LADY. Woe! Woe!
STRANGER. Beloved. What is it?
LADY. Belovèd! Say that word again.
STRANGER. Are you ill?
LADY. No, but I'm in pain, and yet glad at the same time. Go and ask my mother to make up my bed. But first give me your blessing.
STRANGER. Shall I...?
LADY. Say you forgive me; I may die, if the child takes my life. Say that you love me.
STRANGER. Strange: I can't get the word to cross my lips.
LADY. Then you don't love me?
STRANGER. When you say so, it seems so to me. It's terrible, but I fear I hate you.