Lennox. Coming, coming! [A minute later he bursts open the door and greets her, walks to the embroidery frame, pushes it into a corner, and holds out his hand.] Into the sun, Elizabeth.
Elizabeth [shyly]. I have not my hood, my Lord.
Lennox. Charles, Elizabeth!
Elizabeth. Charles ... my Lord.
Lennox. Into the woods, my Lady. What matters your hood? The sun cannot fire your hair if you wear a hood! [Draws her down the stairway. At the foot of it she slips her hand from his, and they pass demurely across the courtyard and out into the meadows, talking of light and little things. From time to time Lennox sings snatches of song. The larks trill overhead. They plunge into the woods.]
Elizabeth. Oh, Charles, I feel as though I had grown lark’s wings ... like your cap.
Lennox. No, no. If you would grow into a bird, then I shall needs become a fowler.
Elizabeth. Nay, you shall have wings too.
Lennox. Why have we not wings, Elizabeth?
Elizabeth [looking up into the sky between the branches]. God is wise, Charles. And we have the beautiful warm earth and all the flowers to joy us. Meseems it is more comfortable to talk upon the earth than in the branches.... And to build our mansions on the earth, too. Charles....