others. I had a weapon to use against him, you see; he didn't
dare to speak. It was then that Oswald was sent away. He was
about seven then, and was beginning to notice things and ask
questions as children will. I could endure all that, my friend.
It seemed to me that the child would be poisoned if he breathed
the air of this polluted house. That was why I sent him away. And
now you understand, too, why he never set foot here as long as
his father was alive. No one knows what it meant to me.

Manders. You have indeed had a pitiable experience.

Mrs. Alving. I could never have gone through with it, if I had
not had my work. Indeed, I can boast that I have worked. All the
increase in the value of the property, all the improvements, all
the useful arrangements that my husband got the honour and glory
of--do you suppose that he troubled himself about any of them?
He, who used to lie the whole day on the sofa reading old
official lists! No, you may as well know that too. It was I that
kept him up to the mark when he had his lucid intervals; it was I
that had to bear the whole burden of it when he began his
excesses again or took to whining about his miserable condition.

Manders. And this is the man you are building a memorial to!

Mrs. Alving. There you see the power of an uneasy conscience.

Manders. An uneasy conscience? What do you mean?

Mrs. Alving. I had always before me the fear that it was
impossible that the truth should not come out and be believed.