Flor. (aside). Oh, senseless dullard—to have turned away
From Heaven’s own threshold at thine own free will!
Hil. I wept no more.
Tears are the balm of sorrow—not of woe.
I fled my home—
A gentle sister whose poor little life
Lives on the love I bear it, fled with me;
So, hand in hand, we wandered through the world
Till, in this haven of pure peace and rest,
We found safe sanctuary from our woe.