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 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!