JIM. Lawd, I know my time ain't long.
[After these lines have been repeated, Jim, noticing Mary's absence from his side, stops and looks around. Aunt Candace keeps on singing a verse or two. She stops and looks around, seas Mary standing in an attitude of despair. Jim speaks.
JIM. Miss Mary!
AUNT CANDACE. What is it, honey?
[There is a stamping of feet outside. Mary raises her head with an expectant look an her face. She runs to the door and opens it. Her expression changes to one of disappointment and fear as Henry Morgan enters. He is a man of powerful build, about fifty years old, rough and overbearing. A week's growth of grizzled beard darkens his face. He wears a felt hat, long black overcoat, ripped at the pockets and buttoned up to his chin, big laced boots, and yarn mittens. In his hand he carries a package, which he throws contemptuously on the bed. He keeps his hat on. Mary closes the door and stands with her back to it, clasping the latch-string. Aunt Candace and Jim offer their seats. Jim's look is one of servile respect, that of Aunt Candace one of troubled expectancy.
MORGAN. [In a booming voice.] Dad burn you, Jim. Still a-courtin', eh? Set down, Candace. I ain't goin't to stay long.
AUNT CANDACE. [Querulously.] What's he say?
MARY. [Coming to the centre of the room.] He says for you to set down. He ain't goin' to stay long.
AUNT CANDACE. [Sitting down.] Ah-hah ... Oh, Lawdy! Lawdy!
MORGAN. [Coming closer to Aunt Candace.] How you gettin' 'long now, Candace?