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and inconsiderate in calling you up at so late an hour.

Ben. Be not uneasy, Lady, upon this account: I am glad to have an occasion for being absent from the monastery for some hours, if you will permit me to remain here so long.

Leo. What mean you, Father Benedict? Your countenance is solemn and sorrowful: what is going on at the monastery? (He shakes his head.) Ha! will they be severe with him in a voluntary penance, submitted to for the good of the order?—What is the nature of the penance? It is to continue, I am told, but one night.

Ben. It will, indeed, soon be over.

Leo. And will he be gone on the morrow?

Ben. His spirit will, but his body remains with us for ever.

Leo. (uttering a shriek.) Death, dost thou mean?—O horror! horror! Is this the expiation? Oh most horrible, most unjust!

Ben. Indeed I consider it as such. Though guilty, by his own confession, of murder, committed, many years since, under the frenzy of passion; it belongs not to us to inflict the punishment of death upon a guilty soul, taken so suddenly and unprepared for its doom.

Leo. Murder! didst thou say murder? Oh Osterloo, Osterloo! hast thou been so barbarous? and art thou in this terrible state?—Must thou thus end thy days, and so near me too!

Ben. You seem greatly moved, noble