With a fair speech upon her lying lips,
To meet the sister whom her base-born arts
Have robbed of more than life! Oh, hypocrite!
Enter Selene from bower.
Sel. Darine!
Dar. (changing her manner). My sister—my beloved one,
Why, thou art sad; thine eyes are dim with tears!
Say, what hath brought thee grief?
Sel. (with great joy).Darine, my own.
Thou dost not shun me, then?