ASTA. [Closing her umbrella.] I have been searching for you such a long
time.
ALLMERS. [Without expression.] Thank you.
ASTA. [Moves a chair and seats herself close to him.] Have you been
sitting here long? All the time?
ALLMERS. [Does not answer at first. Presently he says.] No, I cannot
grasp it. It seems so utterly impossible.
ASTA. [Laying her hand compassionately on his arm.] Poor Alfred!
ALLMERS. [Gazing at her.] Is it really true then, Asta? Or have I gone
mad? Or am I only dreaming? Oh, if it were only a dream! Just think, if
I were to waken now!
ASTA. Oh, if I could only waken you!
ALLMERS. [Looking out over the water.] How pitiless the fiord looks
to-day, lying so heavy and drowsy--leaden-grey--with splashes of
yellow--and reflecting the rain-clouds.
ASTA. [Imploringly.] Oh, Alfred, don't sit staring out over the fiord!
ALLMERS. [Not heeding her.] Over the surface, yes. But in the
depths--there sweeps the rushing undertow--
ASTA. [In terror.] Oh, for God's sake don't think of the depths!
ALLMERS. [Looking gently at her.] I suppose you think he is lying close
outside here? But he is not, Asta. You must not think that. You must
remember how fiercely the current sweeps out here straight to the open
sea.
ASTA. [Throws herself forward against the table, and, sobbing, buries
her face in her hands.] Oh, God! Oh, God!
ALLMERS. [Heavily.] So you see, little Eyolf has passed so far--far away
from us now.
ASTA. [Looks imploringly up at him.] Oh, Alfred, don't say such things!
ALLMERS. Why, you can reckon it out for yourself--you that are so
clever. In eight-and-twenty hours--nine-and-twenty hours--Let me see--!
Let me see--!
ASTA. [Shrieking and stopping her ears.] Alfred!
ALLMERS. [Clenching his hand firmly upon the table.] Can you conceive
the meaning of a thing like this?
ASTA. [Looks at him.] Of what?
ALLMERS. Of this that has been done to Rita and me.
ASTA. The meaning of it?
ALLMERS. [Impatiently.] Yes, the meaning, I say. For, after all, there
must be a meaning in it. Life, existence--destiny, cannot be so utterly
meaningless.
ASTA. Oh, who can say anything with certainty about these things, my
dear Alfred?
ALLMERS. [Laughs bitterly.] No, no; I believe you are right there.
Perhaps the whole thing goes simply by hap-hazard--taking its own
course, like a drifting wreck without a rudder. I daresay that is how it
is. At least, it seems very like it.
ASTA. [Thoughtfully.] What if it only seems--?
ALLMERS. [Vehemently.] Ah? Perhaps you can unravel the mystery for me?
I certainly cannot. [More gently.] Here is Eyolf, just entering
upon conscious life: full of such infinite possibilities--splendid
possibilities perhaps: he would have filled my life with pride and
gladness. And then a crazy old woman has only to come this way--and show
a cur in a bag--
ASTA. But we don't in the least know how it really happened.
ALLMERS. Yes, we do. The boys saw her row out over the fiord. They saw
Eyolf standing alone at the very end of the pier. They saw him gazing
after her--and then he seemed to turn giddy. [Quivering.] And that was
how he fell over--and disappeared.