-and, if the scale be still too light
throw in my curse to complete the measure. Here is a knife; pierce thy
own heart, and (weeping aloud and rushing away), and with it, thy
father's!

LOUISA (following and detaining him). Stay! stay! Oh! father, father!--
to think that affection should wound more cruelly than a tyrant's rage!
What shall I?--I cannot!--what must I do?

MILLER. If thy lover's kisses burn hotter than thy father's tears--then
die!

LOUISA (after a violent internal struggle, firmly). Father! Here is my
hand! I will--God! God! what am I doing! What would I?--father, I
swear. Woe is me! Criminal that I am where'er I turn! Father, be it
so! Ferdinand. God, look down upon the act! Thus I destroy the last
memorial of him. (Tearing the letter.)

MILLER (throwing himself in ecstasy upon her neck). There spoke my
daughter! Look up, my child! Thou hast lost a lover, but thou hast made
a father happy. (Embracing her, and alternately laughing and crying.)
My child! my child! I was not worthy to live so blest a moment! God
knows how I, poor miserable sinner, became possessed of such an angel!
My Louisa! My paradise! Oh! I know but little of love; but that to rend
its bonds must be a bitter grief I can well believe!

LOUISA. But let us hasten from this place, my father! Let us fly from
the city, where my companions scoff at me, and my good name is lost
forever--let us away, far away, from a spot where every object tells of
my ruined happiness,--let us fly if it be possible!

MILLER. Whither thou wilt, my daughter! The bread of the Lord grows
everywhere, and He will grant ears to listen to my music. Yes! we will
fly and leave all behind. I will set the story of your sorrows to the
lute, and sing of the daughter who rent her own heart to preserve her
father's. We will beg with the ballad from door to door, and sweet will
be the alms bestowed by the hand of weeping sympathy!

SCENE II.

The former; FERDINAND.

LOUISA (who perceives him first, throws herself shrieking into MILLER'S
arms). God! There he is! I am lost!

MILLER. Who? Where?

LOUISA (points, with averted face, to the MAJOR, and presses closer to
her father). 'Tis he! 'Tis he! himself! Look round, father, look
round!--he comes to murder me!

MILLER (perceives him and starts back). How, baron? You here?

FERDINAND (approaches slowly, stands opposite to LOUISA, and fixes a
stern and piercing look upon her. After a pause, he says). Stricken