n't mind
him at all.

SAINT -- [imperiously, to the People.] -- Let you take that man and
drive him down upon the road. [Some men seize Martin Doul.]

MARTIN DOUL -- [struggling and shouting.] -- Make them leave me go, holy
father! Make them leave me go, I'm saying, and you may cure her this
day, or do anything that you will.

SAINT -- [to People.] -- Let him be..... Let him be if his sense is come
to him at all.

MARTIN DOUL -- [shakes himself loose, feels for Mary Doul, sinking
his voice to a plausible whine.] -- You may cure herself, surely, holy
father; I wouldn't stop you at all -- and it's great joy she'll have
looking on your face -- but let you cure myself along with her, the way
I'll see when it's lies she's telling, and be looking out day and night
upon the holy men of God.

[He kneels down a little before Mary Doul.]

SAINT -- [speaking half to the People.] -- Men who are dark a long while
and thinking over queer thoughts in their heads, aren't the like of
simple men, who do be working every day, and praying, and living like
ourselves; so if he has found a right mind at the last minute itself,
I'll cure him, if the Lord will, and not be thinking of the hard,
foolish words he's after saying this day to us all.

MARTIN DOUL -- [listening eagerly.] -- I'm waiting now, holy father.

SAINT -- [with can in his hand, close to Martin Doul.] -- With the power
of the water from the grave of the four beauties of God, with the power
of this water, I'm saying, that I put upon your eyes --. [He raises
can.]

MARTIN DOUL -- [with a sudden movement strikes the can from the Saint's
hand and sends it rocketing across stage. He stands up; People murmur
loudly.] -- If I'm a poor dark sinner I've sharp ears, God help me, and
have left you with a big head on you and it's well I heard the little
splash of the water you had there in the can. Go on now, holy father,
for if you're a fine Saint itself, it's more sense is in a blind man,
and more power maybe than you're thinking at all. Let you walk on now
with your worn feet, and your welted knees, and your fasting, holy ways
a thin pitiful arm. (The Saint looks at him for a moment severely, then
turns away and picks up his can. He pulls Mary Doul up.) For if it's a
right some of you have to be working and sweating the like of Timmy
the smith, and a right some of you have to be fasting and praying and
talking holy talk the like of yourself, I'm thinking it's a good right
ou