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HILDA.
Him, too?
SOLNESS.
I needed room for myself. But this Ragnar--he must on no account be allowed to come to the front.
HILDA.
Poor fellow, there is surely no fear of that. If he has nothing in him--
SOLNESS.
[Comes closer, looks at her, and whispers.] If Ragnar Brovik gets his chance, he will strike me to the earth. Crush me--as I crushed his father.
HILDA.
Crush you? Has he the ability for that?
SOLNESS.
Yes, you may depend upon it he has the ability! He is the younger generation that stands ready to knock at my door--to make an end of Halvard Solness.
HILDA.
[Looks at him with quiet reproach.] And yet you would bar him out. Fie, Mr. Solness!
SOLNESS.
The fight I have been fighting has cost heart's blood enough.--And I am afraid, too, that the helpers and servers will not obey me any longer.
HILDA.
Then you must go ahead without them. There is nothing else for it.
SOLNESS.
It is hopeless, Hilda. The luck is bound to turn. A little sooner or a little later. Retribution is inexorable.
HILDA.
[In distress, putting her hands over her ears.] Don't talk like that! Do you want to kill me? To take from me what is more than my life?
SOLNESS.
And what is that?
HILDA.
The longing to see you great. To see you, with a wreath in your hand, high, high up upon a church-tower. [Calm again.] Come, out with your pencil now. You must have a pencil about you?
SOLNESS.
[Takes out his pocket-book.] I have one here.
HILDA.
[Lays the portfolio on the sofa-table.] Very well. Now let us two sit down here, Mr. Solness. [SOLNESS seats himself at the table. HILDA stands behind him, leaning over the back of the chair.] And now we well write on the drawings. We must write very, very nicely and cordially--for this horrid Ruar--or whatever his name is.
SOLNESS.
[Writes a few words, turns his head and looks at her.] Tell me one thing, Hilda.
HILDA.
Yes!
SOLNESS.
If you have been waiting for me all these ten years--
HILDA.
What then?
SOLNESS.
Why have you never written to me? Then I could have answered you.
