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THE ROBBERS.
165

Moor.

(Draws back, shuddering.) What can that mean?

Voice from the tower.

Who knocks there?—Is it thou, Herman, my raven?

Herman.

Yes, 'tis thy raven Herman—Come to the grate, and eat.—Thy comrades of the night make fearful music.—Old man, dost thou relish thy meal?

Voice.

Yes—hunger is keen.—O thou who sendst the ravens! accept my thanks—for this thy bread in the wilderness!—How fares it with my good friend Herman?

Herman.

Hush! hark.—What noise is that?—Do you hear nothing?

Voice.

No.—Do you hear any thing?

Herman.

The wind whistles through the rents of the tower—a music of the night that makes the teeth

chatter,

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