ute.

FERDINAND (suddenly). And I beheld his daughter! (Another pause.) You
have not kept your faith with me, friend! You were to provide me with
repose for my leisure hours; but you betrayed me and sold me scorpions.
(Observing MILLER'S agitation.) Tremble not, good old man! (falling
deeply affected on his neck)--the fault was none of thine!

MILLER (wiping his eyes). Heaven knows, it was not!

FERDINAND (traversing the room, plunged in the most gloomy meditation).
Strange! Oh! beyond conception strange, are the Almighty's dealings with
us! How often do terrific weights hang upon slender, almost invisible
threads! Did man but know that he should eat death in a particular
apple! Hem! Could he but know that! (He walks a few more turns; then
stops suddenly, and grasps MILLER'S hand with strong emotion.) Friend, I
have paid dearly for thy lessons--and thou, too, hast been no gainer--
perhaps mayst even lose thy all. (Quitting him dejectedly.) Unhappy
flute-playing, would that it never entered my brain!

MILLER (striving to repress his feelings). The lemonade is long in
coming. I will inquire after it, if you will excuse me.

FERDINAND. No hurry, dear Miller! (Muttering to himself.) At least to
her father there is none. Stay here a moment. What was I about to ask
you? Ay, I remember! Is Louisa your only daughter? Have you no other
child?

MILLER (warmly). I have no other, baron, and I wish for no other. That
child is my only solace in this world, and on her have I embarked my
whole stock of affection.

FERDINAND (much agitated). Ha! Pray see for the drink, good Miller!

[Exit MILLER.

SCENE IV.

FERDINAND alone.

FERDINAND. His only child! Dost thou feel that, murderer? His only
one! Murderer, didst thou hear, his only one? The man has nothing in
God's wide world but his instrument and that only daughter! And wilt
thou rob him of her?

Rob him? Rob a beggar of his last pittance? Break the lame man's
crutch, and cast the fragments at his feet? How? Have I the heart to do
this? And when he hastens home, impatient to reckon in his daughter's
smiles the whole sum of his happiness; and when he enters the chamber,
and there lies the rose--withered--dead--crushed--his last, his only, his
sustaining hope. Ha! And when he stands before her, and all nature
looks on in breathless horror, while his vacant eye wanders hopelessly
through the gloom of futurity, and seeks God, but finds him now