CATHLEEN. She's lying down, God help her, and maybe sleeping, if she's able.
(NORA comes in softly, and takes a bundle from under her shawl.)
CATHLEEN (spinning the wheel rapidly). What is it you have?
NOBA. 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?