'Bless the pigs, meejor! is it you?' she cried, throwing down her scissors. 'Ye've called to ask after my arm? It's mighty kind! The ruffin gave my poor hand a terrible wrench, and sprains are slow to cure. The bleeding's stopped this long while, but the docthor's eating the sowl out of me. I go to be bandaged three times a week. It's not your boys, meejor, that would outrage a leedy so!' Major Sirr was disconcerted, and began to stammer: 'Glad ye're better, madam--hugely glad! I would not for the world do anything disagreeable to a lady--but business is business, isn't it?' 'What's up?' cried the amazed little woman. 'I'm here, I regret to say, on painful business. May we come inside? Thank you!' 'The meejor's always welcome,' affably returned the other, with one of those superb but ceremonious curtseys wherewith she was wont to electrify the Viceroy. Then, plucking off the kerchief, she whispered audibly to Norah, 'Begorrer, it's rooned we are! To be seen with a square of green silk round mee ould noddle! But the meejor won't tell.' Major Sirr observed with sorrow that the lady was not so cordial as usual. There was an air of suspicious virtue with the ears set back which distressed him, for he was really partial to her, though he loved her claret better. ''Tis with deepest pain----' he was beginning, when she cut him short. 'Give tongue!' she said curtly. 'What ails you?' This was a slap in the face. He was accustomed to be fondled and caressed by those whom it was his painful duty to flay alive. She could not be so hoighty-toighty if afraid. 'You are right,' he returned; 'business is business. I regret to say I must search your house, for I've reason to know that Councillor Crosbie is concealed here. I advise you to produce him, and have done with it.' Oh, Major Sirr! Major Sirr! You should have sent your better-half to cope with Mrs. Gillin. What are a dozen men against one woman, in a battle of wits? What are two dozen men against one woman whose blood is roused, who stands like a tigress 'twixt her whelp and danger? Major Sirr expected her to change colour, to betray at least a quiver of the lip, a tremor of the fingers; then, recovering herself, to deny largely and pour forth claret with effusion. Such signs would have been the sure tokens of guilt, and he would have known how to act accordingly. Instead of this she stabbed him, rather too hard for playfulness, with her scissors, and skipped away laughing with elephantine grace. Then wagging her turban at him (which was wofully awry), she set her hands akimbo on her high waistband, thereby sending her elbows almost to the level of her ears, and remarked with unusual bluntness: