Kroll.
At that time I never for a moment doubted that she was out of her mind. Such an accusation against a man like you!—And then she came again—about a month later. This time she seemed outwardly calmer; but as she was going she said: “They may soon expect the White Horse at Rosmersholm now.”
Rosmer.
Yes, yes. The White Horse—she often spoke of it.
Kroll.
And when I tried to divert her mind from such melancholy fancies, she only answered: “I have not long to live; for Johannes must marry Rebecca at once.”
Rosmer.
[Almost speechless.] What do you say? I marry——?
Kroll.
That was on a Thursday afternoon——. On the Saturday evening she threw herself from the bridge into the mill-race.