Brackenburg.  Oh, live with us, as we live only for thy sake!  In taking thine own life, thou wilt take ours also; still live and suffer.  We will stand by thee, nothing shall sever us from thy side, and love, with ever-watchful solicitude, shall prepare for thee the sweetest consolation in its loving arms.  Be ours!  Ours!  I dare not say, mine.

Clara.  Hush, Brackenburg!  Thou feelest not what chord thou touchest.  Where hope appears to thee, I see only despair.

Brackenburg.  Share hope with the living!  Pause on the brink of the precipice, cast one glance into the gulf below, and then look back on us.

Clara.  I have conquered; call me not back to the struggle.

Brackenburg.  Thou art stunned; enveloped in night, thou seekest the abyss. 
Every light is not yet extinguished, yet many days!—­

Clara.  Alas!  Alas!  Cruelly thou dost rend the veil from before mine eyes.  Yes, the day will dawn!  Despite its misty shroud it needs must dawn.  Timidly the burgher razes from his window, night leaves behind an ebon speck; he looks, and the scaffold looms fearfully in the morning light.  With re-awakened anguish the desecrated image of the Saviour lifts to the Father its imploring eyes.  The sun veils his beams, he will not mark the hero’s death-hour.  Slowly the fingers go their round—­one hour strikes after another—­hold!  Now is the time.  The thought of the morning scares me into the grave.

(She goes to the window as if to look out, and drinks secretly.)

Brackenburg.  Clara!  Clara!

Clara (goes to the table, and drinks water).  Here is the remainder.  I invite thee not to follow me.  Do as thou wilt; farewell.  Extinguish this lamp silently and without delay; I am going to rest.  Steal quietly away, close the door after thee.  Be still!  Wake not my Mother!  Go, save thyself, if thou wouldst not be taken for my murderer. [Exit.

Brackenburg.  She leaves me for the last time as she has ever done.  What human soul could conceive how cruelly she lacerates the heart that loves her?  She leaves me to myself, leaves me to choose between life and death, and both are alike hateful to me.  To die alone!  Weep, ye tender souls!  Fate has no sadder doom than mine.  She shares with me the death-potion, yet sends me from her side!  She draws me after her, yet thrusts me back into life!  Oh, Egmont, how enviable a lot falls to thee!  She goes before thee!  The crown of victory from her hand is thine, she brings all heaven to meet thee!—­And shall I follow?  Again to stand aloof?  To carry this inextinguishable jealousy even to yon distant realms?  Earth is no longer a tarrying place for me, and hell and heaven offer equal torture.  Now welcome to the wretched the dread hand of annihilation!

[Exit. (The scene remains some time unchanged.  Music sounds, indicating Clara’s death; the lamp, which Brackenburg had forgotten to extinguish, flares up once or twice, and then suddenly expires.  The scene changes to .