MRS. BORKMAN. I daresay. People find plenty to say about us, no doubt. ELLA RENTHEIM. Erhart has spoken of it in his letters. He said that his father generally remained by himself--up there--and you alone down here. MRS. BORKMAN. Yes; that is how it has been, Ella, ever since they let him out, and sent him home to me. All these long eight years. ELLA RENTHEIM. I never believed it could really be so. It seemed impossible! MRS. BORKMAN. [Nods.] It is so; and it can never be otherwise. ELLA RENTHEIM. [Looking at her.] This must be a terrible life, Gunhild. MRS. BORKMAN. Worse than terrible--almost unendurable. ELLA RENTHEIM. Yes, it must be. MRS. BORKMAN. Always to hear his footsteps up there--from early morning till far into the night. And everything sounds so clear in this house! ELLA RENTHEIM. Yes, it is strange how clear the sound is. MRS. BORKMAN. I often feel as if I had a sick wolf pacing his cage up there in the gallery, right over my head. [Listens and whispers.] Hark! Do you hear! Backwards and forwards, up and down, goes the wolf. ELLA RENTHEIM. [Tentatively.] Is no change possible, Gunhild? MRS. BORKMAN. [With a gesture of repulsion.] He has never made any movement towards a change. ELLA RENTHEIM. Could you not make the first movement, then? MRS. BORKMAN. [Indignantly.] I! After all the wrong he has done me! No thank