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His head bends to the ground, and o'er his eyes His hood is drawn: would I could see his face! He is the cousin of our seneschal,— I'll speak to him.

Good father! give your blessing: How is your penitent? [Friar waves him off with his hand, and exit.

He motions with his hand, and will not speak.

In so much haste to go! this is not well. (Shaking his head.) No, no! it hath a dark and rueful look. Well: God be praised! these hands are free from blood. [Exeunt.

The Apartment of the Countess; she is discovered pacing to and fro with slow, thoughtful steps, then stops short, and stands in a musing posture some time before she speaks aloud.

'Tis often thus; so are we framed by nature. How oft the fitful wind or sullen bell Will utter to the ear distinctive words,