Catherine [tragically]. Aye, an' our mistakes. Ow, ow, ow, but a half hour's left!
Vavasour. Do ye think, dearie, that if a man were to—to—uch!—be unkind to his wife—an' was sorry an' his wife—his wife dies, that he'd be—be—
Catherine [tenderly]. Aye, I'm thinkin' so. An', lad dear, do ye think if anythin' was to happen to ye to-night,—yiss, this night,—that ye'd take any grudge against me away with ye?
Vavasour [stiffening]. Happen to me, Catherine? [Vavasour collapses, groaning. Catherine goes to his side on the settle.]
Catherine [in an agonized voice]. Uch, dearie, what is it, what is it, what ails ye?
Vavasour [slanting an eye at the clock]. Nothin', nothin' at all. Ow, the devil, 'tis twenty minutes before twelve whatever!
Catherine. Lad, lad, what is it?
Vavasour. 'Tis nothin', nothin' at all—'tis—ow!—'tis just a little pain across me.
Catherine [her face whitening as she steals a look at the clock and puts her arm around Vavasour]. Vavasour, lad dear, is that the wind in the chimney? Put your arm about me an' hold fast.
Vavasour [both hands across his stomach, his eyes on the clock]. Ow—ten minutes!