o her, their eyes meet, she stands silent a moment,
then throws herself into his arms; he presses her fast to his heart.

COUNTESS.
Off! Heavens! if any one should come!
Hark! What's that noise! It comes this way. Off!

[MAX. tears himself away out of her arms and goes. The COUNTESS
accompanies him. THEKLA follows him with her eyes at first, walks
restlessly across the room, then stops, and remains standing, lost
in thought. A guitar lies on the table, she seizes it as by a
sudden emotion, and after she has played awhile an irregular and
melancholy symphony, she falls gradually into the music and sings.

SCENE VII.

THEKLA (plays and sings).

The cloud doth gather, the greenwood roar,
The damsel paces along the shore;
The billows, they tumble with might, with might;
And she flings out her voice to the darksome night;
Her bosom is swelling with sorrow;
The world it is empty, the heart will die,
There's nothing to wish for beneath the sky
Thou Holy One, call thy child away!
I've lived and loved, and that was to-day;
Make ready my grave-clothes to-morrow. [12]

SCENE VIII.

COUNTESS (returns), THEKLA.

COUNTESS.
Fie, lady niece! to throw yourself upon him
Like a poor gift to one who cares not for it,
And so must be flung after him! For you,
Duke Friedland's only child, I should have thought
It had been more beseeming to have shown yourself
More chary of your person.

THEKLA (rising).
And what mean you?

DUCHESS.
I mean, niece, that you should not have forgotten
Who you are, and who he is. But perchance
That never once occurred to you.

THEKLA.
What then?

COUNTESS.
That you're the daughter of the Prince Duke Friedland.

THEKLA.
Well, and what farther?

DUCHESS.
What? A pretty question!

THEKLA.
He was born that which we have but become.
He's of an ancient Lombard family,
Son of a reigning princess.

COUNTESS.
Are you dreaming?
Talking in sleep? An excellent jest, forsooth!
We shall no doubt right courteously entreat him
To honor with his hand the richest heiress
In Europe.

THEKLA.
That will not be necessary.

COUNTESS.
Methinks 'twere well, though, not to run the hazard.

THEHLA.
His father loves him; Count Octavio
Will interpose no difficulty----

COUNTESS.
His!
His father! His! But yours, niece, what of yours?

THERLA.
Why,