WIDOW (_re-enters_). I’m sorry, mem, but--but (_with agitation_) I cannot understand--your son refuses to come in. MRS S. (_rising_). Then I will go to my son. [_Limps towards the door, sees her son and Màiri._] MRS S. Sandy ... Màiri ... come here--come here at once. Do not go out and leave me in misery. I wish to speak to you both. [_Sandy and Màiri enter. Both look stern and defiant._] MRS S. Let me sit down. I want to speak to my son and Màiri. [_Widow assists her towards the arm-chair._] WIDOW (_addressing her daughter_). Is this your young man, Màiri dear? MÀIRI (_hiding her face in Sandy’s arm_). Yes, mother (_faintly_). WIDOW (_nervously_). I think I will better be putting the big kettle on the kitchen fire. (_Walks towards the door._) MRS S. No, no, come back; please sit down, Mrs Mackay. I wish you to hear all I have got to say. [_Mrs Mackay sits opposite Mrs Speedwell, who is in the “easy chair.” Sandy and Màiri stand beside the table, arm in arm._] MRS S. (_addressing Mrs Mackay_). When you found me lying helplessly on the moor, my sprained ankle sinking into a bog, I thanked you and you said, “It’s not me you should be thanking, but Providence.” You were right there, Mrs Mackay. The hand of Providence arranges all things. Providence brought me here to be punished for my sin; Providence brought these two together (_pointing to Sandy and Màiri_) at the same time.... When I was lying on that dreadful lonely moor, expecting to meet an awful death--to die there alone--the thoughts that were uppermost in my mind were about my sin against your daughter and my own son. Now I am going to ask their forgiveness. SANDY (_impulsively, hastening towards her_). No, no. Don’t ask my forgiveness (_kisses her_), but Màiri’s only. MRS S. (_turning to Màiri_). Màiri dear (_entreatingly and softly_). [_Sandy goes towards Màiri and leads her to his mother._] MRS S. Kiss me, my ... daughter. [_Sandy grasps Mrs Mackay’s hand. The old woman rises to her feet._] SANDY (_gleefully_). My mother has robbed you of your daughter. Let me take her place and be your son. WIDOW (_with emotion_). Be you a good man to _my_ Màiri, for _my_ Màiri has been a good daughter to me. [_Màiri comes forward and kisses her mother._] SANDY (_taking Màiri’s arm_). Come on! hurry, hurry! Let us boil the big kettle on the kitchen fire. [_Màiri smiles radiantly and Mrs Speedwell laughs. The widow sinks into a chair._] MRS S. Dear Mrs Mackay, but for my sore foot I think I would dance to you. (_Màiri and Sandy turn at the door and laugh. The widow smiles._) (CURTAIN) [1] pron. Mah’ri. [2] chill. [3] nothing. [4] pron. mai’tl, _Gael._, my treasure. Transcriber’s Note: