Chapter VI: Part 6

[_Walks slowly along by the fence, and looks into the garden. When he sees_ ELLIDA _he stops, looks intently and searchingly at her, and says softly_:] Good evening, Ellida!

ELLIDA.

[_Turns round and cries out._] Oh my dear—have you come at last!

THE STRANGER.

Yes, at last.

ELLIDA.

[_Looks at him, astonished and apprehensive._] Who are you? Are you looking for some one here?

THE STRANGER.

You know I am.

ELLIDA.

[_Taken aback._] What is this? How strangely you speak to me![20] Who is it you are looking for?

THE STRANGER.

You know I am looking for you.

ELLIDA.

[_Starts._] Ah——! [_Gazes at him a moment, staggers backwards, and breaks out into a half-smothered shriek._] The eyes!—The eyes!

THE STRANGER.

Well,—are you beginning to recognise me at last? I knew you at once, Ellida.

ELLIDA.

The eyes. Don’t look at me like that! I will call for help.

THE STRANGER.

Hush, hush! Don’t be afraid. I will do you no harm.

ELLIDA.

[_Holds her hands over her eyes._] Don’t look at me like that, I say!

THE STRANGER.

[_Leans his arms upon the garden fence._] I came with the English steamer.

ELLIDA.

[_Glances shrinkingly at him._] What do you want with me?

THE STRANGER.

I promised I would come again, as soon as I could——

ELLIDA.

Go! Go away again! Never—never come here any more! I wrote to you that everything must be at end between us! Everything! You know I did!

THE STRANGER.

[_Unmoved, without answering._] I wanted to come to you sooner, but I could not. At last I saw my way; and here I am, Ellida.

ELLIDA.

What do you want with me? What are you thinking of? What have you come here for?

THE STRANGER.

You know quite well that I have come to take you away.

ELLIDA.

[_Shrinking back in terror._] To take me away! Is _that_ what you intend?

THE STRANGER.

Yes, of course.

ELLIDA.

But surely you know that I am married!

THE STRANGER.

Yes, I know it.

ELLIDA.

And yet——! In spite of that, you have come to—to—take me away!

THE STRANGER.

Yes, you see I have.

ELLIDA.

[_Presses both her hands to her head._] Oh this fearful——! Oh this terror, this terror——!

THE STRANGER.

Perhaps you do not wish to come!

ELLIDA.

[_Beside herself._] Don’t look at me like that!

THE STRANGER.

Do you not wish to come, I ask?

ELLIDA.

No, no, no! I will not! Never to the end of time! I will not, I say! I neither can, nor will! [_Lower._] I dare not, either.

THE STRANGER.

[_Climbs over the fence and comes into the garden._] Very well then, Ellida—let me just say one single thing before I go.

ELLIDA.

[_Tries to escape, but cannot. She stands as if paralysed with fear, and supports herself against a tree-trunk near the pond._] Do not touch me! Do not come near me! Stay where you are! Do not touch me, I say!

THE STRANGER.

[_Cautiously, coming a step or two towards her._] You must not be so afraid of me, Ellida.

ELLIDA.

[_Puts her hands before her eyes._] Do not look at me like that!

THE STRANGER.

Don’t be afraid, don’t be afraid.

DOCTOR WANGEL _comes through the garden from the left._

WANGEL.

[_Before he has quite emerged from among the trees._] Well, I’ve kept you waiting a nice time.

ELLIDA.

[_Rushes to him, clings fast to his arm and cries._] Oh Wangel,—save me! Save me—if you can!

WANGEL.

Ellida,—what in heaven’s name——!

ELLIDA.

Save me, Wangel! Don’t you see him? There he stands!

WANGEL.

[_Looks at the_ STRANGER.] That man there? [_Goes towards him._] Who are _you_, may I ask? And why have you come into this garden?

THE STRANGER.

[_Indicates_ ELLIDA _by a nod._] I want to speak to _her_.

WANGEL.

Indeed. Then I suppose it was you——? [_To_ ELLIDA.] I hear a stranger called at the house and asked for you.

THE STRANGER.

Yes, it was I.

WANGEL.

And what do you want with my wife? [_Turns._] Do you know him, Ellida?

ELLIDA.

[_Softly, wringing her hands._] Do I know him? Yes, yes, yes!

WANGEL.

[_Hastily._] Well?

ELLIDA.

Oh, it is _he_, Wangel! It is he himself! He,—you know——!

WANGEL.

What? What do you say? [_Turns._] Are you the man Johnston, who was——?

THE STRANGER.

Well—you can call me Johnston if you like. It is not my name though.

WANGEL.

Is it not?

THE STRANGER.

Not now, it isn’t.

WANGEL.

And what can you want with my wife? For of course you know that the lighthouse keeper’s daughter has been married for years. And you must know, too, who her husband is.

THE STRANGER.

I have known that for more than three years.

ELLIDA.

[_Eagerly._] How did you come to know it?

THE STRANGER.

I was on my way home to you. I came across an old newspaper—one from these parts; and in it was the notice of your marriage.

ELLIDA.

[_Looking straight before her._] My marriage——So it was _that_——

THE STRANGER.

It came upon me very strangely. For the linking of the rings—that was a marriage, too, Ellida.

ELLIDA.

[_Puts her hands before her face._] Oh——!

WANGEL.

How dare you——?

THE STRANGER.

Had you forgotten it?

ELLIDA.

[_Cries out, as though she felt his look._] Do not stand looking at me like that!

WANGEL.

[_Confronting him._] Be so good as to address yourself to me, and not to her. Briefly now—since you understand the situation—what can you have to do here? Why do you come here and seek out my wife?

THE STRANGER.

I had promised Ellida that I would come to her as soon as I could.

WANGEL.

Ellida——! Again!

THE STRANGER.

And Ellida had promised faithfully to wait for me till I came.

WANGEL.

I observe that you call my wife by her first name. That sort of familiarity is not usual here.

THE STRANGER.

I know that very well. But as she belongs first of all to _me_——

WANGEL.

To you! Still——!

ELLIDA.

[_Shrinks behind_ WANGEL.] Oh——! He will never set me free!

WANGEL.

To you! You say she belongs to you!

THE STRANGER.

Has she told you about the two rings? My ring and Ellida’s?

WANGEL.

Yes, certainly. But what then? She broke it off again afterwards. You received her letters; so you know it perfectly well.

THE STRANGER.

Ellida and I were fully agreed that the linking of the rings was to be in every way as valid and binding as a marriage.

