Solness.
[Shakes his head.] Not houses and towers, and spires—not such things as I work away at
Hilda.
Well, but what then?
Solness.
[Softly, with emotion.] For building up the souls of little children, Hilda. For building up children's souls in perfect balance, and in noble and beautiful forms. For enabling them to soar up into erect and full-grown human souls. That was Aline's talent. And there it all lies now—unused and unusable for ever—of no earthly service to any one—just like the ruins left by a fire.
Hilda.
Yes, but even if this were so?
Solness.
It is so! It is so! I know it!
Hilda.
Well, but in any case it is not your fault.
Solness.
[Fixes his eyes on her, and nods slowly.] Ah, that is the great, the terrible question. That is the doubt that is gnawing me—night and day.
Hilda.
That?
Solness.
Yes. Suppose the fault was mine—in a certain sense.
