NORA.
It’s the second one of the third pair I knitted, and I put up three score stitches, and I dropped four of them.
CATHLEEN.
Counts the stitches.—It’s that number is in it [crying out.] Ah, Nora, isn’t it a bitter thing to think of him floating that way to the far north, and no one to keen him but the black hags that do be flying on the sea?
NORA.
Swinging herself round, and throwing out her arms on the clothes.—And isn’t it a pitiful thing when there is nothing left of a man who was a great rower and fisher, but a bit of an old shirt and a plain stocking?
CATHLEEN.
After an instant.—Tell me is herself coming, Nora? I hear a little sound on the path.
NORA.
Looking out.—She is, Cathleen. She’s coming up to the door.
CATHLEEN.
Put these things away before she’ll come in. Maybe it’s easier she’ll be after giving her blessing to Bartley, and we won’t let on we’ve heard anything the time he’s on the sea.
NORA.
Helping Cathleen to close the bundle.—We’ll put them here in the corner.
[They put them into a hole in the chimney corner. Cathleen goes back to the spinning-wheel.]
NORA.
Will she see it was crying I was?
CATHLEEN.
Keep your back to the door the way the light’ll not be on you.