he Stranger. Goodbye, Mrs. Wangel! (He swings himself over the fence.)
Henceforth, you are nothing but a shipwreck in my life that I have tided
over. (He goes out.)

Wangel (looks at her for a while). Ellida, your mind is like the sea--it
has ebb and flow. Whence came the change?

Ellida. Ah! don't you understand that the change came--was bound to come
when I could choose in freedom?

Wangel. And the unknown?--It no longer lures you?

Ellida. Neither lures nor frightens me. I could have seen it--gone out
into it, if only I myself had willed it. I could have chosen it. And
that is why I could also renounce it.

Wangel. I begin to understand little by little. You think and conceive
in pictures--in visible figures. Your longing and aching for the sea,
your attraction towards this strange man, these were the expression of
an awakening and growing desire for freedom; nothing else.

Ellida. I don't know about that. But you have been a good physician for
me. You found, and you dared to use the right remedy--the only one that
could help me.

Wangel. Yes, in utmost need and danger we doctors dare much. And now you
are coming back to me again, Ellida?

Ellida. Yes, dear, faithful Wangel--now I am coming back to you again.
Now I can. For now I come to you freely, and on my own responsibility.

Wangel (looks lovingly at her). Ellida! Ellida! To think that now we can
live wholly for one another--

Ellida. And with common memories. Yours, as well as mine.

Wangel. Yes, indeed, dear.

Ellida. And for our children, Wangel?

Wangel. You call them ours!

Ellida. They who are not mine yet, but whom I shall win.

Wangel. Ours! (Gladly and quickly kisses her hands.) I cannot speak my
thanks for those words!

(HILDE, BALLESTED, LYNGSTRAND, ARNHOLM, and BOLETTE come into the
garden. At the same time a number of young townspeople and visitors pass
along the footpath.)

Hilde (aside to LYNGSTRAND). See! Why, she and father look exactly as if
they were a betrothed couple!

Ballested (who has overheard). It is summertime, little Missie.

Arnholm (looking at WANGEL and ELLIDA). The English steamer is putting
off.

Bolette (going to the fence). You can see her best from here.

Lyngstrand. The last voyage this year.

Ballested. Soon all the sea-highways will be closed, as the poet says.
It is sad, Mrs. Wangel. And now we're to lose you also for a time.
Tomorrow you're off to Skjoldviken, I hear.

Wangel. No; nothing wil