ll thy favors never greater be?
Wilt thou, I say, forever breed me pain,
And wilt thou not restore my joys again?

BUTLER (_shifting_ DRISCOLL'S _arm, none too tenderly_). More to the
light!

DRISCOLL (_catching breath with pain_). Ah! Softly, Myles!

JOHN TALBOT (_leaning forward tensely_). Ah!

FENTON. Jack! Jack Talbot! What is it that you see?

JOHN TALBOT (_with the anger of a man whose nerves are strained
almost beyond endurance_). What should I see but Cromwell's
watch-fires along the boreen? What else should I see, and the
night as black as the mouth of hell? What else should I see, and
a pest choke your throat with your fool's questions, Dick Fenton!

(_Resumes his watch._)

FENTON (_as who should say: "I thank you!"_). God 'a'
mercy--_Captain_ Talbot!

(_Resumes his singing._)

DRISCOLL. God's love! I bade ye have a care, Myles Butler.

BUTLEK (_tying the last bandage_). It's a stout heart you have in
you, Phelimy Driscoll--you to be crying out for a scratch. It's
better you would have been, you and the like of you, to be
stopping at home with your mother.

(_Rises and takes up his musket from the corner by the fireplace._)

DRISCOLL. You--you dare--you call me--coward? Ye black liar! I'll
lesson ye! I'll--

(_Tries to rise, but in the effort sways weakly forward and rests
with his head upon the stool which_ BUTLER _has quitted._)

BUTLER. A'Heaven's name, ha' done with that hanging tune! Ha'
done, Dick Fenton! We're not yet at the gallows' foot.

(_Joins_ JOHN TALBOT _at the shot-windows._)

FENTON. Nay, Myles, for us 'tis like to be nothing half so merry
as the gallows.

BUTLER. Hold your fool's tongue!

NEWCOMBE (_crying out in his sleep_). Oh! Oh!

JOHN TALBOT. What was that?

FENTON. 'Twas naught but young Newcombe that cried out in the
clutch of a nightmare.

BUTLER. 'Tis time Kit Newcombe rose and stood his watch.

JOHN TALBOT (_leaving the window_). Nay, 'tis only a boy. Let him
sleep while he can! Let him sleep!

BUTLER. Turn and turn at the watch, 'tis but fair. Stir yonder
sluggard awake, Dick!

FENTON. Aye. (_Starts to rise._)

JOHN TALBOT. Who gives commands here? Sit you down, Fenton! To
your place, Myles Butler!

BUTLER. Captain of the Gate! D'ye mark the high tone of him,
Dick?

JOHN TALBOT (_tying a fresh bandage about his hand_). You're out
there, Myles. There is but one Captain of the Gate of
Connaught--he who set me here--my cousin, Hugh Talbot.

BUT