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! (Retreats horror-struck, and seeks to hide himself. They pass by him his face is averted. Profound silence. They halt.)
GRIMM (in a subdued tone). My captain!
[CHARLES does not answer and steps farther back.]
SCHWARZ. Dear captain!
[CHARLES retreats still farther.]
GRIMM. 'Tis not our fault, captain!
CHARLES (without looking at them). Who are ye?