(He is standing at the gate.) What is it I feel? What means this, Moor? Be a man! These death-like shudders--foreboding terrors. [Enters.] SCENE II.*--Gallery in the Castle. *[In some editions this is the third scene, and there is no second.] Enter CHARLES VON MOOR, AMELIA. AMELIA. And are you sure that you should know his portrait among these pictures? CHARLES. Oh, most certainly! his image has always been fresh in my memory. (Passing along thee pictures.) This is not it. AMELIA. You are right! He was the first count, and received his patent of nobility from Frederic Barbarossa, to whom he rendered some service against the corsairs. CHARLES (still reviewing the pictures). Neither is it this--nor this-- nor that--it is not among these at all. AMELIA. Nay! look more attentively! I thought you knew him. CHARLES. As well as my own father! This picture wants the sweet expression around the mouth, which distinguished him from among a thousand. It is not he. AMELIA. You surprise me. What! not seen him for eighteen years, and still-- CHARLES (quickly, with a hectic blush). Yes, this is he! (He stands as if struck by lightning.) AMELIA. An excellent man! CHARLES (absorbed in the contemplation of the picture). Father! father! forgive me! Yes, an excellent man! (He wipes his eyes.) A godlike man! AMELIA. You seem to take a deep interest in him. CHARLES. Oh, an excellent man! And he is gone, you say! AMELIA. Gone! as our best joys perish. (Gently taking him by the hand.) Dear Sir, no happiness ripens in this world. CHARLES. Most true, most true! And have you already proved this truth by sad experience? You, who can scarcely yet have seen your twenty-third year? AMELIA. Yes, alas, I have proved it. Whatever lives, lives to die in sorrow. We engage our hearts, and grasp after the things of this world, only to undergo the pang of losing them. CHARLES. What can you have lost, and yet so young? AMELIA. Nothing--everything--nothing. Shall we go on, count?* *[In the acting edition is added-- "MOOR. And would you learn forgetfulness in that holy garb there? (Pointing to a nun's habit.) "AMELIA. To-morrow I hope to do so. Shall we continue our walk, sir?"] CHARLES. In such haste? Whose portrait is that on the right? There is an unhappy look about that countenance, methinks. AMELIA. That portrait on the left is the son of the count, the present count. Come, let us pass on! CHARLES. But this portrait on the right? AMELIA. Will you not continue your walk, Sir? CHARLES. But this portrait on the right hand? You are in tears, Amelia? [Exit AMELIA, in precipitation.]