MARTIN DOUL. I’ll be going now, I’m thinking, but I’m not sure what place my stick’s in, and I’m destroyed with terror and dread. (He touches Mary’s face as he is groping about and cries out.) There’s a thing with a cold, living face on it sitting up at my side. (He turns to run away, but misses his path and stumbles in against the wall.) My road is lost on me now! Oh, merciful God, set my foot on the path this day, and I’ll be saying prayers morning and night, and not straining my ear after young girls, or doing any bad thing till I die.

MARY DOUL. (indignantly.) Let you not be telling lies to the Almighty God.

MARTIN DOUL. Mary Doul, is it? (Recovering himself with immense relief.) Is it Mary Doul, I’m saying?

MARY DOUL. There’s a sweet tone in your voice I’ve not heard for a space.