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"Oh, indeed!" says Mona; and then, with downcast eyes, "but I don't know, because you never told me before." "An' what brought him home, the murdherin' scamp," says Miss Bridget, with more vehemence than politeness, "instid of stayin' wid ye to see ye came to no harm?" That sinks again to silence..

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She turns slowly, and finds her fellow-pedestrian is a young man clad in a suit of very impossible tweed: she blushes hotly, not because he is a young man, but because she has no hat on her head, having covered her somewhat riotous hair with a crimson silk handkerchief she had found in Geoffrey's room, just before starting. It covers her head completely, and is tied under the chin Connemara fashion, letting only a few little love-locks be seen, that roam across her forehead, in spite of all injunctions to the contrary. She makes him no answer. She is distraite and silent all the morning, taking small notice of what goes on around her. Geoffrey, perplexed too, in spirit, wanders vaguely from pillar to post, unable to settle to anything,—bound by Mona to betray no hint of what happened in the library some hours ago, yet dying to reveal the secret of the panel-cupboard to somebody. "I am staying at a shooting-lodge called Coolnagurtheen. Do you know where that is.".