Ellida. Oh, no! Don't think that! He wrote quietly, as before--
not a word of my having broken with him. Then I knew it was
useless, and so I never wrote to him again.

Wangel. And you never heard from him?

Ellida. Oh, yes! I have had three letters since then. Once he
wrote to me from California, and a second time from China. The
last letter I had from him was from Australia. He wrote he was
going to the gold-mines; but since then he has made no sign.

Wangel. This man has had a strange power over you, Ellida.

Ellida. Yes, yes! The terrible man!

Wangel. But you mustn't think of that any more. Never again--
never! Promise me that, my dear, beloved Ellida. Now we must try
another treatment for you. Fresher air than here within the
fjords. The salt, fresh air of the sea! Dear, what say you to
that?

Ellida. Oh! don't speak of it! Don't think of it! There is no
help in this for me. I feel that so well. I can't shake it off--
not even there.

Wangel. What, dear?--What do you really mean?

Ellida. I mean the horror of it, this incomprehensible power over
the mind.