Very well, then; now you shall hear——Mother, you have a strong, steadfast mind, I know. Now you’re to sit quite still when you hear it. MRS. ALVING. What dreadful thing can it be——? OSWALD. You’re not to scream out. Do you hear? Do you promise me that? We will sit and talk about it quietly. Do you promise me, mother? MRS. ALVING. Yes, yes; I promise. Only speak! OSWALD. Well, you must know that all this fatigue—and my inability to think of work—all that is not the illness itself—— MRS. ALVING. Then what is the illness itself? OSWALD. The disease I have as my birthright—[_He points to his forehead and adds very softly_]—is seated here. MRS. ALVING. [_Almost voiceless._] Oswald! No—no! OSWALD. Don’t scream. I can’t bear it. Yes, mother, it is seated here—waiting. And it may break out any day—at any moment. MRS. ALVING. Oh, what horror——! OSWALD. Now, quiet, quiet. That is how it stands with me—— MRS. ALVING. [_Springs up._] It’s not true, Oswald! It’s impossible! It cannot be so! OSWALD. I have had _one_ attack down there already. It was soon over. But when I came to know the state I had been in, then the dread descended upon me, raging and ravening; and so I set off home to you as fast as I could. MRS. ALVING. Then this is the dread——! OSWALD. Yes—it’s so indescribably loathsome, you know. Oh, if it had only been an ordinary mortal disease——! For I’m not so afraid of death—though I should like to live as long as I can. MRS. ALVING. Yes, yes, Oswald, you must! OSWALD. But this is so unutterably loathsome. To become a little baby again! To have to be fed! To have to——Oh, it’s not to be spoken of! MRS. ALVING. The child has his mother to nurse him. OSWALD. [_Springs up._] No, never that! That is just what I will not have. I can’t endure to think that perhaps I should lie in that state for many years—and get old and grey. And in the meantime you might die and leave me. [_Sits in_ MRS. ALVING’S _chair._] For the doctor said it wouldn’t necessarily prove fatal at once. He called it a sort of softening of the brain—or something like that. [_Smiles sadly._] I think that expression sounds so nice. It always sets me thinking of cherry-coloured velvet—something soft and delicate to stroke. MRS. ALVING. [_Shrieks._] Oswald! OSWALD.