Ara. Till truth no more is truth
Thou art my lord.
[Aristocles turns and moves apart, covering his face with his mantle. Aratea sinks feebly and Theano supports her]
Dion. [To Aristocles] Now you've your answer! Niece,
Lead out my wife.
[Theano takes Aratea from the room, through curtained entrance, left]
Aristocles—my friend—
I pity and forgive thee. When Love drives,
His chariot reins are veins of mortal men,
Who fain must course the bright god's destiny