NORA. The young priest is after bringing them. It’s a shirt and a plain stocking were got off a drowned man in Donegal. [_Cathleen stops her wheel with a sudden movement, and leans out to listen._] NORA. We’re to find out if it’s Michael’s they are, some time herself will be down looking by the sea. CATHLEEN. How would they be Michael’s, Nora. How would he go the length of that way to the far north? NORA. The young priest says he’s known the like of it. “If it’s Michael’s they are,” says he, “you can tell herself he’s got a clean burial by the grace of God, and if they’re not his, let no one say a word about them, for she’ll be getting her death,” says he, “with crying and lamenting.” [_The door which Nora half closed is blown open by a gust of wind._] CATHLEEN. _Looking out anxiously._—Did you ask him would he stop Bartley going this day with the horses to the Galway fair? NORA. “I won’t stop him,” says he, “but let you not be afraid. Herself does be saying prayers half through the night, and the Almighty God won’t leave her destitute,” says he, “with no son living.” CATHLEEN. Is the sea bad by the white rocks, Nora? NORA. Middling bad, God help us. There’s a great roaring in the west, and it’s worse it’ll be getting when the tide’s turned to the wind. [_She goes over to the table with the bundle._] Shall I open it now? CATHLEEN. Maybe she’d wake up on us, and come in before we’d done. [_Coming to the table._] It’s a long time we’ll be, and the two of us crying. NORA. _Goes to the inner door and listens._—She’s moving about on the bed. She’ll be coming in a minute. CATHLEEN. Give me the ladder, and I’ll put them up in the turf-loft, the way she won’t know of them at all, and maybe when the tide turns she’ll be going down to see would he be floating from the east. [_They put the ladder against the gable of the chimney; Cathleen goes up a few steps and hides the bundle in the turf-loft. Maurya comes from the inner room._] MAURYA. _Looking up at Cathleen and speaking querulously._—Isn’t it turf enough you have for this day and evening? CATHLEEN. There’s a cake baking at the fire for a short space. [_Throwing down the turf_] and Bartley will want it when the tide turns if he goes to Connemara. [_Nora picks up the turf and puts it round the pot-oven._] MAURYA. _Sitting down on a stool at the fire._—He won’t go this day with the wind rising from the south and west. He won’t go this day, for the young priest will stop him surely. NORA. He’ll not stop him, mother, and I heard Eamon Simon and Stephen Pheety and Colum Shawn saying he would go. MAURYA. Where is he itself? NORA. He went down to see would there be another boat sailing in the week, and I’m thinking it won’t be long till he’s here now, for the tide’s turning at the green head, and the hooker’ tacking from the east. CATHLEEN. I hear some one passing the big stones. NORA. _Looking out._—He’s coming now, and he’s in a hurry.