You may be sure she did not fail to notice that we read
the same books; that we sought one another's company, and
discussed every new topic together. But I cannot understand it--
because I was always so careful to spare her. When I look back,
it seems to me that I did everything I could to keep her apart
from our lives. Or did I not, Rebecca?
Rebecca. Yes, yes--undoubtedly you did.
Rosmer. And so did you, too. And notwithstanding that--! Oh, it is
horrible to think of! To think that here she was--with her
affection all distorted by illness --never saying a word--watching
us--noticing everything and--and--misconstruing everything.
Rebecca (wringing her hands). Oh, I never ought to have come to
Rosmersholm.
Rosmer. Just think what she must have suffered in silence! Think
of all the horrible things her poor diseased brain must have led
her to believe about us and store up in her mind about us! Did
she never speak to you of anything that could give you any kind
of clue?
Rebecca (as if startled). To me! Do you suppose I should have
remained here a day longer, if she had?
Rosmer. No, no--that is obvious. What a fight she must have
fought--and fought alone, Rebecca! In despair, and all alone. And
then, in the end, the poignant misery of her victory--which was
also her accusation of us--in the mill-race! (Throws himself into
a chair, rests his elbows on the table, and hides his face in his
hands.
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