MORAG (with sign of head). No, but the light in the window would show him all is well.
MARY STEWART. It would not, then! The light was to be put there after we had heard the signal.
MORAG. But on a night like this he may have been calling for long and we never hear him.
MARY STEWART. Do not be so anxious, Morag. Keep to what he says.
Put more peat on the fire now and sit down.
MORAG (with increasing excitement). I canna, I canna! There is that in me that tells me something is going to befall us this night. Oh, that wind! Hear to it, sobbing round the house as if it brought some poor lost soul up to the door, and we refusing it shelter.
MARY STEWART. Do not be fretting yourself like that. Do as I bid you. Put more peats to the fire.
MORAG (at the wicker peat-basket). Never since I…. What was that?
(Both listen for a moment.)
MARY STEWART. It was just the wind; it is rising more. A sore night for them that are out in the heather.
(MORAG puts peat on the fire without speaking.)