revolts you. You see, as it were, something immoral in our relation; and that is why you cannot, or will not, live with me any more as my wife.
Ellida.
[Rises.] Have you seen all this, Wangel? Seen through all this?
Wangel.
Yes, to-day I have at last seen through it—into the very depths.
Ellida.
Into the very depths, you say. Oh, you mustn't think that.
Wangel.
[Rises.] I know very well that there is more than this, dear Ellida.
Ellida. [Apprehensively.] You know that there is more?
Wangel.
Yes. There is this: that you cannot endure your surroundings here. The mountains oppress you and weigh upon your spirits. There is not light enough for you here—the horizon is not wide enough—the air not strong and stimulating enough for you.
Ellida.
There you are quite right. Night and day, winter and summer, it is upon me—this haunting home-sickness for the sea.
Wangel. I know it well, dear Ellida. [Lays his hand
