FIRST MERCHANT. Come you, and you, who are the latest dead, And still wear human shape: the shape of power. [_The two robbing peasants of the last scene come forward. Their faces have withered from much pain._ Now, brawlers, lift the bags of gold. FIRST PEASANT. Yes, yes! Unwillingly, unwillingly; for she, Whose gold we bear upon our shoulders thus, Has endless pity even for lost souls In her good heart. At moments, now and then, When plunged in horror, brooding each alone, A memory of her face floats in on us. It brings a crowned misery, half repose, And we wail one to other; we obey, For heaven’s many-angled star reversed, Now sign of evil, burns into our hearts. FIRST MERCHANT. When these pale sapphires and these diadems And these small bags of money are in our house, The burning shall give over—now begone. SECOND MERCHANT. [_Lifting the diadem to put it upon his head._] No—no—no. I will carry the diadem. FIRST MERCHANT. No, brother, not yet. For none can carry her treasures wholly away But spirits that are too light for good and evil, Or, being evil, can remember good. Begone! [_The spirits vanish._] I bade them go, for they are lonely, And when they see aught living love to sigh. [_Pointing to the oratory._] Brother, I heard a sound in there—a sound That troubles me. SECOND MERCHANT. [_Going to the door of the oratory and peering through it._] Upon the altar steps The Countess tosses, murmuring in her sleep A broken _Paternoster_. [_The FIRST MERCHANT goes to the door and stands beside him._] She is grown still. FIRST MERCHANT. A great plan floats into my mind—no wonder, For I come from the ninth and mightiest Hell, Where all are kings. I will wake her from her sleep, And mix with all her thoughts a thought to serve. [_He calls through the door._ May we be well remembered in your prayers! [_The COUNTESS CATHLEEN wakes, and comes to the door of the oratory. The MERCHANTS descend into the room again. She stands at the top of the stone steps._ CATHLEEN. What would you, sirs? FIRST MERCHANT. We are two merchant men, New come from foreign lands. We bring you news. Forgive our sudden entry: the great door Was open, we came in to seek a face. CATHLEEN. The door stands always open to receive, With kindly welcome, starved and sickly folk, Or any who would fly the woful times. Merchants, you bring me news? FIRST MERCHANT. We saw a man Heavy with sickness in the Bog of Allan, Whom you had bid buy cattle. Near Fair Head We saw your grain ships lying all becalmed In the dark night, and not less still than they Burned all their mirrored lanthorns in the sea. CATHLEEN.