MARTIN DOUL. _turning on her._ — I was longing, surely for sight; but I seen my fill in a short while with the look of my wife, and the look of yourself, Molly Byrne, when you’d the queer wicked grin in your eyes you do have the time you’re making game with a man. MOLLY BYRNE. Let you not mind him, holy father; for it’s bad things he was saying to me a while back — bad things for a married man, your reverence — and you’d do right surely to leave him in darkness, if it’s that is best fitting the villainy of his heart. TIMMY. _to Saint._ — Would you cure Mary Doul, your reverence, who is a quiet poor woman, never did hurt to any, or said a hard word, saving only when she’d be vexed with himself, or with young girls would be making game of her below? SAINT. _to Mary Doul._ — If you have any sense, Mary, kneel down at my feet, and I’ll bring the sight again into your eyes. MARTIN DOUL. _more defiantly._ — You will not, holy father. Would you have her looking on me, and saying hard words to me, till the hour of death? SAINT. _severely._ — If she’s wanting her sight I wouldn’t have the like of you stop her at all. (_To Mary Doul._) Kneel down, I’m saying. MARY DOUL. _doubtfully._ — Let us be as we are, holy father, and then we’ll be known again in a short while as the people is happy and blind, and be having an easy time, with no trouble to live, and we getting halfpence on the road. MOLLY BYRNE. Let you not be a raving fool, Mary Doul. Kneel down now, and let him give you your sight, and himself can be sitting here if he likes it best, and taking halfpence on the road. TIMMY. That’s the truth, Mary; and if it’s choosing a wilful blindness you are, I’m thinking there isn’t anyone in this place will ever be giving you a hand’s turn or a hap’orth of meal, or be doing the little things you need to keep you at all living in the world. MAT SIMON. If you had your sight, Mary, you could be walking up for him and down with him, and be stitching his clothes, and keeping a watch on him day and night the way no other woman would come near him at all. MARY DOUL. _half persuaded._ — That’s the truth, maybe. SAINT. Kneel down now, I’m saying, for it’s in haste I am to be going on with the marriage and be walking my own way before the fall of night. THE PEOPLE. Kneel down, Mary! Kneel down when you’re bid by the Saint! MARY DOUL. _looking uneasily towards Martin Doul._ — Maybe it’s right they are, and I will if you wish it, holy father. [_She kneels down. The Saint takes off his hat and gives it to some one near him. All the men take off their hats. He goes forward a step to take Martin Doul’s hand away from Mary Doul._] SAINT. _to Martin Doul._ — Go aside now; we’re not wanting you here.