Rosmer.
love. Yes, Rebecca, that is what I mean. Even while Beata was alive, all my thoughts were for you. It was you alone I longed for. It was when you were by my side that I felt the calm gladness of utter content. If you think it over, Rebecca—did we not feel for each other from the first a sort of sweet, secret child-love—desireless, dreamless? Was it not so with you? Tell me.
Rebecca.
[Struggling with herself.] Oh—I don't know what to answer.
Rosmer.
And it was this close-linked life in and for each other that we took for friendship. No, Rebecca—our bond has been a spiritual marriage—perhaps from the very first. That is why there is guilt on my soul. I had no right to such happiness—it was a sin against Beata.
Rebecca.
No right to live happily? Do you believe that, Rosmer?
Rosmer.
She looked at our relation with the eyes of her love—judged it after the fashion of her love. Inevitably. Beata could not have judged otherwise than she did.
Rebecca.
But how can you accuse yourself because of Beata's delusion?
Rosmer.
It was love for me—her kind of love—that drove her into the mill race. That is an im-
