And it was
only natural. She could not have judged them otherwise than she
did.
Rebecca. But how can you so accuse yourself for Beata's
delusions?
Rosmer. It was for love of me--in her own way that--she threw
herself into the mill-race. That fact is certain, Rebecca. I can
never get beyond that.
Rebecca. Oh, do not think of anything else but the great,
splendid task that you are going to devote your life to!
Rosmer (shaking his head). It can never be carried through. Not
by me. Not after what I know now.
Rebecca. Why not by you?
Rosmer. Because no cause can ever triumph which has its
beginnings in guilt.
Rebecca (impetuously). Oh, these are nothing but prejudices you
have inherited--these doubts, these fears, these scruples! You
have a legend here that your dead return to haunt you in the form
of white horses. This seems to me to be something of that sort.
Rosmer. Be that as it may, what difference does it make if I
cannot shake it off? Believe me, Rebecca, it is as I say--any
cause which is to win a lasting victory must be championed by a
man who is joyous and innocent.
Rebecca. But is joy so absolutely indispensable to you, John?
Rosmer. Joy? Yes, indeed it is.
Rebecca. To you, who never laugh?
Rosmer. Yes, in spite of that. Believe me, I have a great
capacity for joy.
Rebecca. Now you really must go out, dear--for a long walk--a
really long one, do you hear? There is your hat, and there is
your stick.
Pages:
69
70
71
72
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
86
87
88
89
90
91
92
93