[He goes into the forge and pulls the door after him.]

MARTIN DOUL -- [stands a moment with his hand to his eyes.] -- And that's the last thing I'm to set my sight on in the life of the world -- the villainy of a woman and the b.l.o.o.d.y strength of a man. Oh, G.o.d, pity a poor, blind fellow, the way I am this day with no strength in me to do hurt to them at all. (He begins groping about for a moment, then stops.) Yet if I've no strength in me I've a voice left for my prayers, and may G.o.d blight them this day, and my own soul the same hour with them, the way I'll see them after, Molly Byrne and Timmy the smith, the two of them on a high bed, and they screeching in h.e.l.l.... It'll be a grand thing that time to look on the two of them; and they twisting and roaring out, and twisting and roaring again, one day and the next day, and each day always and ever. It's not blind I'll be that time, and it won't be h.e.l.l to me, I'm thinking, but the like of heaven itself; and it's fine care I'll be taking the Lord Almighty doesn't know. [He turns to grope out.]

CURTAIN

ACT III

[The same Scene as in first Act, but gap in centre has been filled with briars, or branches of some sort. Mary Doul, blind again, gropes her way in on left, and sits as before. She has a few rushes with her. It is an early spring day.]

MARY DOUL -- [mournfully.] -- Ah, G.o.d help me... G.o.d help me; the blackness wasn't so black at all the other time as it is this time, and it's destroyed I'll be now, and hard set to get my living working alone, when it's few are pa.s.sing and the winds are cold. (She begins shredding rushes.) I'm thinking short days will be long days to me from this time, and I sitting here, not seeing a blink, or hearing a word, and no thought in my mind but long prayers that Martin Doul'll get his reward in a short while for the villainy of his heart. It's great jokes the people'll be making now, I'm thinking, and they pa.s.s me by, pointing their fingers maybe, and asking what place is himself, the way it's no quiet or decency I'll have from this day till I'm an old woman with long white hair and it twisting from my brow. (She fumbles with her hair, and then seems to hear something. Listens for a moment.) There's a queer, slouching step coming on the road... . G.o.d help me, he's coming surely.

[She stays perfectly quiet. Martin Doul gropes in on right, blind also.]

MARTIN DOUL -- [gloomily.] -- The devil mend Mary Doul for putting lies on me, and letting on she was grand. The devil mend the old Saint for letting me see it was lies. (He sits down near her.) The devil mend Timmy the smith for killing me with hard work, and keeping me with an empty, windy stomach in me, in the day and in the night. Ten thousand devils mend the soul of Molly Byrne -- (Mary Doul nods her head with approval.) -- and the bad, wicked souls is hidden in all the women of the world. (He rocks himself, with his hand over his face.) It's lonesome I'll be from this day, and if living people is a bad lot, yet Mary Doul, herself, and she a dirty, wrinkled-looking hag, was better maybe to be sitting along with than no one at all. I'll be getting my death now, I'm thinking, sitting alone in the cold air, hearing the night coming, and the blackbirds flying round in the briars crying to themselves, the time you'll hear one cart getting off a long way in the east, and another cart getting off a long way in the west, and a dog barking maybe, and a little wind turning the sticks. (He listens and sighs heavily.) I'll be destroyed sitting alone and losing my senses this time the way I'm after losing my sight, for it'd make any person afeard to be sitting up hearing the sound of his breath -- (he moves his feet on the stones) -- and the noise of his feet, when it's a power of queer things do be stirring, little sticks breaking, and the gra.s.s moving -- (Mary Doul half sighs, and he turns on her in horror) -- till you'd take your dying oath on sun and moon a thing was breathing on the stones. (He listens towards her for a moment, then starts up nervously, and gropes about for his stick.) I'll be going now, I'm thinking, but I'm not sure what place my stick's in, and I'm destroyed with terror and dread. (He touches her face as he is groping about and cries out.) There's a thing with a cold, living face on it sitting up at my side.

(He turns to run away, but misses his path and stumbles in against the wall.) My road is lost on me now! Oh, merciful G.o.d, set my foot on the path this day, and I'll be saying prayers morning and night, and not straining my ear after young girls, or doing any bad thing till I die.

MARY DOUL -- [indignantly.] -- Let you not be telling lies to the Almighty G.o.d.

MARTIN DOUL. Mary Doul, is it? (Recovering himself with immense relief.) Is it Mary Doul, I'm saying?

MARY DOUL. There's a sweet tone in your voice I've not heard for a s.p.a.ce. You're taking me for Molly Byrne, I'm thinking.

MARTIN DOUL -- [coming towards her, wiping sweat from his face.] -- Well, sight's a queer thing for upsetting a man. It's a queer thing to think I'd live to this day to be fearing the like of you; but if it's shaken I am for a short while, I'll soon be coming to myself.

MARY DOUL. You'll be grand then, and it's no lie.

MARTIN DOUL -- [sitting down shyly, some way off.] -- You've no call to be talking, for I've heard tell you're as blind as myself.

MARY DOUL. If I am I'm bearing in mind I'm married to a little dark stump of a fellow looks the fool of the world, and I'll be bearing in mind from this day the great hullabuloo he's after making from hearing a poor woman breathing quiet in her place.

MARTIN DOUL. And you'll be bearing in mind, I'm thinking, what you seen a while back when you looked down into a well, or a clear pool, maybe, when there was no wind stirring and a good light in the sky.

