Wangel. Good God! You are more ill than I thought. More ill than
you yourself know, Ellida.

Ellida. Yes, yes! Help me if you can, for I feel how it is
drawing closer and more close.

Wangel. And you have gone about in this state three whole years,
bearing for yourself this secret suffering, without confiding in
me.

Ellida. But I could not; not till it became necessary for your
own sake. If I had confided in you I should also have had to
confide to you the unutterable.

Wangel. Unutterable?

Ellida. No, no, no! Do not ask. Only one thing, nothing more.
Wangel, when shall we understand that mystery of the boy's eyes?

Wangel. My dear love, Ellida, I assure you it was only your own
fancy. The child had exactly the same eyes as other normal
children have.

Ellida. No, he had not. And you could not see it! The child's
eyes changed colour with the sea. When the fjord lay bathed in
sunshine, so were his eyes. And so in storm. Oh, I saw it, if you
did not!

Wangel (humouring her). Maybe. But even if it were true, what
then?