ELLIDA.

But I refuse, I tell you! Never in this world will I have anything more to do with you! Do not look at me like that! I will not, I tell you!

WANGEL.

You must be out of your senses if you think you can come here and found any claim upon such a piece of child’s-play as that.

THE STRANGER.

That is true. In the way you mean, I have certainly no claim upon her.

WANGEL.

What do you want to do then? You cannot imagine that you can take her from me by force,—against her own will!

THE STRANGER.

No. What would be the use of that? If Ellida is to be mine, she must come of her own free will.

ELLIDA.

[_Starts and cries out._] Of my own free will——.

WANGEL.

And can you suppose——!

ELLIDA.

[_To herself._] My own free will——!

WANGEL.

You must be out of your mind. Take yourself off! We have nothing more to do with you.

THE STRANGER.

[_Looks at his watch._] It will soon be time for me to go on board again. [_Advances a step._] Well well, Ellida—now I have done what I had to do. [_Still nearer._] I have kept the word I gave you.

ELLIDA.

[_Imploringly, shrinking away._] Oh, do not touch me!

THE STRANGER.

I give you till to-morrow night to think it over——

WANGEL.

There is nothing to think over. Leave this place at once!

THE STRANGER.

[_Still to_ ELLIDA.] I am going up the fiord in the steamer now; to-morrow night I shall return, and then I will see you again. You must wait for me here in the garden; for I prefer to settle the matter with you alone, you understand.

ELLIDA.

[_Softly and trembling._] Oh, do you hear that, Wangel?

WANGEL.

Do not be alarmed. We shall find means to prevent this visit.

THE STRANGER.

Good-bye for the present, Ellida. To-morrow night then.

ELLIDA.

[_In a tone of entreaty._] Oh, no, no,—do not come to-morrow night! Never come again!

THE STRANGER.

And if by that time you should be of a mind to come with me over the sea——

ELLIDA.

Oh, do not look at me like that——

THE STRANGER.

I only mean that in that case you must be ready to start.

WANGEL.

Go into the house, Ellida.

ELLIDA.

I cannot. Oh, help me! Save me, Wangel!

THE STRANGER.

For you must remember this, that if you do not come with me to-morrow, it will all be over.

ELLIDA.

[_Looks at him, trembling._] Will it all be over? For ever——?

THE STRANGER.

[_With a nod._] Beyond recall, Ellida! I shall never return to this country; you will never see me any more, nor hear from me either. I shall be as though dead and gone from you, for evermore.

ELLIDA.

[_Breathes uneasily._] Oh——!

THE STRANGER.

So think carefully what you do. Good-bye. [_He climbs over the fence, stops, and says_:] Well, Ellida,—be ready to start to-morrow night; for then I will come and take you away.

[_He goes slowly and calmly along the footpath and out to the
right._

ELLIDA.

[_Looks after him a while._] Of my own free will, he said! Think of that—he said that I should go with him of my own free will.

WANGEL.

Be calm, be calm. He is gone now, and you shall never see him again.

ELLIDA.

Oh, how can you say that? He is coming again to-morrow night.

WANGEL.

Let him come; I will see that he does not meet you.

ELLIDA.

[_Shakes her head._] Oh Wangel, do not think that you can prevent him.

WANGEL.

Yes I can, dearest—rely upon me.

ELLIDA.

[_Musing, without listening to him._] When he has been here—to-morrow night——? And when he has gone away in the steamer, over the sea——?

WANGEL.

Well, what then?

ELLIDA.

I wonder whether he will never—never come again?

WANGEL.

No, dear Ellida, you may feel absolutely secure on that point. What could he do here after this? He has heard now, from your own lips, that you will have nothing to do with him. That ends the whole thing.

ELLIDA.

[_To herself._] To-morrow then—or never.

WANGEL.

And even if he should take it into his head to come again——

ELLIDA.

[_Eagerly._] What then——?

WANGEL.

Why, we know how to make him harmless.

ELLIDA.

Oh, do not think that.

WANGEL.

We know what to do, I say! If nothing else will make him leave you in peace, then he shall answer for the murder of the captain.

ELLIDA.

[_Vehemently._] No, no, no——! Never that! We know nothing about the murder of the captain! Absolutely nothing!

WANGEL.

We know nothing! Why, he himself confessed it to you!

ELLIDA.

No, nothing about that! If you say anything, I will deny it. He shall not be caged! His place is out on the open sea. That is his home.

WANGEL.

[_Looks at her and says slowly_:] Ah, Ellida—Ellida!

ELLIDA.

[_Clings to him passionately._] Oh dear one, faithful one—save me from that man!

WANGEL.

[_Gently disengaging himself._] Come! Come with me!

LYNGSTRAND _and_ HILDA, _both with fishing-tackle, appear from
the right beside the pond._

LYNGSTRAND.

[_Goes rapidly towards_ ELLIDA.] Oh, what do you think, Mrs. Wangel—I have something wonderful to tell you!

WANGEL.

What is it?

LYNGSTRAND.

Just fancy—we have seen the American!

WANGEL.

The American?

HILDA.

Yes, I saw him too.

LYNGSTRAND.

He went round by the back of the garden, and then on board the big English steamer.

WANGEL.

Where have you known that man?

LYNGSTRAND.

I was at sea with him once. I was quite sure he was drowned; and here he appears as large as life.

WANGEL.

Do you know anything more about him?

LYNGSTRAND.

No; but I’m sure he has come back to be revenged on his faithless wife.

WANGEL.

What do you mean?

HILDA.

Mr. Lyngstrand is going to make a statue of him.

WANGEL.

I don’t understand a word——

ELLIDA.

You shall hear all about it by-and-by.

ARNHOLM _and_ BOLETTA _enter from the left along the footpath
outside the garden fence._

BOLETTA.

[_To those in the garden._] Come and look! The English steamer is going up the fiord.

[_A large steamer glides slowly past at some distance._

LYNGSTRAND.

[_To_ HILDA, _near the garden fence._] I am sure he will come down upon her to-night.

HILDA.

[_Nods._] Upon his faithless wife—yes.

LYNGSTRAND.

Fancy,—just at midnight.

HILDA.

I think it will be thrilling.

ELLIDA.

[_Looking after the ship._] To-morrow then——

WANGEL.

And after that, never again.

ELLIDA.

[_Softly and trembling._] Oh Wangel—save me from myself.

WANGEL.

[_Looks anxiously at her._] Ellida! I feel it—there is something behind all this.

ELLIDA.

