] -- The lambs is bleating, surely, and
there's cocks and laying hens making a fine stir a mile off on
the face of the hill. (She starts.)
MARTIN DOUL. What's that is sounding in the west? [A faint sound
of a bell is heard.]
MARY DOUL. It's not the churches, for the wind's blowing from
the sea.
MARTIN DOUL -- [with dismay.] -- It's the old Saint, I'm
thinking, ringing his bell.
MARY DOUL. The Lord protect us from the saints of God! (They
listen.) He's coming this road, surely.
MARTIN DOUL -- [tentatively.] -- Will we be running off, Mary
Doul?
MARY DOUL. What place would we run?
MARTIN DOUL. There's the little path going up through the
sloughs. . . . If we reached the bank above, where the elders do
be growing, no person would see a sight of us, if it was a
hundred yeomen were passing itself; but I'm afeard after the time
we were with our sight we'll not find our way to it at all.
MARY DOUL -- [standing up.] -- You'd find the way, surely.
You're a grand man the world knows at finding your way winter or
summer, if there was deep snow in it itself, or thick grass and
leaves, maybe, growing from the earth.
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