Mistrust all prejudice—well-favoured hearts
May underlie ill-favoured heads. We spurn
The dirt beneath our feet—but never less
We grovel in such dirt for diamonds,
And sometimes find them there! A comely face
Is but the food of Time—a kindly heart
Time touches but to soften—think of this,
And in thy breast some pity may be found,
For the poor wretch to whom thy troth is given!
[Mousta reveals himself. Hilda, whose fears have been gradually aroused during this speech, recoils in horror and amazement at seeing him.