TORRE See how she is wasted. If you lift her hand, it is as light as a leaf, and she shakes with the beating of her heart. He has cast a spell on her, bewitched her. SIR BERNARD I would I had that balm, whatever country bears it, that should refresh my child. TORRE Twice has she started from her sleep crying: “It is he! It is he!” SIR BERNARD Alas, that her mother is dead. What should an old man do against love? TORRE Love? It is madness. SIR BERNARD Love is madness. TORRE It is not nature. SIR BERNARD Nature makes this blossom red in the young heart, and cares not whether it be sweet or bitter. TORRE She is a child. SIR BERNARD An hour has made her older than the world. I would that Sir Launcelot had never seen her, or that seeing her he had loved her. TORRE (_indignant_) Father! SIR BERNARD I would he had loved her. TORRE How can you say it? A man fouled with sin. If God strike him not for this, I will say there is no God. SIR BERNARD Who can tell men’s hearts? Sir Launcelot, I doubt, will bring me to the grave. And yet he was a noble knight. TORRE A villain. SIR BERNARD He has sinned, it may be, yet we knew him and found him noble. TORRE I know what he has done--the traitor. SIR BERNARD Anger will not move love. Let us rather pray to God that He may change her heart and bring her through pain to peace. TORRE My heart is too hot. I will go to the Court. I will challenge Sir Launcelot to the death. I will fling my glove in his face and call him what he is. SIR BERNARD Softly. She is moving. ELAINE (_suddenly_) Hark. TORRE What is it? ELAINE It is a rider. TORRE I heard nothing. 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. SIR BERNARD I beseech you, Elaine, think not on Sir Launcelot any more. ELAINE I was called “The Fair Maid of Astolat ...”; but that has helped me nothing.... Is Torre here? TORRE I am here, sister. ELAINE I have something to ask of you, Torre. TORRE Ask anything, sister, dear sister. ELAINE Write me a letter, Torre. TORRE A letter? ELAINE Get paper and pen. (TORRE _gets paper and pen_.) I will tell you the words. Write! TORRE (_suspicious_) Is it to him? ELAINE Whom else? TORRE Sister, I cannot. ELAINE You do not love me, Torre. TORRE I would give you my life, but do not ask me this. ELAINE It is the last thing I shall ask. SIR BERNARD Do as she wishes, son.