if it's cold he is surely.

TRAMP Is it getting the curse on me you'ld be, woman of the house? I wouldn't lay my hand on him for the Lough Nahanagan and it filled with gold.

NORA {Looking uneasily at the body.} Maybe cold would be no sign of death with the like of him, for he was always cold, every day since I knew him,—and every night, stranger,—{she covers up his face and comes away from the bed}; but I'm thinking it's dead he is surely, for he's complaining a while back of a pain in his heart, and this morning, the time he was going off to Brittas for three days or four, he was taken with a sharp turn. Then he went into his bed and he was saying it was destroyed he was, the time the shadow was going up through the glen, and when the sun set on the bog beyond he made a great lep, and let a great cry out of him, and stiffened himself out the like of a dead sheep.

TRAMP {Crosses himself.} God rest his soul.

NORA {Pouring him out a glass of whisky.} Maybe that would do you better than the milk of the sweetest cow in County Wicklow.

TRAMP The Almighty God reward you, and may it be to your good health. {He drinks.}

NORA {Giving him a pipe and tobacco.} I've no pipes saving his own, stranger, but they're sweet pipes to smoke.

TRAMP Thank you kindly, lady of the house.

NORA Sit down now, stranger, and be taking your rest.

TRAMP {Filling a pipe and looking about the room.} I've walked a great way through the world, lady of the house, and seen great wonders, but I never seen a wake till this day with fine spirits, and good tobacco, and the best of pipes, and no one to taste them but a woman only.

NORA Didn't you hear me say it was only after dying on me he was when the sun went down, and how would I go out into the glen and tell the neighbours, and I a lone woman with no house near me?

TRAMP {Drinking.} There's no offence, lady of the house?

NORA No offence in life, stranger. How would the like of you, passing in the dark night, know the lonesome way I was with no house near me at all?

TRAMP {Sitting down.} I knew rightly. {He lights his pipe so that there is a sharp light beneath his haggard face.} And I was thinking, and I coming in through the door, that it's many a lone woman would be afeard of the like of me in the dark night, in a place wouldn't be so lonesome as this place, where there aren't two living souls would see the little light you have shining from the glass.

NORA {Slowly.} I'm thinking many would be afeard, but I never knew what way I'd be afeard of beggar or bishop or any man of you at all. {She looks towards the window and lowers her voice.} It's other things than the like of you, stranger, would make a person afeard.

TRAMP {Looking round with a half-shudder.} It is surely, God help us all!

NORA {Looking at him for a moment with curiosity.} You're saying that, stranger, as if you were easy afeard.

TRAMP {Speaking mournfully.} Is it myself, lady of the house, that does be walking round in the long nights, and crossing the hills when the fog is on them, the time a little stick would seem as big as your arm, and a rabbit as big as a bay horse, and a stack of turf as big as a towering church in the city of Dublin? If myself was easily afeard, I'm telling you, it's long ago I'ld have been locked into the Richmond Asylum, or maybe have run up into the back hills with nothing on me but an old shirt, and been eaten with crows the like of Patch Darcy—the Lord have mercy on him—in the year that's gone.

NORA {With interest.} You knew Darcy?

TRAMP Wasn't I the last one heard his living voice in the whole world?

NORA There were great stories of what was heard at that time, but would any one believe the things they do be saying in the glen?

TRAMP It was no lie, lady of the house.... I was passing below on a dark night the like of this night, and the sheep were lying under the ditch and every one of them coughing, and choking, like an old man, with the great rain and the