Rebecca (wringing her hands). Oh, this killing doubt! John, John--!

Rosmer. Yes, I know, dear--it is horrible--but I cannot help it. I
shall never be able to free myself from it--never be able to feel
certain that your love for me is genuine and pure.

Rebecca. But is there nothing in your own heart that bears witness to
the transformation that has taken place in me--and taken place through
your influence, and yours alone!

Rosmer. Ah, my dear, I do not believe any longer in my power to
transform people. I have no belief in myself left at all. I do not
believe either in myself or in you.

Rebecca (looking darkly at him). How are you going to live out your
life, then?

Rosmer. That is just what I do not know--and cannot imagine. I do not
believe I can live it out. And, moreover, I do not know anything in the
world that would be worth living for.

Rebecca. Life carries a perpetual rebirth with it. Let us hold fast to
it, dear. We shall be finished with it quite soon enough.

Rosmer (getting up restlessly). Then give me my faith back again!--my
faith in you, Rebecca--my faith in your love! Give me a proof of it! I
must have some proof!

Rebecca. Proof? How can I give you a proof--!

Rosmer. You must! (Crosses the room.) I cannot bear this desolate,
horrible loneliness--this-this--. (A knock is heard at the hall door.)

Rebecca (getting up from her chair). Did you hear that?

(The door opens, and ULRIK BRENDEL comes in. Except that he wears a
white shirt, a black coat and, a good pair of high boots, he is dressed
as in the first act. He looks troubled.)

Rosmer. Ah, it is you, Mr. Brendel!

Brendel. John, my boy, I have come to say good-bye to you!

Rosmer. Where are you going, so late as this?

Brendel. Downhill.

Rosmer. How--?

Brendel. I am on my way home, my beloved pupil. I am homesick for the
great Nothingness.

Rosmer. Something has happened to you, Mr. Brendel! What is it?

Brendel. Ah, you notice the transformation, then? Well, it is evident
enough. The last time I entered your doors I stood before you a man of
substance, slapping a well-filled pocket.

Rosmer. Really? I don't quite understand--

Brendel. And now, as you see me to-night, I am a deposed monarch
standing over the ashes of my burnt-out palace.

Rosmer. If there is any way I can help you

Brendel. You have preserved your childlike heart, John--can you let me
have a loan?

Rosmer. Yes, most willingly!

Brendel. Can y