is no longer your business manager and adviser, your own and your husband's early friend, who stands before you. It is the priest—the priest who stood before you in the moment of your life when you had gone farthest astray.
Mrs. Alving.
And what has the priest to say to me?
Manders.
I will first stir up your memory a little. The moment is well chosen. To-morrow will be the tenth anniversary of your husband's death. To-morrow the memorial in his honour will be unveiled. To-morrow I shall have to speak to the whole assembled multitude. But to-day I will speak to you alone.
Mrs. Alving.
Very well, Pastor Manders. Speak.
Manders.
Do you remember that after less than a year of married life you stood on the verge of an abyss? That you forsook your house and home? That you fled from your husband? Yes, Mrs. Alving—fled, fled, and refused to return to him, however much he begged and prayed you?
Mrs. Alving.
Have you forgotten how infinitely miserable I was in that first year?
Manders.
It is the very mark of the spirit of rebellion to crave for happiness in this life. What right have