All that allures is behind it.

WANGEL.

All that allures——?

ELLIDA.

That man is like the sea.

[_She goes slowly and in deep thought through the garden out to
the left._ WANGEL _walks uneasily by her side, observing her
intently._

-----

Footnote 20:

He has addressed her, as he does throughout, by the familiar
_du_—“thou.” She always uses the formal _De_ in speaking to him.

-----

ACT FOURTH.

_Garden-room at_ DR. WANGEL’S. _Doors right and left. In the back,
between the two windows, an open glass door leading out to the
verandah. A portion of the garden is seen below. A sofa and table
in front on the left. To the right a piano, and farther back a
large flower-stand. In the middle of the floor a round table with
chairs about it. On the table, a rose-bush in bloom, and other
plants in pots about the room. It is forenoon._

BOLETTA _is seated on the sofa by the table, left, working at a piece of
embroidery._ LYNGSTRAND _sits on a chair at the upper end of the
table._ BALLESTED _is seated in the garden, painting._ HILDA
_stands beside him, looking on._

LYNGSTRAND.

[_Sits silent awhile with his arms on the table, watching_ BOLETTA _at work._] It must be very difficult to sew edging like that, Miss Wangel.

BOLETTA.

Oh no, it’s not so difficult, if only you are careful to count right——

LYNGSTRAND.

Count? Have you to count?

BOLETTA.

Yes, the stitches. Look here.

LYNGSTRAND.

Why, so you must! Fancy! It’s almost a kind of art. Can you draw too?

BOLETTA.

Oh yes, when I have a copy before me.

LYNGSTRAND.

Not unless?

BOLETTA.

No, not unless.

LYNGSTRAND.

Then it’s not really art after all.

BOLETTA.

No, it’s more of a—a knack.

LYNGSTRAND.

But I should think, now, that you could probably _learn_ art?

BOLETTA.

Even though I have no turn for it?

LYNGSTRAND.

Yes, in spite of that—if you could be always with a real born artist——

BOLETTA.

Do you think I could learn from him?

LYNGSTRAND.

I don’t mean “learn” in the ordinary sense. But I think it would come to you by degrees—by a sort of miracle, Miss Wangel.

BOLETTA.

That is a strange idea.

LYNGSTRAND.

[_After a pause._] Have you thought much—I mean—have you thought at all deeply and seriously about marriage, Miss Wangel?

BOLETTA.

[_Glances at him._] About——? No.

LYNGSTRAND.

I have.

BOLETTA.

Indeed; have you?

LYNGSTRAND.

Yes. I very often think about things of that sort; and particularly about marriage. And then I have read a good deal on the subject too. I think marriage may be counted a sort of miracle: the woman is transformed, as it were, by degrees, and comes to resemble her husband.

BOLETTA.

Acquires his interests, you mean?

LYNGSTRAND.

Yes, that’s just it!

BOLETTA.

Well, but what about his abilities?—his talent and skill?

LYNGSTRAND.

H’m—well—I wonder whether they, too, wouldn’t——

BOLETTA.

Then do you think that what a man has mastered by reading—or by his own thought—can be passed on in this way to his wife?

LYNGSTRAND.

Yes, that too; by degrees; as if by a miracle. But of course I know that this could only happen in a marriage that is faithful, and loving, and really happy.

BOLETTA.

Has it never occurred to you that perhaps a husband might be absorbed in the same way into his wife? Might come to resemble her, I mean.

LYNGSTRAND.

A husband? No, I have never thought of that.

BOLETTA.

But why not the one as well as the other?

LYNGSTRAND.

No; a man has his vocation to live for, you know. And that is what makes a man so strong and resolute, Miss Wangel. He has his life-work.

BOLETTA.

Every man?

LYNGSTRAND.

Oh no. I was thinking mainly of artists.

BOLETTA.

Do you think it right for an artist to marry?

LYNGSTRAND.

Most certainly; if he can find some one he really loves——

BOLETTA.

Even then it seems to me that he should rather live for his art alone.

LYNGSTRAND.

Of course he must; but he can quite well do that even if he marries.

BOLETTA.

But what about her, then?

LYNGSTRAND.

Her? Who——?

BOLETTA.

The woman he marries. What is she to live for?

LYNGSTRAND.

She too must live for his art. I should think that must be such happiness for a woman.

BOLETTA.

H’m,—I am not so sure——

LYNGSTRAND.

Oh yes, Miss Wangel, believe me. It is not only all the honour and glory she enjoys through him; that, I should say, is almost the least part of it. But that she can help him to create,—that she can lighten his labour by being ever at his side, and tending him, and making life thoroughly comfortable for him. It seems to me that must be such a delight for a woman.

BOLETTA.

Oh, you don’t realise how selfish you are!

LYNGSTRAND.

Am _I_ selfish? Good heavens——! Oh, if you only knew me a little better——. [_Bends forward towards her._] Miss Wangel,—when I am gone,—and I shall be soon——

BOLETTA.

[_Looks at him sympathetically._] Oh don’t get such melancholy thoughts into your head.

LYNGSTRAND.

I don’t see that it is so very melancholy.

BOLETTA.

How do you mean?

LYNGSTRAND.

I shall be starting in about a month, first for home, and soon afterwards for the South.

BOLETTA.

Oh, I see. Yes, yes.

LYNGSTRAND.

Will you think of me now and then, Miss Wangel?

BOLETTA.

Yes, gladly.

LYNGSTRAND.

[_Joyfully._] Oh, do you promise me that?

BOLETTA.

Yes, I promise.

LYNGSTRAND.

Solemnly, Miss Boletta?

BOLETTA.

Solemnly. [_Changing her tone._] Oh, but what is the use of all this? Nothing can ever come of it.

LYNGSTRAND.

How can you say that? It would be such a joy to me to know that you were at home here thinking of me.

BOLETTA.

Yes, but what more?

LYNGSTRAND.

Well, I am not quite certain about anything more——

BOLETTA.

Nor I. So many things stand in the way; every possible thing stands in the way, it seems to me.

LYNGSTRAND.

Oh, some miracle or other might happen. A happy turn of fate—or something of that sort. For I am convinced that fortune is on my side.

BOLETTA.

[_With animation._] Yes, that is right! Surely you think so!

LYNGSTRAND.

Yes, I am perfectly convinced of it. And then—in a few years—when I come home again a famous sculptor, with plenty of money, and as well as possible——

BOLETTA.

Yes, yes; let us hope you will.

LYNGSTRAND.

