Helseth. Yes, that I did. And that letter, let me tell you,
was written here--at Rosmersholm.
Rebecca. Really, Mrs. Helseth?
Mrs. Helseth. I give you my word it was, miss. And it was written
on good note-paper--and sealed with beautiful red sealing-wax.
Rebecca. And you were entrusted with the delivery of it? Dear
Mrs. Helseth, it is not very difficult to guess whom it was from.
Mrs. Helseth. Who, then?
Rebecca. Naturally, it was something that poor Mrs. Rosmer in her
invalid state
Mrs. Helseth. Well, you have mentioned her name, miss--not I.
Rebecca. But what was in the letter?--No, of course, you cannot
know that.
Mrs. Helseth. Hm!--it is just possible I may know, all the same.
Rebecca. Did she tell you what she was writing about, then?
Mrs. Helseth. No, she did not do that. But when Mortensgaard had
read it, he set to work and cross-questioned me, so that I got a
very good idea of what was in it.
Rebecca. What do you think was in it, then? Oh, dear, good Mrs.
Helseth, do tell me!
Mrs. Helseth. Certainly not, miss. Not for worlds.
Rebecca. Oh, you can tell me. You and I are such friends, you
know.
Mrs. Helseth. Heaven forbid I should tell you anything about
that, miss. I shall not tell you anything, except that it was
some dreadful idea that they had gone and put into my poor sick
mistress's head.
Rebecca. Who had put it into her head?
Mrs.
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