Mat. They are past e’en now.

Hark! ’twas the sound of oars!—it swells—’tis hush’d!

The gates unclose. O mother! I behold

A warrior clad in mail—he comes, ’tis he!

Ant. Whom should it be if not himself?—my

husband!

(She comes forward.)

(Enter Gonzaga and others.)

Ant. Gonzaga!—Where is he we look’d for?

Where?