CHRIS--[Subdued--his face melancholy.] Skoal. [He drinks.] BURKE--[To Anna, with a wink.] You'll not be lonesome long. I'll see to that, with the help of God. 'Tis himself here will be having a grandchild to ride on his foot, I'm telling you! ANNA--[Turning away in embarrassment.] Quit the kidding, now. [She picks up her bag and goes into the room on left. As soon as she is gone BURKE relapses into an attitude of gloomy thought. CHRIS stares at his beer absent-mindedly. Finally BURKE turns on him.] BURKE--Is it any religion at all you have, you and your Anna? CHRIS--[Surprised.] Vhy yes. Ve vas Lutheran in ole country. BURKE--[Horrified.] Luthers, is it? [Then with a grim resignation, slowly, aloud to himself.] Well, damned then surely. Yerra, what's the difference? 'Tis the will of God, anyway. CHRIS--[Moodily preoccupied with his own thoughts--speaks with somber premonition as ANNA re-enters from the left.] It's funny. It's queer, yes--you and me shipping on same boat dat vay. It ain't right. Ay don't know--it's dat funny vay ole davil sea do her vorst dirty tricks, yes. It's so. [He gets up and goes back and, opening the door, stares out into the darkness.] BURKE--[Nodding his head in gloomy acquiescence--with a great sigh.] I'm fearing maybe you have the right of it for once, divil take you. ANNA--[Forcing a laugh.] Gee, Mat, you ain't agreeing with him, are you? [She comes forward and puts her arm about his shoulder--with a determined gaiety.] Aw say, what's the matter? Cut out the gloom. We're all fixed now, ain't we, me and you? [Pours out more beer into his glass and fills one for herself--slaps him on the back.] Come on! Here's to the sea, no matter what! Be a game sport and drink to that! Come on! [She gulps down her glass. Burke banishes his superstitious premonitions with a defiant jerk of his head, grins up at her, and drinks to her toast.] CHRIS--[Looking out into the night--lost in his somber preoccupation--shakes his head and mutters.] Fog, fog, fog, all bloody time. You can't see vhere you vas going, no. Only dat ole davil, sea--she knows! [The two stare at him. From the harbor comes the muffled, mournful wail of steamers' whistles.] [The Curtain Falls]