And then, profoundly impressed and shocked with what he has witnessed and discovered, he adds: God, God, forgive us all! This prayer, bursting involuntarily from the heart of a worldly man in the mere exercise of his profession, is very expressive of the effect the scene has had upon him. He immediately returns, however, to the business which keeps him in the castle, viz: the treatment of his patient, and he gives this sagacious advice to the gentlewoman: supposing very properly that a conscience so desperately diseased might attempt self-destruction. Look after her; Remove from her the _means of all annoyance_, And still _keep eyes upon her_;—so, good-night: My mind she has mated,[1] and amaz’d my sight: I _think_, but _dare not speak_. _Gent._ Good-night,—good doctor. Notwithstanding these injunctions, however, she succeeds in committing suicide. After her exit from this scene she appears no more. She could not, indeed, again come before our eyes without injuring the impression it has left. Her death is told in a way to harmonize with this impression and to leave the excited imagination at leisure to fill up the details to the last moment. Macbeth, desperate like a baited bull, is roaring a defiance of heaven and earth, for guilt has brutalized him perceptibly, when he is interrupted by “_a cry within, of women_.” _Macbeth._ What is that noise? _Seyton._ It is the cry of woman, my good lord. _Mac._ I have almost forgot the taste of fears: The time has been, my senses would have cool’d To hear a night-shriek; and my fell of hair Would at a dismal treatise rouse, and stir As life were in’t: I have supp’d full with horrors; Direness, familiar to my slaught’rous thoughts, Cannot once start me.—Wherefore was that cry? _Sey._ The queen, my lord, is _dead_. The signification of Lady Macbeth’s sleep-walking scene is heightened by the contrast it affords to her proud overbearing demeanor in the earlier scenes of the play. There she is as bold as if, indeed, there were no God to supervise human affairs. When Macbeth, his dripping hands at length burthened with a now irreparable murder, finds himself appalled and feels that, among the other disadvantages of the crime, he has “murdered sleep,” “Macbeth shall sleep no more,” “The innocent sleep,” etc., etc., his lady is scarcely able to find words for her cool contempt of such weakness.