You may be quite sure of it—if only you think faithfully and warmly of me while I am away in the South. And that you have promised to do.

BOLETTA.

Yes, I have. [_Shakes her head._] But nothing will ever come of this, all the same.

LYNGSTRAND.

Yes, Miss Boletta, this at least will come of it, that I shall make the easier and quicker progress with my group.

BOLETTA.

Do you think so?

LYNGSTRAND.

Yes, I feel it within me. And I think it will be stimulating for you too,—here in this out-of-the-way place—to know that you are, as it were, helping me to create.

BOLETTA.

[_Looks at him._] Well—but you, on your side?

LYNGSTRAND.

I——?

BOLETTA.

[_Looks out towards the garden._] Hush! Let us talk of something else; here comes Mr. Arnholm.

[ARNHOLM _is seen in the garden, on the left. He stops and
speaks to_ BALLESTED _and_ HILDA.

LYNGSTRAND.

Are you fond of your old teacher, Miss Boletta?

BOLETTA.

Am I fond of him?

LYNGSTRAND.

Yes, I mean do you like him?

BOLETTA.

Oh yes, I do indeed; he is such a good friend and adviser. And he is always so ready to help you whenever he can.

LYNGSTRAND.

Is it not strange that he has never married?

BOLETTA.

Do you think it so strange?

LYNGSTRAND.

Yes; they say he is well off.

BOLETTA.

I suppose he is. But it may not have been very easy for him to find any one who would have him.

LYNGSTRAND.

Why?

BOLETTA.

Oh, he has been the teacher of nearly every girl he knows. He says so himself.

LYNGSTRAND.

But what does _that_ matter?

BOLETTA.

Why, of course, one doesn’t marry a man who has been one’s teacher!

LYNGSTRAND.

Don’t you think a girl could possibly love her teacher?

BOLETTA.

Not after she is quite grown up.

LYNGSTRAND.

Dear me! How odd!

BOLETTA.

[_Warningly._] Hush, hush!

[BALLESTED, _who has meanwhile collected his things, carries
them out through the garden to the right._ HILDA _helps
him._ ARNHOLM _comes up into the verandah and enters the
room._

ARNHOLM.

Good morning, my dear Boletta. Good morning Mr.——Mr.——h’m!

[_He looks annoyed, and nods coldly to_ LYNGSTRAND, _who rises
and bows._

BOLETTA.

[_Rises and goes to_ ARNHOLM.] Good morning, Mr. Arnholm.

ARNHOLM.

How are you all here to-day?

BOLETTA.

Thanks, very well.

ARNHOLM.

Has your step-mother gone to bathe to-day again?

BOLETTA.

No, she is up in her room.

ARNHOLM.

Not quite well?

BOLETTA.

I don’t know. She has locked herself in.

ARNHOLM.

H’m—has she?

LYNGSTRAND.

Mrs. Wangel seemed very much upset about that American yesterday.

ARNHOLM.

What do _you_ know about it?

LYNGSTRAND.

I told Mrs. Wangel that I had seen him in the flesh, going round behind the garden.

ARNHOLM.

Oh indeed.

BOLETTA.

[_To_ ARNHOLM.] You and father sat up late last night, did you not?

ARNHOLM.

Yes, pretty late. We had an important question to discuss.

BOLETTA.

Did you get in a word with him about me and my affairs?

ARNHOLM.

No, my dear Boletta. I could not manage it; he was so absorbed in something else.

BOLETTA.

[_Sighs._] Ah yes,—he always is.

ARNHOLM.

[_Looking significantly at her._] But remember, you and I are to have another talk about these things, presently.—Where is your father now? Has he gone out?

BOLETTA.

I think he must be down at the surgery. I’ll go and fetch him.

ARNHOLM.

No thank you, don’t do that. I would rather go down to him.

BOLETTA.

[_Listening to the left._] Wait a moment, Mr. Arnholm. I think I hear father coming downstairs. Yes. He must have been up attending to her.

DR. WANGEL _enters by the door on the left._

WANGEL.

[_Holds out his hand to_ ARNHOLM.] Ah, my dear friend, are you here already? It’s good of you to come so early; there are still several things I want to discuss with you.

BOLETTA.

[_To_ LYNGSTRAND.] Shall we join Hilda in the garden for a little while?

LYNGSTRAND.

With all the pleasure in life, Miss Wangel.

[_He and_ BOLETTA _go down into the garden, and out among the
trees in the background._

ARNHOLM.

[_Who has been following them with his eyes, turns to_ WANGEL.] Do you know much about that young man?

WANGEL.

No, very little.

ARNHOLM.

Then do you like him to be so much with the girls?

WANGEL.

Is he much with them? I really hadn’t noticed it.

ARNHOLM.

Don’t you think you ought to keep an eye on that sort of thing?

WANGEL.

Yes, no doubt you are right. But, bless my soul, what is a poor fellow to do? The girls have got so accustomed to look after themselves; they will not listen to a word, either from me or from Ellida.

ARNHOLM.

Not even from her?

WANGEL.

No. And besides, I cannot expect her to interfere in such matters; it is not at all in her way. [_Breaking off._] But that was not what we were going to talk about. Tell me—have you given any more thought to it?—to all that I told you last night?

ARNHOLM.

I have thought of nothing else, ever since we parted.

WANGEL.

And what do you think I ought to do in the matter?

ARNHOLM.

My dear Doctor, I think that you, as a physician, ought to know better than I.

WANGEL.

Oh, if you only knew how difficult it is for a physician to form a valid judgment in the case of a patient he loves so dearly! And this is no common disorder either—no case for an ordinary physician, or for ordinary remedies.

ARNHOLM.

How is she to-day?

WANGEL.

I have just been up to see her, and she appeared to me quite calm. But behind all her moods something seems to be hidden that eludes me entirely. And then she is so variable—so incalculable—so subject to sudden changes.

ARNHOLM.

No doubt that is due to her morbid state of mind.

WANGEL.

Not entirely. The germ of it all is innate in her. Ellida belongs to the sea-folk; that is the trouble.

ARNHOLM.

What do you mean precisely, my dear Doctor?

WANGEL.

Have you not noticed that the people who live out by the open sea are like a race apart? They seem almost to live the life of the sea itself. There is the surge of the sea—and its ebb and flow too—both in their thoughts and in their feelings. And they never bear transplantation. No, I should have thought of _that_ before. It was a positive sin against Ellida to take her away from the sea and bring her in here!

ARNHOLM.

