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 have lying
round on the stones. It's not far off they'll be, surely.

MOLLY BYRNE -- [pointing with astonishment.] -- Look beyond, Timmy.
[They all look over and see Martin Doul.]

TIMMY. Well, Martin's a lazy fellow to be lying in there at the height
of the day. (He goes over shouting.) Let you get up out of that. You
were near losing a great chance by your sleepiness this day, Martin
Doul.... The two of them's in it, God help us all!

MARTIN DOUL -- [scrambling up with Mary Doul.] -- What is it you want,
Timmy, that you can't leave us in peace?

TIMMY. The Saint's come to marry the two of us, and I'm after speaking
a word for yourselves, the way he'll be curing you now; for if you're a
foolish man itself, I do be pitying you, for I've a kind heart, when
I think of you sitting dark again, and you after seeing a while and
working for your bread. [Martin Doul takes Mary Doul's hand and tries to
grope his way off right; he has lost his hat, and they are both covered
with dust and grass seeds.]

PEOPLE. You're going wrong. It's this way, Martin Doul.

[They push him over in front of the Saint, near centre. Martin Doul and
Mary Doul stand with piteous hang-dog dejection.]

SAINT. Let you not be afeard, for there's great pity with the Lord.

MARTIN DOUL. We aren't afeard, holy father.

SAINT. It's many a time