SEELCHEN. Friend! The time is on me.
FELSMAN. Were my kisses, then, too rude? Was I too dull?
SEELCHEN. I do not regret.
The Youth of THE WINE HORN is seen suddenly standing opposite the motionless Shepherd of THE COW HORN; and his mandolin twangs out.
FELSMAN. The cursed music of the Town! Is it back to him thou wilt go? [Groping for sight of the hated figure] I cannot see.
SEELCHEN. Fear not! I go ever onward.
FELSMAN. Do not leave me to the wind in the rocks! Without thee love is dead, and I must die.
SEELCHEN. Poor heart! I am gone.
FELSMAN. [Crouching against the rock] It is cold.
At the blowing of the Shepherd's pipe, THE COW HORN stretches forth his hand to her. The mandolin twangs out, and THE WINE HORN holds out his hand. She stands unmoving.