DAN. The like of her would never go there.... It’s lonesome roads she’ll be going and hiding herself away till the end will come, and they find her stretched like a dead sheep with the frost on her, or the big spiders, maybe, and they putting their webs on her, in the butt of a ditch. NORA. (_Angrily._) What way will yourself be that day, Daniel Burke? What way will you be that day and you lying down a long while in your grave? For it’s bad you are living, and it’s bad you’ll be when you’re dead. (_She looks at him a moment fiercely, then half turns away and speaks plaintively again._) Yet, if it is itself, Daniel Burke, who can help it at all, and let you be getting up into your bed, and not be taking your death with the wind blowing on you, and the rain with it, and you half in your skin. DAN. It’s proud and happy you’ld be if I was getting my death the day I was shut of yourself. (_Pointing to the door._) Let you walk out through that door, I’m telling you, and let you not be passing this way if it’s hungry you are, or wanting a bed. TRAMP. (_Pointing to Micheal._) Maybe himself would take her. NORA. What would he do with me now? TRAMP. Give you the half of a dry bed, and good food in your mouth. DAN. Is it a fool you think him, stranger, or is it a fool you were born yourself? Let her walk out of that door, and let you go along with her, stranger—if it’s raining itself—for it’s too much talk you have surely. TRAMP. (_Going over to Nora._) We’ll be going now, lady of the house—the rain is falling, but the air is kind and maybe it’ll be a grand morning by the grace of God. NORA. What good is a grand morning when I’m destroyed surely, and I going out to get my death walking the roads? TRAMP. You’ll not be getting your death with myself, lady of the house, and I knowing all the ways a man can put food in his mouth.... We’ll be going now, I’m telling you, and the time you’ll be feeling the cold, and the frost, and the great rain, and the sun again, and the south wind blowing in the glens, you’ll not be sitting up on a wet ditch, the way you’re after sitting in the place, making yourself old with looking on each day, and it passing you by. You’ll be saying one time, “It’s a grand evening, by the grace of God,” and another time, “It’s a wild night, God help us, but it’ll pass surely.” You’ll be saying— DAN. (_Goes over to them crying out impatiently._) Go out of that door, I’m telling you, and do your blathering below in the glen. (_Nora gathers a few things into her shawl._)