Countess. My sweet comforter!
I feel not quite forlorn, when thou art near me.
Adel. Lean on my arm.
Countess. No, I will in alone.
My sense is now unapt for harmony.
But go thou to Alphonso's holy shrine;
There, with thy innocent hands devoutly rais'd,
Implore his sainted spirit, to receive
Thy humble supplications; and to avert