Agnes:  I did not.  I heard only one sound the length of the evening.

Donagh:  What sound was that, Agnes?

Agnes:  I heard nothing only the singing of one song, a lovely song, all about Donagh Ford!

Donagh:  About me?

Agnes:  Yes, indeed.  It was no bird and no voice, but the singing I heard of my own heart.

Donagh:  That was a good song to hear, Agnes.  It is like a thought that would often stir in a man’s mind and find no word to suit it.  It is often that I thought that way of you and could speak no word.

Agnes:  All the same I think I would have an understanding for it, Donagh.

Donagh:  Ah, Agnes, that is just it.  That is what gives me the great comfort in your company.  We have a great understanding of each other surely.

Hugh (speaking outside):  This is the way, Mrs. Ford.  They are waiting for you within. (He comes in.) Donagh, here is your mother. (Mrs. Ford, leaning on a stick, comes to the door, standing on the threshold for a little.  Hugh and Donagh take off their hats reverently.)

Mrs. Ford:  And is that you, Donagh.  Well, if it is not the fine high house you got for Agnes.  Eh, pet?

Agnes (taking shawl from her):  It is your own house Donagh has taken you back to.

Hugh:  Did you not hear the people giving you a welcome, Mrs. Ford?

Donagh:  Don’t you remember the house, mother?

Mrs. Ford:  I have a memory of many a thing, God help me.  And I heard the people cheering.  I thought maybe it was some strife was going on in Carrabane.  It was always a place of one struggle or another. (She looks helplessly about house, muttering as she hobbles to the bin.  She raises the lid.) Won’t you take out a measure of oats to the mare, Donagh?  And they have mislaid the scoop again.  I’m tired telling them not to be leaving it in the barn.  Where is that Martin Driscoll and what way is he doing his business at all? (She turns to close the bin.)

Hugh (to Donagh):  Who is Martin Driscoll?

Donagh:  A boy who was here long ago.  I heard a story of him and a flight with a girl.  He lies in a grave in Australia long years.

Mrs. Ford (moving from bin, her eyes catching the dresser):  Who put the dresser there?  Was it by my orders?  That is a place where it will come awkward to me.

Agnes (going to her):  Sit down and rest yourself.  You are fatigued after making the journey.

Mrs. Ford (as they cross to fire):  Wait until I lay eyes on Martin Driscoll and on Delia Morrissey of the cross!  I tell you I will regulate them.

Donagh (to Hugh):  Delia Morrissey—­that is the name of the girl I spoke of.  She was lost on the voyage, a girl of great beauty.

Agnes (to Mrs. Ford):  Did you take no stock of the people as you came on the car?