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Mor. Alas, alas! his face has returned to its former colour; his head sinks on his breast, and his limbs are again feeble and listless. I would rather see him fighting like a fiend than see him thus.

Wov. Let us move him hence; would'st thou stop to lament over him?

Mor. It was base work in Baldwin to betray their plot to the Prior, for he took their money first, I'll be sworn.

Wov. He had betrayed the Prior then, and all the community besides.

Mor. Well, let us move him hence: this is no business of ours. Ag. O holy Virgin! On the ground, fainting and ill! Have the barbarians left her thus? (Chafing her temples and hand.) She begins to revive. It is me, my dearest Lady: look up and see me: those men are all gone.

Leo. And Osterloo with them?

Ag. Alas, he is.

Leo. It is fated so. Let me lie where I am: I cannot move yet, my good Agnes.

Ag. Nay, do not yet despair of saving the Count.