MARY DOUL. I'm minding that surely, for if I'm not the way the liars were saying below I seen a thing in them pools put joy and blessing in my heart. [She puts her hand to her hair again.]

MARTIN DOUL -- [laughing ironically.] -- Well, they were saying below I was losing my senses, but I never went any day the length of that....

G.o.d help you, Mary Doul, if you're not a wonder for looks, you're the maddest female woman is walking the counties of the east.

MARY DOUL -- [scornfully.] You were saying all times you'd a great ear for hearing the lies of the world. A great ear, G.o.d help you, and you think you're using it now.

MARTIN DOUL. If it's not lies you're telling would you have me think you're not a wrinkled poor woman is looking like three scores, or two scores and a half!

MARY DOUL. I would not, Martin. (She leans forward earnestly.) For when I seen myself in them pools, I seen my hair would be gray or white, maybe, in a short while, and I seen with it that I'd a face would be a great wonder when it'll have soft white hair falling around it, the way when I'm an old woman there won't be the like of me surely in the seven counties of the east.

MARTIN DOUL -- [with real admiration.] -- You're a cute thinking woman, Mary Doul, and it's no lie.

MARY DOUL -- [triumphantly.] -- I am, surely, and I'm telling you a beautiful white-haired woman is a grand thing to see, for I'm told when Kitty Bawn was selling poteen below, the young men itself would never tire to be looking in her face.

MARTIN DOUL -- [taking off his hat and feeling his head, speaking with hesitation.] -- Did you think to look, Mary Doul, would there be a whiteness the like of that coming upon me?

MARY DOUL -- [with extreme contempt.] -- On you, G.o.d help you!... In a short while you'll have a head on you as bald as an old turnip you'd see rolling round in the muck. You need never talk again of your fine looks, Martin Doul, for the day of that talk's gone for ever.

MARTIN DOUL. That's a hard word to be saying, for I was thinking if I'd a bit of comfort, the like of yourself, it's not far off we'd be from the good days went before, and that'd be a wonder surely. But I'll never rest easy, thinking you're a gray, beautiful woman, and myself a pitiful show.

MARY DOUL. I can't help your looks, Martin Doul. It wasn't myself made you with your rat's eyes, and your big ears, and your griseldy chin.

MARTIN DOUL -- [rubs his chin ruefully, then beams with delight.] -- There's one thing you've forgot, if you're a cute thinking woman itself.

MARY DOUL. Your slouching feet, is it? Or your hooky neck, or your two knees is black with knocking one on the other?

MARTIN DOUL -- [with delighted scorn.] -- There's talking for a cute woman. There's talking, surely!

MARY DOUL -- [puzzled at joy of his voice.] -- If you'd anything but lies to say you'd be talking to yourself.

MARTIN DOUL -- [bursting with excitement.] -- I've this to say, Mary Doul. I'll be letting my beard grow in a short while, a beautiful, long, white, silken, streamy beard, you wouldn't see the like of in the eastern world.... Ah, a white beard's a grand thing on an old man, a grand thing for making the quality stop and be stretching out their hands with good silver or gold, and a beard's a thing you'll never have, so you may be holding your tongue.

MARY DOUL -- [laughing cheerfully.] -- Well, we're a great pair, surely, and it's great times we'll have yet, maybe, and great talking before we die.

MARTIN DOUL. Great times from this day, with the help of the Almighty G.o.d, for a priest itself would believe the lies of an old man would have a fine white beard growing on his chin.

MARY DOUL. There's the sound of one of them twittering yellow birds do be coming in the spring-time from beyond the sea, and there'll be a fine warmth now in the sun, and a sweetness in the air, the way it'll be a grand thing to be sitting here quiet and easy smelling the things growing up, and budding from the earth.

MARTIN DOUL. I'm smelling the furze a while back sprouting on the hill, and if you'd hold your tongue you'd hear the lambs of Grianan, though it's near drowned their crying is with the full river making noises in the glen.

MARY DOUL -- [listens.] -- The lambs is bleating, surely, and there's c.o.c.ks and laying hens making a fine stir a mile off on the face of the hill. (She starts.)

MARTIN DOUL. What's that is sounding in the west? [A faint sound of a bell is heard.]

MARY DOUL. It's not the churches, for the wind's blowing from the sea.

MARTIN DOUL -- [with dismay.] -- It's the old Saint, I'm thinking, ringing his bell.

MARY DOUL. The Lord protect us from the saints of G.o.d! (They listen.) He's coming this road, surely.

MARTIN DOUL -- [tentatively.] -- Will we be running off, Mary Doul?

MARY DOUL. What place would we run?

MARTIN DOUL. There's the little path going up through the sloughs....

If we reached the bank above, where the elders do be growing, no person would see a sight of us, if it was a hundred yeomen were pa.s.sing itself; but I'm afeard after the time we were with our sight we'll not find our way to it at all.

MARY DOUL -- [standing up.] -- You'd find the way, surely. You're a grand man the world knows at finding your way winter or summer, if there was deep snow in it itself, or thick gra.s.s and leaves, maybe, growing from the earth.

MARTIN DOUL -- [taking her hand.] -- Come a bit this way; it's here it begins. (They grope about gap.) There's a tree pulled into the gap, or a strange thing happened, since I was pa.s.sing it before.

MARY DOUL. Would we have a right to be crawling in below under the sticks?