Rebecca.
[Feeling for the chair-back.] A living What do you mean?
Rosmer.
[Comes nearer.] Rebecca—if I were to ask you—will you be my second wife?
Rebecca.
[For a moment speechless, then cries out with joy.] Your wife! Your! I!
Rosmer.
Come; let us try it. We two will be one. The place of the dead must stand empty no longer.
Rebecca.
I—in Beata's place!
Rosmer.
Then she will be out of the saga—completely—for ever and ever.
Rebecca.
[Softly, trembling.] Do you believe that, Rosmer?
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.
