"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: "The mill-wheel--now--is broken!" "No, my child, it is not broken," his eyes filling with tears, "it will not be broken--not _ours_--it will go on turning--as long as we live."-- She shakes her head passionately and closes her eyes, as though beholding visions. "And what makes such things enter your head?" he continues. "Has not everything turned out better than we thought? Isn't Johannes with us too?--Don't we live together in happiness and content?--and work from morn till night?--and--and--aren't your people comfortable too? And don't we take care that your father has a good income--and"-- He groans and wipes the perspiration from his brow. He can think of nothing more--and now appeals to Johannes, who is standing with his face turned away and his head resting against the pillar at the entrance of the veranda. "Why will you always sing such sad songs?" he growls at him. "I myself got to feel quite--I don't know what--when you began with them--and she--she is only a weak woman."