Rosmer.
No, no, of course not.—Oh, what a battle she must have fought! And alone too, Rebecca; desperate and quite alone!—and then, at last, that heart-breaking, accusing victory—in the mill-race.
[Throws himself into the chair by the writing-table, with his elbows on the table and his face in his hands.
Rebecca.
[Approaches him cautiously from behind.] Listen, Rosmer. If it were in your power to call Beata back—to you—to Rosmersholm—would you do it?
Rosmer.
Oh, how do I know what I would or would not do? I can think of nothing but this one thing—that cannot be recalled.
Rebecca.
You were just beginning to live, Rosmer. You had begun. You had freed yourself—on every side. You felt so buoyant and happy——
Rosmer.