re painful.

Louise. Ah! there is yet something more painful than that--something
more bitter--and that is to lose one's faith in those whom one has
loved; to doubt--(Louise's lip trembles, she can say no more, becomes
pale, rises, and goes out quickly; a general sensation ensues).

The Father. What is amiss with Louise? Elise, we must know what it is!
She should, she must tell us! I cannot bear any longer to see her thus;
and I will go this moment and speak with her, if you will not rather do
it. But you must not be satisfied till you know her very inmost
feelings. The most horrible thing, I think, is mystery and vapours!

The Mother. I will go directly to her. I have now an idea what it is,
dearest Ernst; and if I am somewhat long with her, let the others go to
bed; I shall then find you alone. [She goes out.]

FOURTH SCENE.

_The Mother and Daughter._

The daughter on her knees, her face buried in her hands; the mother
goes softly up to her and throws her arms around her.

Mother. Louise, my good girl, what is amiss with you? I have never seen
you thus before. You must tell me what is at your heart--you must!

Louise. I cannot! I ought not!

Mother. You can! you ought! Will you make me, will you make all of us
wretched by going on in this way? Ah, Louise, do not let false shame, or
false tenderness mislead you. Tell me, do you break any oath, or violate
any sacred duty, by confessing what it is which depresses you?

Louise. No oath; no sacred duty--and yet----yet----

Mother. Then speak, in heaven's name, my child! Unquestionably some
unfounded suspicion is the cause of your present state. What do the
words mean with which you left us this evening? You weep! Louise, I
pray, I beseech of you, if you love me, conceal nothing from me! Who is
it that you love, yet can no more have faith in--no longer highly
esteem? Answer me--is it your mother?

Louise. My mother! my mother! Ah, while you look on me thus I feel a
pain, and yet a confidence! Ah, my God! all may be an error--a miserable
slander, and I----Well then, it shall out--that secret which has gnawed
my heart, and which I conceived it my duty to conceal! But forgive me,
my mother, if I grieve you; forgive me if my words disturb your peace;
forgive me, if in my weakness, if in my doubt I have done you injustice,
and remove the grief which has poisoned my life! Ah, do you see, mother,
it was mine, it was my sisters' happiness, to consider you so
spotle