Rosmer.
It must be so! It must! I cannot—I will not go through life with a dead body on my back. Help me to cast it off, Rebecca. And let us stifle all memories in freedom, in joy, in passion. You shall be to me the only wife I have ever had.
Rebecca.
[With self-command.] Never speak of this again. I will never be your wife.
Rosmer.
What! Never! Do you not think you could come to love me? Is there not already a strain of love in our friendship?
Rebecca.
[Puts her hands over her ears as if in terror.] Don’t speak so, Rosmer! Don’t say such things!
Rosmer.
[Seizes her arm.] Yes, yes—there is a growing promise in our relation. Oh, I can see that you feel it too. Do you not, Rebecca?