Moro. Yes. Your desire?
Alessa. The acolytes summoned from Famagouste
To aid your rites before her burial
Have come, and wait.
Moro. Send hither two.
(Looks closely at her.)
Alessa. At once.
(Is going. He stops her.)
Moro. Woman, this passes silence. There must be
Some question. Do you understand this wedding?
The evil that has risen in this house?
Speak.
Alessa. I may not.
Moro. As says Yolanda, who
Has been to-day impenetrable in all.
But who, now, in a lofty grief above
The misery that blasted her, seems calm,
And answers only,
"God in His season will,
I trust, unfold it soon; I cannot, now!" ...
And yet I heard
Her darkly bid the Paphian be gone——
From here—without her.
Alessa. And he would not?