FAUNCH
(as he follows, fiddling gaily).
A rescue made to music!
[All disappear into the woods, right, just as Sarah Scarlett, with Goody Gleason leaning on her arm, comes out of the woods, left.
SARAH.
Faunch! Faunch! (Looks after the vanishing Merrymount folk.) He does not hear me! Where are they going that they do not hear me? Nay, then, dear Gran'am, rest on me. Step slowly. They've left off dancing at the maypole, and gone I know not whither. Will you not rest you, while I blow this flicker o' fire? (Leads Goody Gleason to bed of pine.) I'll make thee broth, and season it right pleasantly when the lads come back from their traps; for, now that I think on it, it may be to their traps they have gone. (Sees Goody Gleason placed in comfortable fashion on the bed of pine.) Rest, then, if you can, dear Gran'am. 'Twill strengthen you against your chills and fever. (Seats herself at fire.) Rest, if you can, and I will watch close by.
[Goody Gleason dozes off: Sarah sits by her and sings.
"Fortune, my foe, why dost thou frown on me,
And will thy favors never better be?
Wilt thou, I say, forever breed me pain?
And wilt thou not restore my joys again?"
[A pause: then from distance comes tumult of voices: "Ho! Steady there, Will Lackleather! Have a care, Robin Wakeless!" (The voices are very faint but clear: the sound of them coming from a long distance.)
BESS
(running ahead of the others, disheveled, breathless, excited, enters, and swinging about, halloos to those who are following her, her hands held clarion-wise).
Have a care, Simon! Look well to the Puritan!