McDonough: It is not truth. What would ail her to die?
First Hag: The makings of a child that came before its time, God save the mark! She made a bad battle at the last.
McDonough: What way did it fail you to send me out messengers seeking me when you knew her to be done and dying?
First Hag: I thought she would drag another while. There was no time for the priest itself to overtake her, or to put the little dress of the Virgin in her hand at the last gasp of death.
McDonough goes into the room. He comes out as if affrighted, leans his head against the wall, and breaks into a prayer in Irish:
"An Athair tha in Naomh, dean trocaire orainn! A Dia Righ an Domhain, dean trocaire orainn! A Mhuire Mathair Dia, dean trocaire orainn!"
Second Hag: (Venturing near.) Do not go fret after her, McDonough. She could not go through the world forever, and travelling the world. It might be that trouble went with her.
McDonough: Get out of that, you hags, you witches you! You croaking birds of ill luck! It is much if I will leave you in the living world, and you not to have held back death from her!
Second Hag: That you may never be cross till you will meet with your own death! What way could any person do that?
McDonough: Get out the door and it will be best for you!