(Breaks off with low laugh.)
David. Tell it!
Doeg. Unto your
Soft sympathy—and passion? (Laughs.) She is dead.
David (immovable, then repressed).
If it is so, the lightning, that is wrath
Within the veins of God, should sink its fang
Into thy bosom and sear out thy heart.
If it is so, this momentary calm,
This silence pouring overfull the world,
Would rush and in thee cry until thy bones
Broken of guilt are crumbled in thy groans.
Dead, she is dead?
Miriam. No, David, my lord, he lies!
(Strangely, as in a trance.)
To wound you, lies!
David. Not dead?
Miriam. I see her eyes!
(All listen amazed.)