We must try and get to the bottom of it.
How can she have strayed into such a woeful misunderstanding of me?

Rebecca. Surely you too are not beginning to doubt that she was very
nearly insane?

Rosmer. Well, I cannot deny it is just of that fact that I feel I
cannot be so altogether certain any longer. And besides if it were so--

Rebecca. If it were so? What then?

Rosmer. What I mean is--where are we to look for the actual cause of
her sick woman's fancies turning into insanity?

Rebecca. What good can it possibly do for you to indulge in such
speculations!

Rosmer. I cannot do otherwise, Rebecca. I cannot let this doubt go on
gnawing at my heart, however unwilling I may be to face it.

Rebecca. But it may become a real danger to you to be perpetually
dwelling on this one lugubrious topic.

Rosmer (walking about restlessly and absorbed in the idea). I must have
betrayed myself in some way or other. She must have noticed how happy I
began to feel from the day you came to us.

Rebecca. Yes; but dear, even if that were so--

Rosmer. 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