Gregers. Then that is your life's mission?
Hialmar.
Yes. I will rescue the shipwrecked man. For shipwrecked he was, by the very first blast of the storm. Even while those terrible investigations were going on, he was no longer himself. That pistol there—the one we use to shoot rabbits with—has played its part in the tragedy of the house of Ekdal.
Gregers.
The pistol? Indeed?
Hialmar.
When the sentence of imprisonment was passed—he had the pistol in his hand
Gregers. Had he?
Hialmar.
Yes; but he dared not use it. His courage failed him. So broken, so demoralised was he even then! Oh, can you understand it? He, a soldier; he, who had shot nine bears, and who was descended from two lieutenant-colonels—one after the other of course. Can you understand it, Gregers?
Gregers.
Yes, I understand it well enough.
Hialmar.
I cannot. And once more the pistol played a part in the history of our house. When he had put on the grey clothes and was under lock and
