‘An’ I’m not surprised, sir,’ says Denis, drawing himself up and saluting. He is an old soldier. ‘It was most flagrant disobadience. But what can ye do wid a woman, sir? Fegs, nothing—nothing at all. They carries all before thim—even a man’s conscience. When Bridget refused to let her go, what could I do?’ He pauses satisfied, having put the blame upon his particular Eve. ‘Is it yer wish that I tackle Bridget agin, sir?’ ‘No; I shall go down to Curraghcloyne myself to-morrow,’ says Wyndham, getting rid of him with a gesture. He had gone down, had met Susan, had read something in her face that seemed to him (whose senses were very much alive to impressions on the subject) to be studying him—wondering at him. It was with a still more enraged feeling he left her, and went on to the Cottage, where, to his supreme indignation, he found, for the first time on record, the entrance-gate locked. Good heavens! What could be the meaning of this? Were they determined to compromise him in the eyes of the world? When he has rung the bell until it is hopelessly smashed, someone comes to the gate, and without opening it says, in a voice evidently meant to alarm any unwelcome intruder: ‘Who’s there?’ ‘Only the master of this place,’ says Wyndham grimly, who has recognised Mrs. Denis’s handsome brogue even under these new conditions. Indeed, it would be hard to mistake it anywhere; as Fitzgerald, who knows her, says, ‘you could sit on it at any moment without the slightest chance of a breakdown.’ ‘Glory be!’ comes in a muffled tone from Mrs. Denis, and, with tremendous fuss and flurry, she draws the bolt, unlocks the gate, and opens it wide to Wyndham. ‘Oh, yer honour, who’d a’ thought to see yerself this day! Faix, I thought ’twas still in thim haythin countries ye were. Sure, if I’d known I’d have had the gates open to yer honour; and I hope ye’ll forgive me cap, sir—I’ve another wan just ironed, an’——’ ‘Are you preparing for a siege?’ demands Wyndham grimly; ‘or what may be the reason of this “barring out” on your part? Anything threatening on the part of the Land Leaguers or the Home Rulers round here?’ ‘Oh, law, sir! How could ye think o’ sich a thing? It was only that the young lady, sir, was a trifle nervous.’ ‘She will have to take her nerves somewhere else,’ says the barrister. ‘Now, Mrs. Denis, I hear from your husband that it is your fault that this—this distinctly undesirable person is still a resident in my house.’ Mrs. Denis, who has been bowing and scraping up to this, now grows suddenly alert. ‘Arrah, what are ye sayin’ at all?’ says she. ‘D’ye mane to tell me that Denis knew ye were come back, and niver give me tale or todin’s of it?’ ‘That is altogether beside the question. The thing is——’