en duty
humbly to have borne the cross that a higher will had laid upon you.
But, instead of that, you rebelliously cast off your cross, you
deserted the man whose stumbling footsteps you should have supported,
you did what was bound to imperil your good name and reputation, and
came very near to imperilling the reputation of others into the bargain.

Mrs. Alving. Of others? Of one other, you mean.

Manders. It was the height of imprudence, your seeking refuge with me.

Mrs. Alving. With our priest? With our intimate friend?

Manders. All the more on that account; you should thank God that I
possessed the necessary strength of mind--that I was able to turn you
from your outrageous intention, and that it was vouchsafed to me to
succeed in leading you back into the path of duty, and back to your
lawful husband.

Mrs. Alving. Yes, Mr. Manders, that certainly was your doing.

Manders. I was but the humble instrument of a higher power. And is it
not true that my having been able to bring you again under the yoke of
duty and obedience sowed the seeds of a rich blessing on all the rest
of your life? Did things not turn out as I foretold to you? Did not
your husband turn from straying in the wrong path, as a man should? Did
he not, after that, live a life of love and good report with you all
his days? Did he not become a benefactor to the neighbourhood? Did he
not so raise you up to his level, so that by degree you became his
fellow-worker in all his undertakings--and a noble fellow-worker, too.
I know, Mrs. Alving; that praise I will give you. But now I come to the
second serious false step in your life.

Mrs. Alving. What do you mean?

Manders, Just as once you forsook your duty as a wife, so, since then,
you have forsaken your duty as a mother.

Mrs. Alving. Oh--!

Manders. You have been overmastered all your life by a disastrous
spirit of willfulness. All your impulses have led you towards what is
undisciplined and lawless. You have never been willing to submit to any
restraint. Anything in life that has seemed irksome to you, you have
thrown aside recklessly and unscrupulously, as if it were a burden that
you were free to rid yourself of if you would. It did not please you to
be a wife any longer, and so you left your husband. Your duties as a
mother were irksome to you, so you sent your child away among strangers.

Mrs. Alving. Yes, that is true; I did that.

Menders. And that is why you have become a stran