“Oh, she walked,” said the widow, interrupting him; “she walked, quiet and asy, out of your door, and into mine. But that’s a lie, for it was out of her own. She didn’t come through the kay-hole, nor yet out of the window.” “I’m saying nothing about how she came here, but here she is, poor creature!” “Poor crature, indeed! She was like to be a poor crature, av’ she stayed up there much longer.” “Here she is, I say, and I consider it my duty to look after her. You cannot but be aware, Mrs Kelly, that this is not a fit place for Miss Lynch. You must be aware that a road-side public-house, however decent, or a village shop, however respectable, is not the proper place for my sister; and, though I may not yet be legally her guardian, I am her brother, and am in charge of her property, and I insist on seeing her. It will be at your peril if you prevent me.” “Have you done, now, Misther Barry?” “That’s what I’ve got to say; and I think you’ve sense enough to see the folly—not to speak of the danger, of preventing me from seeing my sister.” “That’s your say, Misther Lynch; and now, listen to mine. Av’ Miss Anty was wishing to see you, you’d be welcome upstairs, for her sake; but she ain’t, so there’s an end of that; for not a foot will you put inside this, unless you’re intending to force your way, and I don’t think you’ll be for trying that. And as to bearing the danger, why, I’ll do my best; and, for all the harm you’re likely to do me—that’s by fair manes,—I don’t think I’ll be axing any one to help me out of it. So, good bye t’ ye, av’ you’ve no further commands, for I didn’t yet well finish the bit I was ating.” “And you mean to say, Mrs Kelly, you’ll take upon yourself to prevent my seeing my sister?” “Indeed I do; unless she was wishing it, as well as yourself; and no mistake.” “And you’ll do that, knowing, as you do, that the unfortunate young woman is of weak mind, and unable to judge for herself, and that I’m her brother, and her only living relative and guardian?”