the room.] Oh, not to be able to work--!
MRS. ALVING. Perhaps it was not quite wise of you to come home?
OSWALD. Oh, yes, mother; I had to.
MRS. ALVING. You know I would ten times rather forgo the joy of having you here, than let you--
OSWALD. [Stops beside the table.] Now just tell me, mother: does it really make you so very happy to have me home again?
MRS. ALVING. Does it make me happy!
OSWALD. [Crumpling up a newspaper.] I should have thought it must be pretty much the same to you whether I was in existence or not.
MRS. ALVING. Have you the heart to say that to your mother, Oswald?
OSWALD. But you've got on very well without me all this time.
MRS. ALVING. Yes; I have got on without you. That is true.
[A silence. Twilight slowly begins to fall. OSWALD paces to and fro across the room. He has laid his cigar down.]
OSWALD. [Stops beside MRS. ALVING.] Mother, may I sit on the sofa beside you?
MRS. ALVING. [Makes room for him.] Yes, do, my dear boy.
OSWALD. [Sits down.] There is something I must tell you, mother.
MRS. ALVING. [Anxiously.] Well?
OSWALD. [Looks fixedly before him.] For I can't go on hiding it any longer.
MRS. ALVING. Hiding what? What is it?
OSWALD. [As before.] I could never bring myself to write to you about it; and since I've come home--
MRS. ALVING. [Seizes him by the arm.] Oswald, what is the matter?
OSWALD. Both yesterday and today I have tried to put the thoughts away from me--to cast them off; but it's no use.
MRS. ALVING. [Rising.] Now you must tell me everything, Oswald!
OSWALD. [Draws her down to the sofa again.] Sit still; and then I will try to tell you.--I complained of fatigue after my journey--
MRS. ALVING. Well? What then?
OSWALD. But it isn't that that is the matter with me; not any ordinary fatigue--
MRS. ALVING. [Tries to jump up.] You are not ill, Oswald?
OSWALD. [Draws her down again.] Sit still, mother. Do take it quietly. I'm not downright ill, either; not what is commonly called "ill."
[Clasps his hands above his head.] Mother, my mind is broken down--ruined--I shall never be able to work again! [With his hands before his face, he buries his head in her lap, and breaks into bitter sobbing.]
MRS. ALVING. [White and trembling.] Oswald! Look at me! No, no; it's not true.
OSWALD. [Looks up with despair in his eyes.] Never to be able to work again! Never!--never! A living death! Mother, can you imagine anything so horrible?
MRS. ALVING. My poor boy! How has this horrible thing come upon you?
OSWALD. [Sitting upright again.] That's just what I cannot possibly grasp or understand. I have never led a dissipated life--never, in any respect. You mustn't believe that of me, mother! I've never done that.
MRS. ALVING. I am sure you haven't, Oswald.
OSWALD. And yet 

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