see these
water-lilies?
ALLMERS. [Nodding slowly.] They are the sort that shoot up--from the
very depth.
ASTA. I pulled them in the tarn--where it flows out into the fiord.
[Holds them out to him.] Will you take them, Alfred?
ALLMERS. [Taking them.] Thanks.
ASTA. [With tears in her eyes.] They are a last greeting to you,
from--from little Eyolf.
ALLMERS. [Looking at her.] From Eyolf out yonder? Or from you?
ASTA. [Softly.] From both of us. [Taking up her umbrella.] Now come with
me to Rita.
[She goes up the wood-path.]
ALLMERS. [Takes up his hat from the table, and whispers sadly.] Asta.
Eyolf. Little Eyolf--!
[He follows her up the path.]