At rise of curtain, the windows of kitchen are closed; the fire is burning brightly, and two candles are lighted on the mantelpiece. Vavasour Jones, about thirty-five years old, dressed in a striped vest, a short, heavy blue coat, cut away in front, and with swallowtails behind, and trimmed with brass buttons, and somewhat tight trousers down to his boot tops, is standing by the open door at the right, looking out anxiously on to the glittering, rain-wet flagstone street and calling after someone.
Vavasour[40] [calling]. Kats, Kats, mind ye come home soon from Pally Hughes's!
Catherine [from a distance]. Aye, I'm no wantin' to go, but I must. Good-by!
Vavasour. Good-by! Kats, ye mind about comin' home? [There is no reply, and Vavasour looks still further into the rain-wet street. He calls loudly and desperately.] Kats, Kats darlin', I cannot let you go without tellin' ye that—Kats, do ye hear? [There is still no reply and after one more searching of the street, Vavasour closes the door and sits down on the end of the nearest settle.]
Vavasour. Dear, dear, she's gone, an' I may never see her again, an' I'm to blame, an' she didn't know whatever that in the night—[Loud knocking on the closed door; Vavasour jumps and stands irresolute.] The devil, it can't be comin' for her already? [The knocking grows louder.]
Voice [calling]. Catherine, Vavasour, are ye in?
Vavasour [opening the door]. Aye, come in, whoever ye are. [Mrs. Morgan, the Baker, dressed in a scarlet whittle and freshly starched white cap beneath her tall Welsh beaver hat, enters, shaking the rain from her cloak.]
Mrs. Morgan. Where's Catherine?
Vavasour. She's gone, Mrs. Morgan.
Mrs. Morgan. Gone? Are ye no goin'? Not goin' to Pally Hughes's on Allhallows' Eve?