Mel. Hence—to thy tent!
Away—begone!
Aym. (attempting to rise.) Moraima! hath her spirit come
To make death beautiful? Moraima! speak.
Mor. It was his voice! Aymer!
[She rushes to him, throwing aside her veil.
Aym. Thou liv’st—thou liv’st!
I knew thou couldst not die! Look on me still
Thou livest! and makest this world so full of joy—
But I depart!