Timmy. The Saint’s come to marry the two of us, and I’m after speaking a word for yourselves, the way he’ll be curing you now; for if you’re a foolish man itself, I do be pitying you, for I’ve a kind heart, when I think of you sitting dark again, and you after seeing a while, and working for your bread.

Martin Doul takes Mary Doul’s hand and tries to grope his way off right; he has lost his hat, and they are both covered with dust and grass seeds.

People. You’re going wrong. It’s this way, Martin Doul.

They push him over in front of the Saint, near centre. Martin Doul and Mary Doul stand with piteous hang-dog dejection.

Saint. Let you not be afeard, for there’s great pity with the Lord.

Martin Doul. We aren’t afeard, holy father.

Saint. It’s many a time those that are cured with the well of the four beauties of God lose their sight when a time is gone, but those I cure a second time go on seeing till the hour of death. (He takes the cover from his can.) I’ve a few drops only left of the water, but, with the help of God, it’ll be enough for the two of you, and let you kneel down now upon the road.

Martin Doul wheels round with Mary Doul and tries to get away.

Saint. You can kneel down here, I’m saying, we’ll not trouble this time going to the church.

Timmy (turning Martin Doul round, angrily). Are you going mad in your head, Martin Doul? It’s here you’re to kneel. Did you not hear his reverence, and he speaking to you now?

Saint. Kneel down, I’m saying, the ground’s dry at your feet.

Martin Doul (with distress). Let you go on your own way, holy father. We’re not calling you at all.

Saint. I’m not saying a word of penance, or fasting itself, for I’m thinking the Lord has brought you great teaching in the blinding of your eyes; so you’ve no call now to be fearing me, but let you kneel down till I give you your sight.

Martin Doul (more troubled). We’re not asking our sight, holy father, and let you walk on your own way, and be fasting, or praying, or doing anything that you will, but leave us here in our peace, at the crossing of the roads, for it’s best we are this way, and we’re not asking to see.

Saint (to the People). Is his mind gone that he’s no wish to be cured this day, or to be living or working, or looking on the wonders of the world?

Martin Doul. It’s wonders enough I seen in a short space for the life of one man only.

Saint (severely). I never heard tell of any person wouldn’t have great joy to be looking on the earth, and the image of the Lord thrown upon men.

Martin Doul (raising his voice). Them is great sights, holy father.… What was it I seen when I first opened my eyes but your own bleeding feet, and they cut with the stones? That was a great sight, maybe, of the image of God.… And what was it I seen my last day but the villainy of hell looking out from the eyes of the girl you’re coming to marry—the Lord forgive you—with Timmy the smith. That was a great sight, maybe. And wasn’t it great sights I seen on the roads when the north winds would be driving, and the skies would be harsh, till you’d see the horses and the asses, and the dogs itself, maybe, with their heads hanging, and they closing their eyes——