Pri. Away with him! (he precedes; the monks, bearing Venoni, follow him) Venoni, your death-hour has struck!
Father Michael rushes in followed by the Viceroy, &c. and grasps the prior’s arm.
Mi. Tyrant, no; twas for thyself it sounded.
The monks release Venoni, and the nuns Josepha; the lovers fall into each other’s arms—at the same time the folding-doors are burst open, and the marquis, Hortensia, &c. enter.
Hor. (speaking without) Where is she? where is the abbess?
Jose. My mother’s voice? here, here! my mother, behold your Josepha at your feet.
Hor. Powers of mercy! she lives, she lives! my Josepha! my joy my treasure! oh, can you forget—
Jose. Every thing, every thing—except that I am still dear to you.
Vice. Officers, you know your prisoners! remove them, their sight is painful, (the prior is conducted away by the guards; Veronica is leading off when Josepha addresses her)
Jose. Lady—you felt for me—you pitied me; I too can pity and feel for you—if I have influence, you shall find mercy.