Have you come to look at it in that light?

WANGEL.

Yes, more and more; but I ought to have known it from the first. Oh, I did really know it then too, but I would not acknowledge it to myself. I loved her so much, you see! And consequently I thought first of myself. In fact, I was utterly and unpardonably selfish.

ARNHOLM.

H’m,—I am afraid every man is a trifle selfish under those circumstances. But I can’t say that I have noticed that vice in you, Dr. Wangel.

WANGEL.

[_Wandering uneasily up and down._] Oh yes! And I have been so since, as well. I am so much, much older than she; I ought to have been to her like a father and a guide in one. I ought, to have done my best to develop and clarify her intelligence. But unfortunately I have done nothing of the sort. I have not had energy enough, you see! And in fact I preferred to have her just as she was. But then she grew worse and worse, and I was at my wits’ end to know what to do [_Lower._] That is why I turned to you in my perplexity, and asked you to come to us.

ARNHOLM.

[_Looks at him in astonishment._] What! Was that why you wrote to me?

WANGEL.

Yes; but don’t say anything about it.

ARNHOLM.

My dear Doctor,—what in the world—what good did you suppose _I_ could do? I don’t understand.

WANGEL.

No, of course you do not; I had got upon a wrong scent. I fancied that Ellida had once cared for you, and that she still had a secret leaning in your direction. So I thought it might perhaps do her good to see you again, and have a talk with you about home and old times.

ARNHOLM.

Then it was your wife you meant when you wrote that some one here was waiting and—and perhaps longing for me!

WANGEL.

Yes; who else?

ARNHOLM.

[_Quickly._] Of course, of course.—But I did not understand you.

WANGEL.

Naturally not, as I said before. I was on an entirely wrong scent.

ARNHOLM.

And you call yourself selfish!

WANGEL.

Oh, I had such a great error to atone for. I felt I had no right to reject any expedient that could possibly ease her mind a little.

ARNHOLM.

What do you take to be the real explanation of the power this stranger exercises over her?

WANGEL.

H’m, my dear friend—there may be sides to that question that don’t admit of explanation.

ARNHOLM.

Something inexplicable in itself, do you mean? Entirely inexplicable?

WANGEL.

Inexplicable for the present, at any rate.

ARNHOLM.

Do you believe in such things?

WANGEL.

I neither believe nor disbelieve. I simply do not know. So I suspend my judgment.

ARNHOLM.

But tell me one thing: that strange, uncanny idea of hers about the child’s eyes——

WANGEL.

[_Eagerly._] I don’t in the least believe that about the eyes! I _will_ not believe any such thing! It must be pure imagination on her part; nothing else.

ARNHOLM.

Did you notice the man’s eyes when you saw him yesterday?

WANGEL.

Yes, certainly I did.

ARNHOLM.

And you found no sort of likeness?

WANGEL.

[_Evasively._] H’m—upon my soul I don’t know what to say. It was not quite light when I saw him; and besides, Ellida had talked so much about this likeness beforehand—I don’t think it was possible for me to observe him without any bias.

ARNHOLM.

No, no; very likely not. But then the other point: that all this dread and unrest came upon her just at the very time when this stranger would seem to have been on his way home?

WANGEL.

Well you see—that again is a belief she must have imagined and dreamt herself into, since the day before yesterday. It did not come upon her at all so suddenly—so instantaneously—as she now maintains. But since she heard from this young Lyngstrand that Johnston or Friman—or whatever he is called—was on his way home three years ago—in March—she has evidently persuaded herself that her mental trouble came on in the very same month.

ARNHOLM.

And did it not?

WANGEL.

Not at all. There had been unmistakable symptoms of it long before that.—It is true she happened—by chance—to have a rather severe attack precisely in the month of March, three years ago——

ARNHOLM.

Well then——!

WANGEL.

Oh, but that is quite easily accounted for by the circumstances—the condition—she happened to be in at that time.

ARNHOLM.

The indications may be read in either way, then.

WANGEL.

[_Wringing his hands._] And to be powerless to help her! To be at the end of one’s resources! To see no sort of remedy——!

ARNHOLM.

What if you made up your mind to a change of residence—to move to some other place, where she might live under conditions that seemed to her more home-like?

WANGEL.

My dear fellow, do you think I haven’t suggested _that_ to her? I proposed that we should move out to Skioldvik. But she will not.

ARNHOLM.

Not that either?

WANGEL.

No. She thinks it would be useless; and I daresay she is right too.

ARNHOLM.

H’m—do you think so?

WANGEL.

Yes; and besides—on considering the matter more closely—I really don’t see how I could manage it. I scarcely think I should be justified, on the girls’ account, in moving to such an out-of-the-way corner. After all, they must live where there is at least _some_ chance of their one day being able to marry.

ARNHOLM.

To marry? Have you that so much on your mind already?

WANGEL.

Why, yes, of course; I must think of that too! But then—on the other hand—the thought of my poor suffering Ellida——! Oh, my dear Arnholm—wherever I turn, I seem to stand between fire and water!

ARNHOLM.

There may, perhaps, be no need for you to trouble about Boletta——[_Breaking off._] I wonder where she—where they have gone?

[_He goes up to the open door and looks out._

WANGEL.

[_Beside the piano._] Oh I should be so glad to make any possible sacrifice—for all three of them.—If only I knew what!

ELLIDA _enters by the door on the left._

ELLIDA.

[_Rapidly to_ WANGEL.] Be sure you do not go out this morning.

WANGEL.

No no, certainly not; I will stay at home with you. [_Points to_ ARNHOLM, _who approaches._] But you haven’t said good morning to our friend?

ELLIDA.

[_Turns._] Oh, are you there, Mr. Arnholm? [_Holds out her hand._] Good morning.

ARNHOLM.

Good morning, Mrs. Wangel. You have not gone for your bathe to-day as usual?

ELLIDA.

No, no, no! I couldn’t think of it to-day. Won’t you sit down for a moment?

ARNHOLM.

No thank you—not just now. [_Looks at_ WANGEL.] I promised the girls I would join them in the garden.

ELLIDA.

Heavens knows whether you’ll find them in the garden. I never know where they may have got to.

WANGEL.

Oh yes, they are probably down by the pond.

ARNHOLM.

I daresay I shall find them.

[_He nods and passes across the verandah into the garden, and
out to the right._

ELLIDA.

What o’clock is it, Wangel?

WANGEL.

[_Looks at his watch._] It’s a little past eleven.

ELLIDA.

