The force of the common memories asserts itself anew, and they resolve to remain together and help each other bear the burden of life. Death is no longer a horror, but a quiet fellow-traveller, neither welcomed nor dreaded. Very beautifully and naturally is the transition to the new altruistic endeavor indicated in their wonder why the little companions of Eyolf, who all could swim, made no effort to save him. Never had Eyolf’s father and mother interested themselves in these boys; nor had they made the least effort to ameliorate the hard lot of the poor fishing population, settled about them. Having never sown love, they had never reaped it. Now, in order to fill the aching void of her heart with “something that is a little like love,” Rita invites all the little ragamuffins from the village up into her luxurious house, clothes them in Eyolf’s clothes, gives them Eyolf’s toys to play with, and feeds them and warms them and lavishes upon them the homeless love which was her own child’s due, but of which he was defrauded. In the opening up of this new well-spring of love in her heart, she suddenly perceives the meaning of Eyolf’s death. RITA—I suppose I must try if I cannot lighten—and ennoble their lot in life. ALLMERS—If you can do that—then Eyolf was not born in vain. RITA—Nor taken away from us in vain, either. . . . (_Softly, with a melancholy smile_) I want to make my peace with the great open eyes, you see. ALLMERS (_Struck, fixing his eyes upon her_)—Perhaps I could join you in that? And help you, too, Rita? And so they begin together a new existence, with new aims and a deeper sense of human responsibility. The contrast between the old life in the senses and the new life in the spirit, is emphasized in a few striking and simple phrases. Their aspiration is now consciously “upwards—towards the peaks,—towards the great silence.”