Jacques— What's he shouting for?
Bacqueur—The storm tore up the dead last night.
Hugh Capet— The abbey's
Blown down, perhaps, or— Come on. Hurry, men.
Bacqueur—How is the Bailiff? (Distant thunder.)
Hugh Capet—- (Hurrying out right.)
Going to have another'n.
Jacques—The soldier had a bad night. In his fever
He picks the sheets, mumbling: "Saints, send him down,"
And: "Listen, men!" and things like that. And once,
Jumps him clean out of bed and cries out: "There!"
As he had run the woodman through and through,
And wipes his sword like on his pants, and then,
As though he felt his wound, falls back and pop!
The wind or something blows the light out and
We hear the banshee singing in the storm,
Wild—wild. I fear the bell with toll 'fore night.
(They go out.)
SCENE TWO—The open space in front of the church. In the corner of the fence, left, the top of the poplar tree, broken off by the wind during the night, hangs out in the street almost brushing the ground. To the right of the steps is a large wooden cross which was blown from the steeple. It lies sidewise, hazing been split off at the bottom. The gate into the church yard is slightly ajar, as though some one had lately passed through, and against the dark grass the taller of the white grave markers lean as though the wind had been among them. Over the low fences where one looks back into the church yard on the one side and into an open space on the other, is seen yellow light from the side windows of the church, pouring out into the gloom. From within, comes the sound of the service.
Congregation—His spear was lifted over Acre, Lord,
And his right arm hath made the heathen quail.
Father Benedict—And he hath spread thy glory through the East.