A little past; and at eleven or half-past to-night the steamer will be here. Oh, if it only were over!

WANGEL.

[_Goes closer to her._] Dear Ellida, there is one thing I should like to ask you about.

ELLIDA.

What is it?

WANGEL.

The night before last—up at the Prospect—you said that during the past three years you had often seen him bodily before you.

ELLIDA.

So I have. I assure you I have.

WANGEL.

Well, but how did you see him?

ELLIDA.

How did I see him?

WANGEL.

I mean—what did he look like when you appeared to see him before you?

ELLIDA.

Why, my dear Wangel,—you know yourself now what he looks like.

WANGEL.

And he looked like that when you seemed to see him?

ELLIDA.

Yes, he did.

WANGEL.

Exactly as you saw him in reality last evening?

ELLIDA.

Yes, exactly.

WANGEL.

Then how did it happen that you did not at once recognise him?

ELLIDA.

[_Starts._] Did I not?

WANGEL.

No. You yourself told me afterwards that at first you did not in the least know who the stranger was.

ELLIDA.

[_Impressed._] Yes, I really believe you are right! Was not that strange, Wangel? Think of my not knowing him at once!

WANGEL.

It was only by his eyes, you said——

ELLIDA.

Oh yes—his eyes! His eyes!

WANGEL.

Well, but up at the Prospect you said that he had always appeared to you just as he was when you parted, ten years ago.

ELLIDA.

Did I say that?

WANGEL.

Yes.

ELLIDA.

Then he must have looked at that time much as he does now.

WANGEL.

No. You gave quite another description of him on the way home, the night before last. Ten years ago he had no beard, you said. He was quite differently dressed too. And the breast-pin with the pearl in it——? He wore nothing of the sort yesterday.

ELLIDA.

No, he didn’t.

WANGEL.

[_Looks intently at her._] Now think a little, dear Ellida. Perhaps you cannot remember now what he looked like when you parted from him at Bratthammer?

ELLIDA.

[_Reflectively, closing her eyes for a moment._] Not quite distinctly. No—I can’t at all to-day. Isn’t that strange?

WANGEL.

Not so very strange. A new and real figure has presented itself to you, and that obscures the old one—so that you can no longer see it.

ELLIDA.

Do you think so, Wangel?

WANGEL.

Yes; and it obscures your morbid illusions too; so it is a good thing the reality has shown itself.

ELLIDA.

Good! Do you call it a good thing?

WANGEL.

Yes; its coming—may be your salvation.

ELLIDA.

[_Seats herself on the sofa._] Wangel—come here and sit by me. I must tell you all my thoughts.

WANGEL.

Yes do, dear Ellida.

[_He seats himself on a chair at the other side of the table._

ELLIDA.

It was really a great misfortune—for both of us—that we two, of all people, should come together.

WANGEL.

[_Starts._] What do you say?

ELLIDA.

Oh yes it was—and it could not but be. It could lead to nothing but unhappiness—especially considering the way we came together.

WANGEL.

Why, what was wrong with the way——?

ELLIDA.

Listen now, Wangel,—it is useless for us to go on any longer lying to ourselves—and to each other.

WANGEL.

_Are_ we doing so? Lying do you say?

ELLIDA.

Yes, lying. Or at any rate—concealing the truth. The truth—the sheer unvarnished truth is _this_: you came out there and—bought me.

WANGEL.

Bought——Did you say—bought?

ELLIDA.

Oh, I was not a bit better than you. I joined in the bargain. I went and sold myself to you.

WANGEL.

[_Looks at her, deeply pained._] Ellida,—have you the heart to say so?

ELLIDA.

Why, what else can you call it? You could not bear the void in your house; you looked about for a new wife——

WANGEL.

And for a new mother for the children, Ellida.

ELLIDA.

That too, perhaps—incidentally, as it were. Although—you did not in the least know whether I was fit to be a mother to them. You had only seen me and spoken with me once or twice. But you took a fancy to me, and so——

WANGEL.

Well, you may give it what name you please.

ELLIDA.

And I, for my part——. There was I, helpless and forlorn, and utterly alone. What more natural than that I should accept the bargain—when you came and offered to maintain me all my life.

WANGEL.

I assure you I did not think of it in that light, my dear Ellida. I asked you honestly if you would share with me and the children the little I could call my own.

ELLIDA.

Yes, you did. But, little or much, I ought not to have accepted! I should never have accepted at any price! I should never have sold myself! Better the meanest labour—better the deepest poverty—of my own free will—by my own choice!

WANGEL.

[_Rising._] Then have the five or six years we have lived together been utterly wasted for you?

ELLIDA.

Oh, you must not think that, Wangel! I have had all from you that any one could possibly desire. But I did not come into your home of my own free will,—that is the thing.

WANGEL.

[_Looks at her._] Not of your free will?

ELLIDA.

No; it was not of my own free will that I cast in my lot with yours.

WANGEL.

[_Softly._] Ah, I remember—the phrase he used yesterday.

ELLIDA.

The whole secret lies in that phrase. It has thrown a new light on things for me; so that I see it all now.

WANGEL.

What do you see?

ELLIDA.

I see that the life we two lead with each other—is really no marriage at all.

WANGEL.

[_Bitterly._] There you are right. The life we _now_ lead is no marriage at all.

ELLIDA.

Nor the life we led before; never; not from the outset. [_Looks straight before her._] The first—_that_ might have been a real and true marriage.

WANGEL.

The first? What “first” do you mean?

ELLIDA.

Mine,—with _him_.

WANGEL.

[_Looks at her in astonishment._] I cannot understand you at all!

ELLIDA.

Oh my dear Wangel,—do not let us lie to each other; nor to ourselves.

WANGEL.

No, of course not! But what then?

ELLIDA.

Why, don’t you see—we can never get away from this—that a voluntary promise is to the full as binding as a marriage.

WANGEL.

Why, what in the world——!

ELLIDA.

[_Rises impetuously._] Let me leave you, Wangel!

WANGEL.

Ellida——! Ellida——!

ELLIDA.

Yes, yes—you must let me! I can assure you there will be nothing else for it in the end—after the way we two came together.

WANGEL.

[_Controlling his emotion._] So it has come to this!

ELLIDA.

It had to come to this; no other end was possible.

WANGEL.

[_Looks sorrowfully at her._] So even in our daily life together I have not won you. You have never, never been wholly mine.

ELLIDA.

Oh Wangel—if only I could love you as I gladly would! As tenderly as you deserve! But I feel quite clearly—it will never be.

