“It’s terrible--terrible,” 47’s wife went on. “There is no one to talk to about the risks. My husband won’t talk. He thinks it’s bad for me. But it’s driving everything in, it’s strangling me. I can’t sleep. I’m always afraid. Sometimes I hear noises and footsteps, I am afraid of the noises; sometimes there is silence, I am afraid of the silence. People come to see me. I laugh and talk, and try to show I am listening, and really every sound outside is more important to me. Even up here I can hear the front door bell ring. I haven’t felt so bad this afternoon because I’m alone, and if they called it wouldn’t matter.” “You’re safe in this house for a time, anyway,” Himself declared. “Sinn Fein isn’t going to repeat the dose just yet. Every one is lying pretty low. No one wants to come into the limelight.” “I realise all that in the day; but at night it’s so different.” “Night’s really the safe time,” said Himself. “I should think it’s not much of a job trying to get about during curfew.” She laughed shakily. “My husband has said all that before. I know I’m a coward; but I shall be better if we have the gun. I’m thinking, thinking what we’ll do if they come--all night long I’m thinking. We’ve only one heavy stick, which I hang on the end of the bed. I’ve planned it out. When they knock at the door, my husband will open it, and as the first man comes in I will throw the water jug at him, and my husband will hit his wrist with the stick. He may drop his gun, and we can get hold of it. My husband says assassins bore him, and won’t talk about it, and so I have to keep my feelings to myself, and they are going in--in all the time.” “Talk to us now,” I said. “I’ll put on the kettle,” she answered, getting up. “It won’t take long boiling. What’s that?” I had heard nothing. She leaned out of the window. “Well?” “There’s a car,” she said slowly. “It looks like a Government car. There are five or six men.” I looked out. “I know that front man,” I cried. “He lives near us. We met him at the Shelbourne once.” I beckoned to Himself to look. “I know him,” she admitted. “What does he want? He would never be sent here with a message. We told him to keep away.” The men descended from the car and came into the house. “He’ll bring in every Sinn Feiner in Dublin at his heels,” I suggested. “My dear, he’s not important enough, though he thinks so himself.” In a minute there was the sound of single footsteps coming up the stairs. “He’s alone, anyway.” The next moment the man of the beautiful waistcoats and socks came into the room. He was subtly changed. His hair was less sleek, his clothes were not so well brushed, and the silk handkerchief, which he used to beat his brow and mouth, had got crumpled. “Oh, my God!” he exclaimed, as he appeared. “What a lot of stairs!” He saw us, hesitated, and said to 47’s wife, “How’s our friend?” “He’s all right,” she answered coldly.