for the lot of them young girls, the devil save them, have sharp,
terrible eyes, would pick out a poor man, I'm thinking, and he
lying below hid in his grave.

MARY DOUL. Let you not be whispering sin, Martin Doul, or maybe
it's the finger of God they'd see pointing to ourselves.

MARTIN DOUL. It's yourself is speaking madness, Mary Doul;
haven't you heard the Saint say it's the wicked do be blind?

MARY DOUL. If it is you'd have a right to speak a big, terrible
word would make the water not cure us at all.

MARTIN DOUL. What way would I find a big, terrible word, and I
shook with the fear; and if I did itself, who'd know rightly if
it's good words or bad would save us this day from himself?

MARY DOUL. They're coming. I hear their feet on the stones.

[The Saint comes in on right, with Timmy and Molly Byrne in
holiday clothes, the others as before.]

TIMMY. I've heard tell Martin Doul and Mary Doul were seen this
day about on the road, holy father, and we were thinking you'd
have pity on them and cure them again.

SAINT. I would, maybe, but where are they at all? I have little
time left when I have the two of you wed in the church.

MAT SIMON -- [at their seat.] -- There are the rushes they do