WANGEL.

A divorce then? It is a divorce,—a formal, legal divorce,—that you want?

ELLIDA.

My dear, you do not understand me at all. It is not the forms that I care about. These external things seem to me to matter nothing. What I wish is that we two should agree, of our own free will, to release each other.

WANGEL.

[_Bitterly, nods slowly._] To cancel the bargain,—yes.

ELLIDA.

[_Eagerly._] Precisely! To cancel the bargain.

WANGEL.

And after that, Ellida? Afterwards? Have you thought of the outlook for both of us? What shape will our lives take—both yours and mine?

ELLIDA.

We must not let that influence us. The future must shape itself as best it can. This that I am begging of you, Wangel,—this is the chief thing! Set me free! Give me back my full freedom.

WANGEL.

Ellida—this is a terrible demand you make upon me. Let me at least have time to collect myself and come to a resolve. Let us discuss the matter more thoroughly. And do you, too, give yourself time to reflect what you are doing!

ELLIDA.

But there is no time to waste on all that. You must give me back my freedom this very day.

WANGEL.

Why to-day?

ELLIDA.

Because it is to-night that he is coming.

WANGEL.

[_Starts._] Coming! He! What has the stranger to do with this?

ELLIDA.

I want to meet him in full freedom.

WANGEL.

And what—what do you intend to do then?

ELLIDA.

I do not want to take refuge in the plea that I am another man’s wife—or that I have no choice left me. For then my decision would decide nothing.

WANGEL.

You talk of choice! Choice, Ellida! Choice in this matter!

ELLIDA.

Yes, choose I must—freely choose either course. I must be free to let him go away alone—or—to go with him.

WANGEL.

Do you understand what you are saying? Go with him! Place your whole fate in his hands!

ELLIDA.

Did I not place my whole fate in _your_ hands? And that—without thinking twice.

WANGEL.

That may be. But he! He! A total stranger! A man you know so little about!

ELLIDA.

I knew perhaps even less of you; and yet I went with you.

WANGEL.

At least you knew pretty well what kind of life you were entering upon. But now? Now? Reflect! What do you know now? Nothing whatever: not even who he is—or what he is.

ELLIDA.

[_Looking straight before her._] That is true. But that is just the terrible thing.

WANGEL.

Yes, terrible indeed——

ELLIDA.

And that is why I feel as if I _must_ give way to it.

WANGEL.

[_Looks at her._] Because it seems to you terrible?

ELLIDA.

Yes, just because of that.

WANGEL.

[_Nearer._] Tell me, Ellida—what do you really mean by “terrible”?

ELLIDA.

[_Reflects._] I call a thing terrible—when it both frightens and fascinates me.

WANGEL.

Fascinates?

ELLIDA.

Most of all when it fascinates me—I think.

WANGEL.

[_Slowly._] You are akin to the sea.

ELLIDA.

There is terror in that too.

WANGEL.

And in yourself no less. You both frighten and fascinate.[21]

ELLIDA.

Do you think so, Wangel?

WANGEL.

I see that I have never really known you; never thoroughly. I am beginning to understand that now.

ELLIDA.

And therefore you must set me free! Loose me from every tie to you and yours! I am not the woman you took me for; you see that now yourself. Now we can part in mutual understanding—and of our own free will.

WANGEL.

[_Gloomily._] It would perhaps be best for us both—to part. But for all that, I _cannot_! To me it is you that are “terrible,” Ellida. And fascinating—that you are above all things.

ELLIDA.

Do you say so?

WANGEL.

Let us try to get through this day with no false step—to act calmly and collectedly. I _cannot_ release you and let you go to-day. I must not—for your own sake, Ellida. I assert my right and my duty to protect you.

ELLIDA.

Protect? What is there to protect me against? It is not any outward force or violence that threatens me. The terrible thing lies deeper, Wangel! The terrible thing is—the fascination I feel in my own mind; and what can you do against that?

WANGEL.

I can strengthen and support you in resisting it.

ELLIDA.

Yes—if I had the _will_ to resist it.

WANGEL.

Have you not the will?

ELLIDA.

Oh, that is just what I don’t know!

WANGEL.

To-night all will be decided, dear Ellida——

ELLIDA.

[_Breaks out._] Yes, think of it——! The decision so near! The decision for all time!

WANGEL.

——and then to-morrow——

ELLIDA.

Yes, to-morrow! Perhaps I shall have forfeited my true future!

WANGEL.

Your true——?

ELLIDA.

A whole, full life of freedom forfeited—forfeited for me! And perhaps—for him too.

WANGEL.

[_In a lower tone, seizing her by the wrist._] Ellida,—do you love this stranger?

ELLIDA.

Do I——? Oh how can I tell! I only know that to me he is terrible, and that——

WANGEL.

——and that——?

ELLIDA.

[_Tears herself away._]——and that I feel as though my place were with him.

WANGEL.

[_Bows his head._] I begin to understand.

ELLIDA.

And what help, what remedy have you to offer me?

WANGEL.

[_Looks sorrowfully at her._] To-morrow—he will be gone. Then you will be safe from disaster; and then I promise to release you and let you go. We will cancel the bargain, Ellida.

ELLIDA.

Oh Wangel——! To-morrow—it will be too late——!

WANGEL.

[_Looks out towards the garden.]_] The children! The children——! Let us at least spare them—for the present.

ARNHOLM, BOLETTA, HILDA, _and_ LYNGSTRAND _appear in the
garden._ LYNGSTRAND _takes leave without entering the house,
and goes out to the left. The others come into the room._

ARNHOLM.

Ah, I can tell you we have been laying great plans——

HILDA.

We want to go out on the fiord this evening, and——

BOLETTA.

No, no, don’t tell!

WANGEL.

We two have also been laying plans.

ARNHOLM.

Ah—really?

WANGEL.

To-morrow Ellida is going to Skioldvik—for a time.

BOLETTA.

Going away——?

ARNHOLM.

That is very wise, Mrs. Wangel.

WANGEL.

Ellida wants to go home again; home to the sea.

HILDA.

[_With a little rush towards_ ELLIDA.] Are you going away? Going away from us!

ELLIDA.

[_Startled._] Why, Hilda! What is the matter with you?

HILDA.

[_Restraining herself._] Oh, nothing at all. [_In a low tone, turning from her.]_ Go by all means!

BOLETTA.

[_Anxiously._] Father, I can see—you are going away too—to Skioldvik!

WANGEL.

No, certainly not! I shall perhaps run out now and then——

BOLETTA.

