MAY. I could up and screech so that the house should ring with the sound of me, “I be your wife, Steve, comed back after these many years. What’s this that you’ve got doing with another?” I could take hold on him and make him look into the eyes of I, yes, and th’ old woman, too. “See here, your ‘dirty roadster,’ look well on to her.” “Why, ’tis May.” But the eyes of him would then be cast so that I should see no more than a house what has dead within, and the blind pulled down. And I, what was thinking as there might be a light in the window! VASHTI. “And you may holler,” I says to them, “you may holler till you be heard over the face of all the earth, but no one won’t take no account of you.” And the lies of them which have turned into ropes of hempen shall come up and strangle they. But me and my child shall pass by all fatted up and clothed, and with the last flick, afore the eyelids of they drop, they shall behold we, and, a-clapping of the teeth of them shall they repent them of their sins. Too late, too late! There ’tis. MAY. Too late! There ’tis, I be comed home too late. [_She rises and takes up her shawl_, _wrapping it about her shoulders_, _and muttering_. MAY. But I know a dark place full of water—’Tis Simon’s pool they calls it—And I warrant as any poor wretch might sleep yonder and be in quiet. VASHTI. Be you a-going up to Steve now? MAY. No, I bain’t. ’Tis out from here that I be going. And back on to the road. VASHTI. May, my pretty May, you’re never going for to leave I, what’s such a poor old woman and wronged cruel. You step aloft and rouse up Steve. He’ll never have you go upon the roads again once he do know as you’ve comed back. MAY. Steve! What’s it to Steve whether the like of I do go or bide? What be there in I for to quell the love of she which Steve’s got in him? Dead leaves for new. Ditch water for the clear spring. VASHTI. Give him to drink of it, May. MAY. [_Looking upwards to the ceiling_.] No, Steve. Hark you here. I bain’t a-going to do it. I bain’t going to knock over the spoonful of sweet what you be carrying to your mouth. You take and eat of it in quiet and get you filled with the honey. ’Tain’t my way to snatch from no one so that the emptiness which I has in me shall be fed. There, ’tis finished now, very nigh, and the sharpness done. And, don’t you fear, Steve, as ever I’ll trouble you no more. VASHTI. [_Rising_.] I be a-going to fetch him down, and that’s what I’m a-going for to do. MAY. [_Pushing her back into her chair_.] Harken you, Steve, he’s never got to know as I’ve been here. VASHTI. I tell you, May, I’ll screech till he do come!