No hand but mine shall be upon him, none!—
[A sound of festive music without.
What mean they there?
[An attendant enters.
Att. Tidings of joy, my chief!
Mel. Joy!—is the Christian taken?
Moraima enters, and throws herself into his arms.
Mor. Father! Father!
I did not think this world had yet so much
Of aught like happiness!