Gregers. What has taken possession of you?
Hjalmar. My eyes have been opened. Watch, and you’ll see that the deed of gift is but a beginning. Mrs. Sorby has always done a great deal for Hedvig; and now it’s in her power to do what she likes for the child. They can take her from me at any time and hour they choose.
Gregers. Not for all the world would Hedvig go away from you.
Hjalmar. Don’t be so sure of that. Suppose they stood there with their hands full, beckoning her—— Ah! I, who have loved her beyond all words! I, who would have found my greatest joy in taking her tenderly by the hand and guiding her as one guides a child frightened at the darkness, through some wild desolate space! Now I feel the gnawing certainty—the poor photographer in his attic-home has never been anything wholly and completely to her. She has only been cunning enough to keep on good terms with him until the right time should come.
Gregers. You don’t believe this yourself, Hjalmar.
Hjalmar. That’s the terrible part of it, that I don’t know what to believe—that I never shall know. But can you really doubt that it must be as I say? Ha, ha!—You rely too much upon the claims of the ideal, my good Gregers! If only the others came, with hands overflowing and cried to the child “leave him, here with us life awaits you.”
Gregers (quickly). Well, what then?
Hjalmar. If then I asked her: “Hedvig, are you willing to forego that life for me?” (Laughs mockingly.) No, thank you—you’d soon hear the answer.
A pistol shot is heard in the loft.
Gregers (loudly and gladly). Hjalmar!