MOLLY BYRNE. _who has listened half mesmerized, starting away._ — It’s the like of that talk you’d hear from a man would be losing his mind. MARTIN DOUL. _going after her, passing to her right._ — It’d be little wonder if a man near the like of you would be losing his mind. Put down your can now, and come along with myself, for I’m seeing you this day, seeing you, maybe, the way no man has seen you in the world. (_He takes her by the arm and tries to pull her away softly to the right._) Let you come on now, I’m saying, to the lands of Iveragh and the Reeks of Cork, where you won’t set down the width of your two feet and not be crushing fine flowers, and making sweet smells in the air. MOLLY BYRNE. _laying down the can; trying to free herself._ — Leave me go, Martin Doul! Leave me go, I’m saying! MARTIN DOUL. Let you not be fooling. Come along now the little path through the trees. MOLLY BYRNE. _crying out towards forge._ — Timmy the smith. (_Timmy comes out of forge, and Martin Doul lets her go. Molly Byrne, excited and breathless, pointing to Martin Doul._) Did ever you hear that them that loses their sight loses their senses along with it, Timmy the smith! TIMMY. _suspicious, but uncertain._ — He’s no sense, surely, and he’ll be having himself driven off this day from where he’s good sleeping, and feeding, and wages for his work. MOLLY BYRNE. _as before._ — He’s a bigger fool than that, Timmy. Look on him now, and tell me if that isn’t a grand fellow to think he’s only to open his mouth to have a fine woman, the like of me, running along by his heels. [_Martin Doul recoils towards centre, with his hand to his eyes; Mary Doul is seen on left coming forward softly._] TIMMY. _with blank amazement._ — Oh, the blind is wicked people, and it’s no lie. But he’ll walk off this day and not be troubling us more. [_Turns back left and picks up Martin Doul’s coat and stick; some things fall out of coat pocket, which he gathers up again._] MARTIN DOUL. _turns around, sees Mary Doul, whispers to Molly Byrne with imploring agony._ — Let you not put shame on me, Molly, before herself and the smith. Let you not put shame on me and I after saying fine words to you, and dreaming... dreams... in the night. (_He hesitates, and looks round the sky._) Is it a storm of thunder is coming, or the last end of the world? (_He staggers towards Mary Doul, tripping slightly over tin can._) The heavens is closing, I’m thinking, with darkness and great trouble passing in the sky. (_He reaches Mary Doul, and seizes her left arm with both his hands — with a frantic cry._) Is it darkness of thunder is coming, Mary Doul! Do you see me clearly with your eyes? MARY DOUL. _snatches her arm away, and hits him with empty sack across the face._ — I see you a sight too clearly, and let you keep off from me now.