SOLNESS (looks at her probingly). Hilda—you’re like
some wild bird of the woods.
HILDA. Hardly. I don’t go hiding away under bushes.
SOLNESS. No. No, there’s more in you of the bird of prey.
HILDA. More that—perhaps. (With great vehemence.) And
why not a bird of prey? Why shouldn’t I go hunting as well? Take the spoil I’m
after? If I can once set my claws in it and have my own way.
SOLNESS. Hilda—you know what you are?
HILDA. Yes, I’m some strange kind of bird.
SOLNESS. No. You’re like a dawning day. When I look at
you—then it’s as if I looked into the sunrise.
HILDA. Tell me, Mr. Solness—are you quite sure that you’ve
never called for me? Within yourself, I mean?
SOLNESS (slowly and softly). I almost think I must
have.
HILDA. What did you want with me?
SOLNESS. You, Hilda, are youth.
HILDA (smiles). Youth that you’re so afraid of?
SOLNESS (nodding slowly). And that, deep within me, I’m so much hungering for.