What a night
For a soul to go out of doors! God in heaven!

[_Approaches the lady within_.]

Ah! she has fainted. That is well. I hope
It will not pass too soon. It is not far
To the half-hidden door in my own fence,
And that is well. If I step carefully,
Such rain will soon wash out the tell-tale footprints.
What! blood? _He_ does not bleed much, I should think!
Oh, I see! it is mine--he has wounded me.
That's awkward now.

[_Takes a handkerchief from the floor by the window_.]

Pardon me, dear lady;

[_Ties the handkerchief with hand and teeth round his arm_.]

'Tis not to save my blood I would defile
Even your handkerchief.

[_Coming towards the door, carrying her_.]

I am pleased to think
Ten monkish months have not ta'en all my strength.

[_Looking out of the window on the landing_.]