MARY
catching hold of him.—Stop till you say a prayer, your reverence; stop till you say a little prayer, I’m telling you, and I’ll give you my blessing and the last sup from the jug.
PRIEST
breaking away.—Leave me go, Mary Byrne; for I have never met your like for hard abominations the score and two years I’m living in the place.
MARY
innocently.—Is that the truth?
PRIEST
—It is, then, and God have mercy on your soul.
[The priest goes towards the left, and Sarah follows him.
SARAH
in a low voice.—And what time will you do the thing I’m asking, holy father? for I’m thinking you’ll do it surely, and not have me growing into an old wicked heathen like herself.
MARY
calling out shrilly.—Let you be walking back here, Sarah Casey, and not be talking whisper-talk with the like of him in the face of the Almighty God.
SARAH
to the priest.—Do you hear her now, your reverence? Isn’t it true, surely, she’s an old, flagrant heathen, would destroy the world?
PRIEST
to Sarah, moving off.—Well, I’ll be coming down early to the chapel, and let you come to me a while after you see me passing, and bring the bit of gold along with you, and the tin can. I’ll marry you for them two, though it’s a pitiful small sum; for I wouldn’t be easy in my soul if I left you growing into an old, wicked heathen the like of her.
SARAH
following him out.—The blessing of the Almighty God be on you, holy father, and that He may reward and watch you from this present day.