reliable authority, that he is looking for a competent assistant.

Rebecca. It seems to me surprising that you and your friends do not start an opposition paper.

Kroll. That is exactly what we intend to do. This very day we have bought the "County News." There was no difficulty about the financial side of the matter; but— (Turns towards ROSMER) Now we have come to the real purport of my visit. It is the Management of it—the editorial management—that is the difficulty, you see. Look here, Rosmer—don't you feel called upon to undertake it, for the sake of the good cause?

Rosmer (in a tone of consternation). I!

Rebecca. How can you think of such a thing!

Kroll. I can quite understand your having a horror of public meetings and being unwilling to expose yourself to the mercies of the rabble that frequents them. But an editor's work, which is carried on in much greater privacy, or rather—

Rosmer. No, no, my dear fellow, you must not ask that of me.

Kroll. It would give me the greatest pleasure to have a try at work of that sort myself—only it would be quite out of the question for me; I am already saddled with such an endless number of duties. You, on the other hand, who are no longer hampered by any official duties, might—. Of course the rest of us would give you all the help in our power.

Rosmer. I cannot do it, Kroll. I am not fitted for it.

Kroll. Not fitted for it? That was just what you said when your father got you your living.

Rosmer. I was quite right; and that was why I resigned it, too.

Kroll. Well, if you only make as good an editor as you did a parson, we shall be quite satisfied.

Rosmer. My dear Kroll—once for all—I cannot do it.

Kroll. Well, then, I suppose you will give us the use of your name, at all events?

Rosmer. My name?

Kroll. Yes, the mere fact of John Rosmer's name being connected with it will be a great advantage to the paper. We others are looked upon as pronounced partisans. I myself even have the reputation of being a wicked fanatic, I am told. Therefore we cannot count upon our own names to give us any particular help in making the paper known to the misguided masses. But you, on the contrary, have always held aloof from this kind of fighting. Your gentle and upright disposition, your polished mind, your unimpeachable honour, are known to and appreciated by every one about here. And then there is the deference and respect that your former position as a clergyman ensures for you—and, besides that, there is the veneration in which your family, name is held!

Rosmer. Oh, my family name.

Kroll (pointing to the portraits). Rosmers of Rosmersholm—clergymen, soldiers, men who have filled high places in the state—men of scrupulous honour, every one of them—a family that has been rooted here, the most influential in the place, for nearly two centuries. (Lays his hand on ROSMER'S shoulder.) John, you owe it to yourself and to the traditions of your race to join us in defence of all that has hitherto been held sacred in our community. (Turning to REBECCA.) What do you say, Miss West?

Rebecca (with a quiet little laugh). my dear Mr. Kroll—it all sounds so absurdly ludicrous to me.

Kroll. What! Ludicrous?

Rebecca. Yes, because it is time you were told plainly—

Rosmer (hurriedly). No, no—don't! Not now!

Kroll (looking from one to the other). But, my dear friends, what on earth—? (Breaks off, as MRS. HELSETH comes in, by the door on the right.) Ahem!

Mrs. Helseth. There is a man at the kitchen door, sir. He says he wants to see you.

Rosmer (in a relieved voice). Is there? Well, ask him to come in.

Mrs. Helseth. Shall I show him in here, sir?

Rosmer. Certainly.

Mrs. Helseth. But he doesn't look the sort of man one ought to allow in here.

Rebecca. What does he look like, Mrs. Helseth?

Mrs. Helseth. Oh, he is not much to look at, Miss.

Rosmer. Did he not give you his name?

Mrs. Helseth. Yes, I think he said it was Hekman, or something like that.

Rosmer. I do not know any one of that name.

Mrs. Helseth. And he said his Christian name was Ulrik.

Rosmer (with a start of surprise). Ulrik Hetman! Was that it?

Mrs. Helseth. Yes, sir, it was Hetman.

Kroll. I am certain I have heard that name before.

Rebecca. Surely it was the name that strange creature used to write under—

Rosmer (to Kroll). It is Ulrik Brendel's pseudonym, you know.

Kroll. That scamp Ulrik Brendel. You are quite right.

Rebecca. So he is alive still.

Rosmer. I thought he was travelling with a theatrical company.

Kroll. The last I heard of him was that he was in the workhouse.

Rosmer. Ask him to come in, Mrs. Helseth.

Mrs. Helseth. Yes, sir. (Goes out.)

Kroll. Do you really mean to allow this fellow into your house?

Rosmer. Oh, well, you know he was my tutor once.

Kroll. I know that what he did was to stuff your head with revolutionary ideas, and that in consequence your father turned him out of the house with a horsewhip.

Rosmer (a little bitterly). Yes, my father was always the commanding officer—even at home.

Kroll. Be grateful to his memory for that, my dear John. Ah!

(MRS. HELSETH shows ULRIK BRENDEL in at the door, then goes out and shuts the door after her. BRENDEL is a good-looking man with grey hair and beard; somewhat emaciated, but active and alert; he is dressed like a common tramp, in a threadbare frock coat, shoes with holes in them, and no visible linen at his neck or wrists. He wears a pair of old black gloves, carries a dirty soft hat under his arm, and has a walking-stick in his hand. He looks puzzled at first, then goes quickly up to KROLL and holds out his hand to him.)

Brendel. Good-evening, John!

Kroll. Excuse me

Brendel. Did you ever expect to see me again? And inside these hated walls, too?

Kroll. Excuse me. (Points to ROSMER.) Over there.

Brendel (turning round). Quite right. There he is. John—my boy—my favourite pupil!

Rosmer (shaking hands with him). My old tutor!

Brendel. In spite of certain recollections, I could not pass by Rosmersholm without paying you a flying visit.

Rosmer. You are very welcome here now. Be sure of that.

Brendel. And this charming lady—? (Bows to Rebecca.) Your wife, of course.

Rosmer. Miss West.

Brendel. A near relation, I presume. And our stranger friend here? A colleague, I can see.

Rosmer. Mr. Kroll, master of the grammar school here.

Brendel. Kroll? Kroll? Wait a moment. Did you take the Philology course in your student days?

Kroll. Certainly I did.

Brendel. By Jove, I used to know you, then

Kroll. Excuse me—

Brendel. Were you not—

Kroll. Excuse me—

Brendel. —one of those champions of all the virtues that got me turned out of the Debating Society?

Kroll. Very