He will not
see me again. (Blows his brains out.)

SCENE II.--The scene the same as the last scene of the preceding Act.

OLD MOOR seated on a stone; CHARLES VON MOOR opposite;
ROBBERS scattered through the wood.

CHARLES. He does not come! (Strikes his dagger against a stone till
the sparks fly.)

OLD MOOR. Let pardon be his punishment--redoubled love my vengeance.

CHARLES. No! by my enraged soul that shall not be! I will not permit
it. He shall bear that enormous load of crime with him into eternity!--
what else should I kill him for?

OLD MOOR (bursting into tears). Oh my child!

CHARLES. What! you weep for him? In sight of this dungeon?

OLD MOOR. Mercy! oh mercy! (Wringing his hands violently.) Now--now my
son is brought to judgment!

CHARLES (starting). Which son?

OLD MOOR. Ha! what means that question?

CHARLES. Nothing! nothing!

OLD MOOR. Art thou come to make a mockery of my grief?

CHARLES. Treacherous conscience! Take no heed of my words!

OLD MOOR. Yes, I persecuted a son, and a son persecutes me in return.
It is the finger of God. Oh my Charles! my Charles! If thou dost hover
around me in the realms of peace, forgive me! oh forgive me!

CHARLES (hastily). He forgives you! (Checking himself.) If he is
worthy to be called your son, he must forgive you!

OLD MOOR. Ha! he was too noble a son for me. But I will go to him with
my tears, my sleepless nights, my racking dreams. I will embrace his
knees, and cry--cry aloud--"I have sinned against heaven and before
thee; I am no longer worthy to be called thy father!"

CHARLES (in deep emotion). Was he very dear to you--that other son?

OLD MOOR. Heaven is my witness, how much I loved him. Oh, why did I
suffer myself to be beguiled by the arts of a wicked son? I was an
envied father among the fathers of the world--my children full of
promise, blooming by my side! But--oh that fatal hour!--the demon of
envy entered into the heart of my younger son--I listened to the
serpent--and--lost both my children! (Hides his countenance.)

CHARLES (removes to a distance from him). Lost forever!

OLD MOOR. Oh, deeply do I feel the words of Amelia. The spirit of
vengeance spoke from her lips. "In vain wilt thou stretch forth thy
dying hands after a son, in vain fancy thou art grasping the warm hands
of thy Charles,--he will never more stand by thy bedside."

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

Oh, that