When lights are failing, and skies are paling,
And leaves are sailing a-down the air,
O, it's then that love lifts my heart above
My roving thoughts and my petty care;
And though the gloom be like the tomb,
Where there's no room for my love and me,
O, still I'll find you, and still I'll bind you,
My wild sweet rose of Aughnalee!
That's the first stanza. Good-bye.
James goes out. Anne continues reading, then she leaves the paper down with a sigh.
ANNE O, it's lovely! (She takes the paper up again, rises and goes to the door. She remains looking out. Some one speaks to her) No, Brian, Maire's not back yet. Ay, I'll engage she'll give you a call when she does come back. (Anne turns back. She opens drawer in the dresser and puts paper in. She begins to clear table, putting the delpht back on dresser. To herself, anxiously) I hope Maire won't forget to call at the mill. (Room door right opens, and Conn Hourican comes down. Conn Hourican is a man of about fifty, with clear-cut, powerful features, his face is clean-shaven, his expression vehement. His dress is old-fashioned. He wears knee-breeches, a frieze coat rather long, a linen shirt with a little linen collar and a black string for bow. He carries a slick and moves about restlessly)
ANNE
Had Maire any talk of going to the mill, father?
CONN
I heard nothing of it.
ANNE I hope she'll mind of it. We must get the meal there, and not be going to the shop so often.
CONN
I suppose we must.
He moves about restlessly.
ANNE
And I was just thinking that one of us ought to go to Arvach on
Tuesday, and get the things there.