Nora. The young priest is after bringing them. It's a shirt and a plain stocking were got off a drowned man in Donegal. [Cathleen stops her wheel with a sudden movement, and leans out to listen.]
Nora. We're to find out if it's Michael's they are, some time herself will be down looking by the sea.
Cathleen. How would they be Michael's, Nora? How would he go the length of that way to the far north?
Nora. The young priest says he's known the like of it. "If it's Michael's they are," says he, "you can tell herself he's got a clean burial by the grace of God, and if they're not his, let no one say a word about them, for she'll be getting her death," says he, "with crying and lamenting." [The door which Nora half closed is blown open by a gust of wind.]
Cathleen [looking out anxiously]. Did you ask him would he stop Bartley going this day with the horses to the Galway fair?
Nora. "I won't stop him," says he, "but let you not be afraid. Herself does be saying prayers half through the night, and the Almighty God won't leave her destitute," says he, "with no son living."
Cathleen. Is the sea bad by the white rocks, Nora?
Nora. Middling bad, God help us. There's a great roaring in the west, and it's worse it'll be getting when the tide's turned to the wind. [She goes over to the table with the bundle.] Shall I open it now?
Cathleen. Maybe she'd wake up on us, and come in before we'd done. [Coming to the table.] It's a long time we'll be, and the two of us crying.
Nora [goes to the inner door and listens]. She's moving about on the bed. She'll be coming in a minute.