merged, as do the queens
Of fire and ocean in the fairy-tales.
[The MOTHER has meanwhile thrown the
FATHER a glance and has noiselessly gone
to the door. Noiselessly the FATHER has
followed her. Now they stand with clasped
hands in the doorway, to vanish the next
moment.]
Ye go so softly? What? And are ye gone?
[She turns and stands silent, her eyes cast
down.]

MERCHANT (caresses her with a long look, then goes to the
rear, but stops again irresolute).
Wilt thou not lay aside thy veil?
[SOBEIDE starts, looks about her absent-mindedly.]

MERCHANT (points to the glass).
'Tis yonder.
[SOBEIDE takes no step, loosens mechanically
the veil from her hair.]

[Illustration: LAKE IN THE GRUNEWALD]

MERCHANT.
Here--in thy house--and just at first perhaps
Thou mayst lack much. This house, since mother's death,
Has grown disused to serve a woman's needs.
And our utensils here do not display
The splendor and magnificence in which
I fain had seen thee framed, but yet for me
Scant beauty dwells in what all men may have:
So from the stuffy air of chests and caskets
That, like the sandal-wood in sanctuary,
Half took my breath, I had all these removed
And placed there in thy chamber for thy service,
Where something of my mother's presence still--
Forgive me--seems to cling. I thought in this
To show and teach thee something ... On some things
There are mute symbols deeply stamped, with which
The air grows laden in our quiet hours,
And fuses something with our consciousness
That could not well be said, nor was to be.
[Pause.]
It hurts me when I see thee thus, benumbed
By all these overladen moments, that
Scarce walk upright beneath their heavy burden.
But let me say, all good things enter in
Our souls in quiet unpretentious ways,
And not with show and noise. One keeps expecting
To see Life suddenly appear somewhere
On the horizon, like a new domain,