Old Dan tugs the abbot by the sleeve, and whispers something in his ear.
ABBOT--Dan is asking me to pray for those who perished at sea.
The women exclaim in plaintive chorus: "For those who perished at sea! For those who died at sea!" Some of them kneel.

The abbot looks tenderly at their bowed heads, exhausted with waiting and fear, and says: "No priest should pray for those who died at sea--these women should pray.

Make it so, O Lord, that they should not weep so much!" Silence.

The incoming tide roars more loudly--the ocean is carrying to the earth its noise, its secrets, its bitter, briny taste of unexplored depths.
Soft voices say: "The sea is coming." "High tide has started." "The sea is coming." Mariet kisses her father's hand.
"Woman!" says the priest tenderly.

"Listen, Gart, isn't it strange that this--a woman"-- he strokes his daughter tenderly with his finger on her pure forehead--"should be born of me, a man ?" Haggart smiles.
"And is it not strange that this should have become a wife to me, a man ?" He embraces Mariet, bending her frail shoulders.
"Let us go to eat, Gart, my son.