MOTHER. No good angel, certainly.
OLD MAN. Really! (Pause.) You know how superstitious people here are. As I went down to the river I heard this: a farmer said his horse shied at 'him'; another that the dogs got so fierce he'd had to tie them up. The ferryman swore his boat drew less water when 'he' got in. Superstition, but....
MOTHER. But what?
OLD MAN. It was only a magpie that flew in at her window, though it was closed. An illusion, perhaps.
MOTHER. Perhaps. But why does one often see such things at the right time?
OLD MAN. This man's presence is intolerable. When he looks at me I can't breathe.
MOTHER. We must try to get rid of him. I'm certain he won't care to stay for long.
OLD MAN. No. He won't grow old here. (Pause.) Listen, I got a letter to-night warning me about him. Among other things he's wanted by the courts.
MOTHER. The courts?
OLD MAN. Yes. Money matters. But, remember, the laws of hospitality protect beggars and enemies. Let him stay a few days, till he's got over this fearful journey. You can see how Providence has laid hands on him, how his soul is being ground in the mill ready for the sieve....