HERMANN. 'Tis the whistling of the wind through the crannies of the tower—a serenading which makes one's teeth chatter, and one's nails turn blue. Hark! tis there again. I still fancy I hear snoring. You have company, old man. Ugh! ugh! ugh!
VOICE. Do you see anything?
HERMANN. Farewell! farewell! this is a fearful place. Go down into your bole,—thy deliverer, thy avenger is above. Oh! accursed son! (Is about to fly.)
CHARLES (stepping forth with horror). Stand!
HERMANN (screaming). Oh, me!*
*[In the acting edition Hermann, instead of this, says,— 'Tis one of his spies for certain, I have lost all fear (draws his sword). Villain, defend yourself! You have a man before you.]
MOOR. I'll have an answer (strikes the sword out of his hand). What boots this childish sword-play? Didst thou not speak of vengeance? Vengeance belongs especially to me—of all men on earth. Who dares interfere with my vocation?
HERMANN (starts back in affright). By heaven! That man was not born of woman. His touch withers like the stroke of death.
VOICE. Alas, Hermann! to whom are you speaking?
MOOR. What! still those sounds? What is going on there? (Runs towards the tower.) Some horrible mystery, no doubt, lies concealed in that tower. This sword shall bring it to light.