"I love you, Frederick," she cried, passionately. "You fill my soul with anguish and delight, alternately. You love as I do! Only love alarms you; you will not accord to a mortal that which is divinely beautiful! Oh, Schiller, the essence of Divinity is within us; then wherefore should our love not be divinely beautiful, joyfully renouncing hope and desire in humility and resignation?" He did not reply, but only drew her closer to his heart, bowed down his head on her shoulder, and sobbed. The silence which now reigned in the dark room was unbroken save by the sobs of the weeping lovers. After a long and painful pause, Schiller raised her head and withdrew his arms from Charlotte's figure. "Let us have light," said he, and his voice now had a harsh sound--"light, that I may once more see your beloved countenance before I leave!" "No, Frederick, when you leave, I will no longer require light; a cheerless life is more endurable in the dark. No light! Let us part in darkness, for in darkness I am doomed to grope my way hereafter, but the light of your countenance will always be reflected in my soul. Good-night, Frederick! You take with you all that is dear to me, even my beautiful dreams. The most lovely visions have heretofore surrounded my bed at night; but now they will follow you, for they came from you, and were the thoughts of your soul. Your thoughts fly from me, and my dreams follow them. You rob my day of its sun, and my night of its dream. Let us therefore separate in darkness!" "Charlotte," said he, deeply agitated, "your words sound like tones from a spirit-world, and the past seems already to be leaving me! Oh, do not go; stay with me, sweet past, happy present! Stay with me, soul of my soul, beloved being! Where are you, Charlotte--where are you?" She did not reply. Longingly he stretched out his arms toward her, but did not find her; he found empty space only. "Charlotte, come for the last time to my heart! Come!--let me inhale from your lips the atmosphere of paradise!" No reply. He seemed to see a shadow flit through the darkness, and then the words, "Good-night, Schiller!" struck his ear like the low, vibrating tones of an Æolian harp. The noise of an opening and closing door could be heard, and then all was still. A groan escaped Schiller's breast; he felt that Charlotte had left him--that he was alone. For a moment he stood still and listened, hoping she would return; but the silence remained unbroken. "Ah," murmured Schiller, "parting is like death! Ah, Charlotte, I have loved you dearly! I--be still, my heart, no more complaints! It must be so!" He turned slowly and walked toward the door. "Farewell, Charlotte, farewell!" No reply. It seemed to be only the echo which responded from out the dark space, "Farewell!"