The landlady looked inquiringly at the driver, and then, as if correcting her impression, said: "Oh, the major? That makes no difference. Those things shall not come in! Besides, it isn't at all certain that he is." "Not certain? How can you dare?" "He says so himself." "Then he's out of his mind," said Mrs. Magill, calmly. "He was," replied Mrs. Douce. "I won't converse with you," said Mrs. Magill. "Then please order your man not to bring in those things." But Mrs. Magill refusing, "_I_ will tell him," announced Mrs. Douce, stepping out to do so. Mrs. Magill, with great presence of mind, instantly shut the spring-lock door and began to walk up-stairs. There was a furious rattling at the door-handle, from the outside, followed by violent ringing. But no one came to open, until the widow had gained the first landing. Mrs. Douce, being admitted at last, swiftly mounted after her. It was a fearful chase; but there was no way of heading off the intruder now. They went up another flight. But Mrs. Douce over-reached her opponent by calling out, in a loud voice: "You can't see him, Mrs. Magill! _Mrs. Magill!_ Mrs. Magill!" Immediately after this they heard the lock working in Barrington's door. The major was safe in his intrenchments. Nothing daunted, however, Mrs. Magill strode forward and knocked. There was no answer except a slight cough, probably caused by the officer's sudden exertion in locking his door. "Major," said the widow, in a gentle tone, "do you hear me?" Echoless silence received her words. She began again, with a considerably increased alertness of voice: "Major! Are you engaged or not?" "Very much so," answered Zadoc from within, and with a startlingly robust and comfortable voice for an invalid. "I mean, to me," explained Mrs. Magill, with annoyance. "Mrs. Douce, here, has the face to declare that you are not. I wish the question answered in her presence. Are you engaged to be married?" "I am sorry not to be able to open the door," responded the evasive Barrington. "It fatigues me to talk in this way, so I hope you'll be satisfied with my answering this one question." "Well," said the widow, more affably, "say you are--" "I _are_ engaged to be married," promptly struck in the major, with untimely jocoseness. "_Am_, you mean," Mrs. Magill corrected. But silence had resumed its reign on the other side of the door. "Very well, that will do," she concluded, somewhat as a prose Portia finishing a cross-examination in a modern law-court might have done. She shot upon Mrs. Douce a glance of scorn, saying, "I shall come again to-morrow," and then proudly departed. XIII. But she did not come on the morrow. Barrington sent her a note, which effectually prevented her doing so.