Elaine
He is coming. He is coming. I can hear his step on the stair. Launcelot!
Torre
I hear nothing but the blackbird in the sycamore. (Elaine falls back.) See, sister Elaine, it is May. The thorn-boughs are white. Shall we go a-Maying in the woods? Just as we used?
Elaine
Let me die now. Since Sir Launcelot will not come to me, I must go to him.
Sir Bernard
Child, my child, put away the thoughts of earth.
Elaine
Dear father, I am an earthly woman, and love an earthly man. Is it so great an offence to love? I hope God may pardon me, since I have borne such pains. But if He will not pardon, I cannot help my love.