Steve. Well, well—she won’t do us no harm where she do bide. Leave her in the warm till ’tis daylight, then let her go her way.
Jane. She and Gran’ be about right company one for t’other, I’m thinking.
Steve. Ah, that they be. Let them sleep it off and you get up to bed, Mother.
Jane. That I will, Steve. Be you a-going to see Annie safe to home?
Annie. Do you bide here, Steve, and let me run back—’tis but a step—and I don’t like for you to come out into the snow again.
Steve. I’m coming along of you, Annie. Get off to bed, Mother. I’ll be back to lock up and all that in less nor ten minutes.
Jane. All right, Steve, and do you cast an eye around to see as I han’t left nothing out as might get took away, for ’tis poor work leaving the kitchen to roadsters and gipsies and the like.
[Jane lights a candle and goes upstairs. Steve takes Annie’s hand and they go together towards the outer door. As they pass to the other side of the curtain which is drawn across the room, May suddenly rears herself up on the settle, throwing back her shawl, and she leans forward, listening intently.
Steve. To-morrow night, Annie!
Annie. There’ll be no turning out into the snow for us both, Steve.