Steve.  And there came a fearsome thought, too, Annie, as you might go the same way through not getting on comfortable with me, and me being so much older nor you, and such-like.  Annie, I couldn’t bear for it to happen so, I could not.  For I holds to having you aside of me always stronger nor I holds to anything else in the world, and I could not stand it if ’twas as I should lose you.

Annie.  There’s nothing in the world as could make you lose me, Steve.  For, look you here, I don’t think as there’s a woman on the earth what’s got such a feeling as is in my heart this night, of quiet, Steve, and of gladness, because that you and me is to be wed and to live aside of one another till death do part us.

Steve.  Them be good words, Annie, and no mistake.

Annie.  And what you feels about the days gone by don’t count, Steve, ’cause they bain’t true of you.  You was always a kind husband, and from what I’ve hear-ed folks say, she was one as wasn’t never suited to neither you nor yours.

Steve.  Poor soul, she be dead and gone now, and what I thinks one way or t’other can’t do she no good.  Only ’tis upon me as I could take you to-morrow more glad-like, Annie, if so be as I had been kinder to she, the time her was here.

Annie.  Do you go off to bed, Steve, you’re regular done up, and that’s what ’tis.  I never hear-ed you take on like this afore.

Steve.  All right, my dear, don’t you mind what I’ve been saying.  Very like ’tis a bit unnerved as I be this night.  But ’tis a good thought, bain’t it, Annie, that come to-morrow at this time, there won’t be no more need for us to part?

Annie. [As he opens the door.] O, ’tis dark outside!

[They both leave the cottage.  May throws back her shawl as though stifled.  She gets up and first stands bending over Vashti.  Seeing that she is still sleeping heavily, she goes to the door, opens it gently and looks out.  After a moment she closes it and walks about the kitchen, examining everything with a fierce curiosity.  She takes up the shawl Dorry has been wearing, looks at it hesitatingly, and then clasps it passionately to her face.  Hearing steps outside she flings it down again on the chair and returns to the settle, where she sits huddled in the corner, having wrapped herself again in her shawl, only her eyes looking out unquietly from it.  Steve re-enters.  He bolts the door, then goes up to the table in front of the fire to put out the lamp.

Steve.  Can I get you an old sack or summat for to cover you up a bit this cold night?

[May looks at him for a moment and then shakes her head.

Steve.  All right.  You can just bide where you be on the settle.  ’Tis warmer within nor upon the road to-night, and I’ll come and let you out when ’tis morning.