THE RAT-WIFE. Don't you think he has a gentle, lovable countenance, my young master?

EYOLF. [Astonished, pointing.] That thing there?

THE RAT-WIFE. Yes, this thing here.

EYOLF. [Almost under his breath, staring fixedly at the dog.] I think he has the horriblest--countenance I ever saw.

THE RAT-WIFE. [Closing the bag.] Oh, it will come--it will come, right enough.

EYOLF. [Involuntarily drawing nearer, at last goes right up to her, and strokes the bag.] But he is lovely--lovely all the same.

THE RAT-WIFE. [In a tone of caution.] But now he is so tired and weary, poor thing. He's utterly tired out, he is. [Looks at ALLMERS.] For it takes the strength out of you, that sort of game, I can tell you, sir.

ALLMERS. What sort of game do you mean?

THE RAT-WIFE. The luring game.

ALLMERS. Do you mean that it is the dog that lures the rats?

THE RAT-WIFE. [Nodding.] Mopseman and I--we two do it together. And it goes so smoothly--for all you can see, at any rate. I just slip a string through his collar, and then I lead him three times round the house, and play on my Pan's-pipes. When they hear that, they have got to come up from the cellars, and down from the garrets, and out of flour boles, all the blessed little creatures.

EYOLF. And does he bite them to death then?

THE RAT-WIFE. Oh, not at all! No, we go down to the boat, he and I do--and then they follow after us, both the big ones and the little ratikins.

EYOLF. [Eagerly.] And what then--tell me!

THE RAT-WIFE. Then we push out from the land, and I scull with one oar, and play on my Pan's-pipes. And Mopseman, he swims behind. [With glittering eyes.] And all the creepers and crawlers, they follow and follow us out into the deep, deep waters. Ay, for they have to.

EYOLF. Why do they have to?

THE RAT-WIFE. Just because they want not to--just because they are so deadly afraid of the water. That is why they have got to plunge into it.

EYOLF. Are they drowned, then?

THE RAT-WIFE. Every blessed one. [More softly.] And there it is all as still, and soft, and dark as their hearts can desire, the lovely little things. Down there they sleep a long, sweet sleep, with no one to hate them or persecute them any more. [Rises.] In the old days, I can tell you, I didn't need any Mopseman. Then I did the luring myself--I alone.

EYOLF. And what did you lure then?

THE RAT-WIFE. Men. One most of all.

EYOLF. [With eagerness.] Oh, who was that one? Tell me!

THE RAT-WIFE. [Laughing.] It was my own sweetheart, it was, little heart-breaker!

EYOLF. And where is he now, then?

THE RAT-WIFE. [Harshly.] Down where all the rats are. [Resuming her milder tone.] But now I must be off and get to business again. Always on the move. [To RITA.] So your ladyship has no sort of use for me to-day?

I could finish it all off while I am about it.

RITA. No, thank you; I don't think we require anything.

THE RAT-WIFE. Well, well, your sweet ladyship, you can never tell.

If your ladyship should find that there is anything lure that keeps nibbling and gnawing, and creeping and crawling, then just see and get hold of me and Mopseman.--Good-bye, good-bye, a kind good-bye to you all. [She goes out by the door on the right.]

EYOLF. [Softly and triumphantly, to ASTA.] Only think, Auntie, now I have seen the Rat-Wife too!

[RITA goes out upon the verandah, and fans herself with her pocket-handkerchief. Shortly afterwards, EYOLF slips cautiously and unnoticed out to the right.]

ALLMERS. [Takes up the portfolio from the table by the sofa.] Is this your portfolio, Asta?

ASTA. Yes. I have some of the old letters in it.

ALLMERS. Ah, the family letters--

ASTA. You know you asked me to arrange them for you while you were away.

ALLMERS. [Pats her on the head.] And you have actually found time to do that, dear?

ASTA. Oh, yes. I have done it partly out here and partly at my own rooms in town.

ALLMERS. Thanks, dear. Did you find anything particular in them?

ASTA. [Lightly.] Oh, you know you always find something or other in such old papers. [Speaking lower and seriously.] It is the letters to mother that are in this portfolio.

ALLMERS. Those, of course, you must keep yourself.

ASTA. [With an effort.] No; I am determined that you shall look through them, too, Alfred. Some time--later on in life. I haven't the key of the portfolio with me just now.

ALLMERS. It doesn't matter, my dear Asta, for I shall never read your mother's letters in any case.

ASTA. [Fixing her eyes on him.] Then some time or other--some quiet evening--I will tell you a little of what is in them.

ALLMERS. Yes, that will be much better. But do you keep your mother's letters--you haven't so many mementos of her.

[He hands ASTA the portfolio. She takes it, and lays it on the chair under her outdoor things. RITA comes into the room again.]

RITA. Ugh! I feel as if that horrible old woman had brought a sort of graveyard smell with her.

ALLMERS. Yes, she was rather horrible.

RITA. I felt almost sick while she was in the room.

ALLMERS. However, I can very well understand the sort of spellbound fascination that she talked about. The loneliness of the mountain-peaks and of the great waste places has something of the same magic about it.

ASTA. [Looks attentively at him.] What is it that has happened to you, Alfred?

ALLMERS. [Smiling.] To me?