(He kneels beside her, but does not seem to hear her words. The PEASANTS return. They carry the COUNTESS CATHLEEN and lay her upon the ground before OONA and ALEEL. She lies there as if dead.)
OONA
O, that so many pitchers of rough clay
Should prosper and the porcelain break in two!
(She kisses the hands of CATHLEEN.)
A PEASANT
We were under the tree where the path turns
When she grew pale as death and fainted away.
CATHLEEN
O, hold me, and hold me tightly, for the storm
Is dragging me away.
(OONA takes her in her arms. A woman begins to wail.)
PEASANTS