HUGH. [Voice quavering and lifting his Welsh essays.] Who knows?
DEACON ROBERTS. [Big yellow drops pouring down his face, his voice full of anguish.] I will tell ye when is the hour of hell. [He points to the clock.] Is one the hour of hell? Nay. Two? Nay. Three? No, not three. Four? Four might be the hour of hell, but 'tis not. Five? Nor five, indeed. Six? Nay. Seven? Is seven the hour, the awful hour? Nay, not yet. Eight? Is eight the hour—an hour bright as this bright hour? Nay, eight is not. [The Deacon shouts in a mighty voice and points with a red finger at the clock.] 'Tis comin'! 'Tis comin', I say! Howl ye, howl! Only one minute more! Sinners, sinners, lift up your eyes! Cry for mercy! [All groan.] Cry for mercy! When the clock strikes twelve, 'twill be the hour of hell! Fix your eyes upon the clock! Watch! Count! Listen! 'Tis strikin'. The stroke! The hour is here!
[All dropped on their knees and turned toward the clock, their backs to the street door, are awaiting the awful stroke. The book has fallen from Hugh's hands. Neli's hands are clenched. Mrs. Jenkins the Midwife is nodding her old head. Mrs. Jones the Wash on her knees, her face upturned to the clock, is rubbing up and down her thighs, as if at the business of washing. Tom Morris The Sheep is prostrate and making a strange buzzing sound between his lips. The wheels of the clever old timepiece whir and turn. Then in the silent noonday the harsh striking begins: One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six, Seven, Eight, Nine, Ten, Eleven, Twelve.
DEACON ROBERTS. [Yelling suddenly in a loud and terrible voice.] Hell let loose! Howl ye! Howl, ye sinners! [All cover their eyes. All groan or moan. The clock ticks, the flame in the grate flutters, Neli's bosom rises and falls heavily.] Lest worse happen to ye, sin no more!
[The Deacon looks at them all quietly. Then he lifts his hands in sign of blessing, smiles and vanishes silently through street door. All remain stationary in their terror. Nothing happens. But at last Neli fearfully, still spellbound by the Deacon's eloquence, lifts her eyes to the clock. Then cautiously she turns a little toward the fire and the place of Deacon Roberts.
NELI. Uch! [She stands on her feet and cries out.] The Deacon is gone!
HUGH. [Raising his eyes.] Uch, what is it? Babylon——
NELI. Babylon nothing! [She wrings her hands.
MRS. JENKINS THE MIDWIFE. [Groaning.] Is he dead? Is he dead?
NELI. [With sudden plunge toward the door.] Uch, ye old hypocrite, ye villain! Uch, my butter an' my eggs, my butter an' my eggs!