What intoxicating passion vibrates through the notes!
How the two voices seek each other as if to embrace!
"O'er the mill-stream bends the willow,
In the valley lies the snow,
Sweetest love, 'tis time we parted,
I must leave thee, broken-hearted.
Parting, love, is full of woe!"
The voices die away in tremulous whispers. It is over--longing and hope, the pain of parting and the agony of death, all resounded in these treacherous, swelling chords.
Trude's lips twitch as with suppressed weeping, but her eyes glitter, and suddenly, standing bolt upright, she begins the old, sad miller-song about the golden house that stands "over on yonder hill."
Johannes starts, and his voice falls in tremulously. They sing through the first verse and begin the second:
"Down there in yonder valley,
The mill-wheel grinds away,
'Tis love that it is grinding
By night and all the day.
The mill-wheel now is broken--"
Suddenly--a scream--a fall--Trude has dropped down in front of the bench and is sobbing convulsively in the corner with her head pressed against the wood-work.
Both brothers jump up--Martin takes her head between both his hands, and, quite upset, he stammers disconnected, confused words--but she only sobs more violently. He stamps his foot on the ground in despair and, turning towards Johannes, who is deathly pale, he cries; "What ails the child?"
Then Trude flings both her arms around his neck, raises herself up by him and hides her tear-stained face upon his breast, as if seeking refuge. He strokes her dishevelled hair caressingly and tries to calm her; but he does not understand the art of comforting, poor Martin; each one of his half-mumbled words sounds like suppressed scoldings. She lets her head sink back towards the wall of foliage, her lips move, and, as if she were continuing the song, she murmurs, still half choked with sobs: