(CHARLES stretches out his hand to him with averted face.)

Oh, that this were the hand of my Charles! But he is laid far away in
the narrow house--he is sleeping the iron sleep--he hears not the voice
of my lamentation. Woe is me! to die in the arms of a stranger? No son
left--no son left to close my eyes!

CHARLES (in violent emotion). It must be so--the moment has arrived.
Leave me--(to the ROBBERS.) And yet--can I restore his son to him?
Alas! No! I cannot restore him that son! No! I will not think of it.

OLD MOOR. Friend! what is that you were muttering?

CHARLES. Your son--yes, old man--(faltering) your son--is--lost
forever!

OLD MOOR. Forever?

CHARLES (looking up to heaven in bitter anguish). Oh this once--keep my
soul from sinking--sustain me but this once!

OLD MOOR. Forever, did you say.

CHARLES. Ask no more! I said forever!

OLD MOOR. Stranger, stranger! why didst thou drag me forth from the
dungeon to remind me of my sorrows?

CHARLES. And what if I were now to snatch his blessing?--snatch it like
a thief, and steal away with the precious prize? A father's blessing,
they say, is never lost.

OLD MOOR. And is my Francis too lost?

CHARLES (falling on his knees before him). 'Twas I who burst the bars
of your dungeon. I crave thy blessing!

OLD MOOR (sorrowfully). Oh that thou shouldst destroy the son!--thou,
the father's deliverer! Behold! Heaven's mercy is untiring, and we
pitiful worms let the sun go down upon our wrath. (Lays his hand upon
the head of CHARLES.) Be thou happy, even as thou shalt be merciful!

CHARLES (rising much affected). Oh!--where is my manhood? My sinews
are unstrung--the sword drops from my hand.

OLD MOOR. How lovely a thing it is when brethren dwell together in
unity; as the dewdrops of heaven that fall upon the mountains of Zion.
Learn to deserve that happiness, young man, and the angels of heaven
will sun themselves in thy glory. Let thy wisdom be the wisdom of gray
hairs, but let thy heart be the heart of innocent childhood.

CHARLES. Oh, for a foretaste of that happiness! Kiss me, divine old
man!

OLD MOOR (kissing him). Think it thy father's kiss; and I will think I
am kissing my son. Canst thou too weep?

CHARLES. I felt as if it were my father's kiss! Woe unto me, were they
to bring him now!

(The companions of SCHWEITZER enter in a silent and mournful
procession, hanging down their heads and hiding their faces.)

CHARLES. Good heaven! (Ret