She remembered taking it off when she came home from Buckingham Palace. Mr. Openshaw’s face contracted into hard lines: grew like what it was before he had known his wife and her child. He rang the bell even before his uncle had done speaking. It was answered by the housemaid.

“Mary, was any one here last night while we were away?”

“A man, sir, came to speak to Norah.”

“To speak to Norah! Who was he? How long did he stay?”

“I’m sure I can’t tell, sir. He came—perhaps about nine. I went up to tell Norah in the nursery, and she came down to speak to him. She let him out, sir. She will know who he was, and how long he stayed.”

She waited a moment to be asked any more questions, but she was not, so she went away.

A minute afterwards Openshaw made as though he were going out of the room; but his wife laid her hand on his arm:

“Do not speak to her before the children,” she said, in her low, quiet voice. “I will go up and question her.”

“No! I must speak to her. You must know,” said he, turning to his uncle and aunt, “my missus has an old servant, as faithful as ever woman was, I do believe, as far as love goes—but, at the same time, who does not always speak truth, as even the missus must allow. Now, my notion is, that this Norah of ours has been come over by some good-for-nothin’ chap (for she’s at the time o’ life when they say women pray for husbands—‘any, good Lord, any,’) and has let him into our house, and the chap has made off with your brooch, and m’appen many another thing beside. It’s only saying that Norah is soft-hearted, and does not stick at a white lie—that’s all, missus.”

It was curious to notice how his tone, his eyes, his whole face changed as he spoke to his wife; but he was the resolute man through all. She knew better than to oppose him; so she went upstairs, and told Norah her master wanted to speak to her, and that she would take care of the children in the meanwhile.

Norah rose to go without a word. Her thoughts were these:

“If they tear me to pieces they shall never know through me. He may come—and then just Lord have mercy upon us all: for some of us are dead folk to a certainty. But he shall do it; not me.”

You may fancy, now, her look of determination as she faced her master alone in the dining room; Mr. and Mrs. Chadwick having left the affair in their nephew’s hands, seeing that he took it up with such vehemence.

“Norah! Who was that man that came to my house last night?”

“Man, sir!” As if infinitely; surprised but it was only to gain time.

“Yes; the man whom Mary let in; whom she went upstairs to the nursery to tell you about; whom you came down to speak to; the same chap, I make no doubt, whom you took into the nursery to have your talk out with; whom Ailsie saw, and afterwards dreamed about; thinking, poor wench! she saw him say his prayers, when nothing, I’ll be bound, was farther from his thoughts; who took Mrs. Chadwick’s brooch, value ten pounds. Now, Norah! Don’t go off! I am as sure as that my name’s Thomas Openshaw, that you knew nothing of this robbery. But I do think you’ve been imposed on, and that’s the truth. Some good-for-nothing chap has been making up to you, and you’ve been just like all other women, and have turned a soft place in your heart to him; and he came last night a-lovyering, and you had him up in the nursery, and he made use of his opportunities, and made off with a few things on his way down! Come, now, Norah: it’s no blame to you, only you must not be such a fool again. Tell us,” he continued, “what name he gave you, Norah? I’ll be bound it was not the right one; but it will be a clue for the police.”

Norah drew herself up. “You may ask that question, and taunt me with my being single, and with my credulity, as you will, Master Openshaw. You’ll get no answer from me. As for the brooch, and the story of theft and burglary; if any friend ever came to see me (which I defy you to prove, and deny), he’d be just as much above doing such a thing as you yourself, Mr. Openshaw, and more so, too; for I’m not at all sure as everything you have is rightly come by, or would be yours long, if every man had his own.” She meant, of course, his wife; but he understood her to refer to his property in goods and chattels.

“Now, my good woman,” said he, “I’ll just tell you truly, I never trusted you out and out; but my wife liked you, and I thought you had many a good point about you. If you once begin to sauce me, I’ll have the police to you, and get out the truth in a court of justice, if you’ll not tell it me quietly and civilly here. Now the best thing you can do is quietly to tell me who the fellow is. Look here! a man comes to my house; asks for you; you take him upstairs, a valuable brooch is missing next day; we know that you, and Mary, and cook, are honest; but you refuse to tell us who the man is. Indeed you’ve told one lie already about him, saying no one was here last night. Now I just put it to you, what do you think a policeman would say to this, or a magistrate? A magistrate would soon make you tell the truth, my good woman.”

“There’s never the creature born that should get it out of me,” said Norah. “Not unless I choose to tell.”

“I’ve a great mind to see,” said Mr.