HILDA.

[Rising.] Peace of soul! [With feeling.] Yes, yes, you are right in that! Poor Mr. Solness--you fancy that--

SOLNESS.

[With a quiet, chuckling laugh.] Just sit down again, Hilda, and I'll tell you something funny.

HILDA.

[Sits down; with intent interest.] Well?

SOLNESS.

It sounds such a ludicrous little thing; for, you see, the whole story turns upon nothing but a crack in the chimney.

HILDA.

No more than that?

SOLNESS.

No, not to begin with.

[He moves a chair nearer to HILDA and sits down.

HILDA.

[Impatiently, taps on her knee.] Well, now for the crack in the chimney!

SOLNESS.

I had noticed the split in the flue long, long before the fire. Every time I went up into the attic, I looked to see if it was still there.

HILDA.

And it was?

SOLNESS.

Yes; for no one else knew about it.

HILDA.

And you said nothing?

SOLNESS.

Nothing.

HILDA.

And did not think of repairing the flue either?

SOLNESS.

Oh yes, I thought about it--but never got any further. Every time I intended to set to work, it seemed just as if a hand held me back. Not to-day, I thought--to-morrow; and nothing ever came of it.

HILDA.

But why did you keep putting it off like that?

SOLNESS.

Because I was revolving something in my mind. [Slowly, and in a low voice.] Through that little black crack in the chimney, I might, perhaps, force my way upwards--as a builder.

HILDA.

[Looking straight in front of her.] That must have been thrilling.

SOLNESS.

Almost irresistible--quite irresistible. For at that time it appeared to me a perfectly simple and straightforward matter. I would have had it happen in the winter-time--a little before midday. I was to be out driving Aline in the sleigh. The servants at home would have made huge fires in the stoves.

HILDA.

For, of course, it was to be bitterly cold that day?

SOLNESS.

Rather biting, yes--and they would want Aline to find it thoroughly snug and warm when she came home.