Michal. Little lad!
But he has heard no word from me?—not how
My father, Saul, frantic of my repentance,
Had unto Phalti, a new lord, betrothed me?
How then I fled to win unto these wilds?
Lad. He heard not anything—only the tales
I told of Moab, my own land.... But, oh!
(David plays within.)
It is his harp.
Michal. And strains that weep o'er me!...
I'll speak to him ... and yet must be unknown!
A leper? as a leper could I...?
Lad. Why
Must he not know you?
Michal. Ask me not, lad, now;
But go a little.
Lad. Yes.
(He sets down the water-skin and goes.)