Margaret, Margaret, thou wilt come with me.
Marg. What shall I do? Is there no other voice?
Ar. Yea, thou wilt come. Thou wilt forget all this,
In future happiness. Come, my Margaret!
(Margaret rises to her feet as if to go with him, then stops.)
Ar. Nay, nay, I am thine answer, God saith yea, to this.
Marg. O God! O God! (To Ariald.) Thou hast thine answer now!
Ar. Margaret!
Marg. God sends thine answer now. My babe is dead!
(Falls heavily to the ground.) (Ariald steals out.)