And home again——?

WANGEL.

Yes, home——

BOLETTA.

——now and then, I suppose!

WANGEL.

My dear child, it _must_ be so. [_He walks away._

ARNHOLM.

[_Whispers._] I have something to say to you by-and-by, Boletta.

[_He goes over to_ WANGEL. _They converse in a low tone by the
door._

ELLIDA.

[_Softly to_ BOLETTA.] What was the matter with Hilda? She seemed quite beside herself!

BOLETTA.

Have you never seen what Hilda has been thirsting for, day after day?

ELLIDA.

Thirsting for?

BOLETTA.

Ever since you came into the house!

ELLIDA.

No, no,—what is it?

BOLETTA.

One word of affection from you.

ELLIDA.

Ah——! What if there were work for me to do _here_!

[_She clasps her hands above her head and looks immovably before
her, as if a prey to conflicting thoughts and moods._

[WANGEL _and_ ARNHOLM _come forward conversing in whispers._

[BOLETTA _goes and looks into the side room on the right.
Then she throws the door wide open._

BOLETTA.

Well, father dear—dinner is on the table,——

WANGEL.

[_With forced composure._] Is it, child? That’s right. Come along, Arnholm! We will drink a parting cup with—with “the lady from the sea.”

[_They go towards the door on the right._

-----

Footnote 21:

For another rendering of the foregoing very difficult
passage—especially difficult because of the frequent occurrence of
“det grufulde” “the terrible” in other contexts—the reader who is
curious in such matters may consult the five-volume edition of Ibsen’s
_Prose Dramas_ (vol. v. p. 210), where he will find it discussed in a
footnote.

-----

ACT FIFTH.

_The remote corner of_ DR. WANGEL’S _garden, by the carp-pond. Deepening
summer twilight._

ARNHOLM, BOLETTA, LYNGSTRAND, _and_ HILDA, _in a boat on the fiord, are
punting along the shore from the left._

HILDA.

Look, we can easily jump ashore here!

ARNHOLM.

No no, don’t do it!

LYNGSTRAND.

I can’t jump, Miss Hilda.

HILDA.

Can’t you jump either, Mr. Arnholm?

ARNHOLM.

I would rather not.

BOLETTA.

Let us land at the bathing-house steps.

[_They punt the boat out to the right._

_At that moment_ BALLESTED _appears from the right, on the footpath,
carrying music and a French horn. He greets those in the boat,
turns, and talks to them. Their answers are heard farther and
farther off._

BALLESTED.

What do you say?—Yes of course it’s in honour of the English steamer. It’s her last trip this year. But if you want to enjoy the music you mustn’t put off too long. [_Calls out._] What? [_Shakes his head._] Can’t hear what you say!

[ELLIDA, _with a shawl over her head, comes in from the left,
followed by_ DR. WANGEL.

WANGEL.

But, my dear Ellida, I assure you there is ample time.

ELLIDA.

No, no,—there is not! He may come at any moment.

BALLESTED.

[_Outside, by the garden fence._] Ah, good evening, Doctor! Good evening, Mrs. Wangel!

WANGEL.

[_Notices him._] Oh, are you there? Is there to be music to-night again?

BALLESTED.

Yes. The Musical Society proposes to show what it can do. There’s no lack of festive occasions at this season. To-night it’s in honour of the Englishman.

ELLIDA.

The English steamer! Is it in sight already?

BALLESTED.

Not yet; but you see it comes down the fiord among the islands. It is on you before you know where you are.

ELLIDA.

Yes,—that is true.

WANGEL.

[_Partly to_ ELLIDA.] This is the last trip. After to-night we shall see no more of it.

BALLESTED.

A melancholy thought, Doctor. But that’s why we are turning out in its honour, as I said before. Ah yes, ah yes! The happy summer-time is drawing to a close. “Soon will all the straits be ice-bound,” as they say in the tragedy.[22]

ELLIDA.

All the straits ice-bound,—yes.

BALLESTED.

Mournful reflection! For weeks and months now we have been joyful children of the summer; it is hard to reconcile oneself to the dark days. At first, that is to say; for people _can_ alcli—ac—climatise themselves, Mrs. Wangel. Yes they can indeed.

[_He bows and goes out to the left._

ELLIDA.

[_Looks out across the fiord._] Oh this torturing suspense! This intolerable last half-hour before the decision!

WANGEL.

Then you are still bent on speaking with him yourself?

ELLIDA.

I _must_ speak with him myself; for I must make my choice of my own free will.

WANGEL.

You have no choice, Ellida. You cannot be allowed to choose—_I_ will not allow you.

ELLIDA.

You can never prevent my choosing; neither you nor any one else. You can forbid me to go away with him—to cast in my lot with him—if I should choose that. You can forcibly detain me here, against my will. That you can do. But the choice in my innermost soul—my choice of him and not of you,—in case I should and must choose so,—that you cannot prevent.

WANGEL.

No, you are right; I cannot prevent that.

ELLIDA.

And then I have nothing to help me to resist! At home here there is nothing whatever to attach and bind me. I am utterly without root in your house, Wangel. The children are not mine—their hearts, I mean. They have never been mine.—When I go away—if I do go away—either with him to-night or out to Skioldvik to-morrow,—I have not a key to give up, not a direction to leave behind me, about anything in the world. You see how utterly without root I am in your house; how I have stood entirely outside of everything from the very first moment.

WANGEL.

You yourself willed it so.

ELLIDA.

No, I did not. I had no will one way or the other. I have merely let everything remain as I found it the day I came. It is you—and no one else—who have willed it so.

WANGEL.

I meant to do what was best for you.

ELLIDA.

Oh yes, Wangel, I know that so well! But now all this must be paid for; it will have its revenge. There is nothing here now that has any binding power over me—nothing to support—nothing to help me. There is no counter-fascination for me in what should have been the dearest treasure of our common life.

WANGEL.

I see that well enough, Ellida; and so from to-morrow you shall have your freedom again. Hereafter you shall live your own life.

ELLIDA.

You call that my own life! Oh no, my own true life slid into a wrong groove when I joined it to yours. [_Clenches her hands together in fear and agitation._] And now—to-night—in half an hour—the man I have forsaken will be here—the man to whom my faith should have been inviolable, as his has been to me! Now he is coming to offer me—for the last and only time—a chance of beginning life afresh—of living my own real life—the life that at once frightens and fascinates me—and that I _cannot_ forgo. Not of my own free will!

WANGEL.