o his children.

Arnholm. And is it you who wish this?

Ellida. I think all parties feel most comfortable in this way. You
know we can talk across to one another--if we happen to find there is
anything to say.

Arnholm (after thinking awhile). When I last crossed your path--out at
Skjoldviken, I mean--Hm! That is long ago now.

Ellida. It's quite ten years since you were there with us.

Arnholm. Yes, about that. But when I think of you out there in the
lighthouse! The heathen, as the old clergyman called you, because your
father had named you, as he said, after an old ship, and hadn't given
you a name fit for a Christian.

Ellida. Well, what then?

Arnholm. The last thing I should then have believed was that I should
see you again down here as the wife of Wangel.

Ellida. No; at that time Wangel wasn't--at that time the girls' first
mother was still living. Their real mother, so Arnholm. Of course, of
course! But even if that had not been-even if he had been free--still, I
could never have believed this would come about.

Ellida. Nor I. Never on earth--then.

Arnholm. Wangel is such a good fellow. So honourable. So thoroughly good
and kind to all men.

Ellida (warmly and heartily). Yes, he is indeed.

Arnholm. But he must be so absolutely different from you, I fancy.

Ellida. You are right there. So he is.

Arnholm. Well, but how did it happen? How did it come about?

Ellida. Ah! dear Arnholm, you mustn't ask me about that. I couldn't
explain it to you, and even if I could, you would never be able to
understand, in the least.

Arnholm. Hm! (In lower tone.) Have you ever confided anything about me
to your husband? Of course, I meant about the useless step--I allowed
myself to be moved to.

Ellida. No. You may be sure of that. I've not said a word to him
about--about what you speak of.

Arnholm. I am glad. I felt rather awkward at the thought that--

Ellida. There was no need. I have only told him what is true--that I
liked you very much, and that you were the truest and best friend I had
out there.

Arnholm. Thanks for that. But tell me--why did you never write to me
after I had gone away?

Ellida. I thought that perhaps it would pain you to hear from one
who--who could not respond as you desired. It seemed like re-opening a
painful subject.

Arnholm. Hm. Yes, yes, perhaps you were right.

Ellida. But why didn't you write?

Arnholm (looks at her and smiles, half reproachfully). I make the