KING. I know not, my Uncle.
WICKED UNCLE. What?
KING. My huntsmen found her in a cave in a far-off country.
WICKED UNCLE. In a cave? Alone?
KING (nodding). Alone; spinning coats out of flax.
WICKED UNCLE. This is very strange.
(To Eliza.)
Why were you all alone in a cave, and why were you spinning coats?
(Eliza shakes her head.)
KING. She is dumb, Uncle. Not a word has she uttered since we found her.