brought to her the smell of burning, recalling Burke's words? She
found herself shivering violently as she went to her own room for
matches.

It was while she was here that there came to her above the roar of
the wind a sudden sound that made her start and listen. Someone
was knocking violently, almost battering, at the door that led into
the passage.

Her heart gave a wild leap within her. Somehow--she knew not
wherefore--her thoughts went to Kieff. She had a curiously strong
feeling that he was, if not actually at the door, not far away.
Then, even while she stood with caught breath listening, the door
burst open and a blast of wind and sand came hurling into the
house. It banged shut again instantly, and there followed a
tramping of feet as if a herd of cattle had entered. Then there
came a voice.

"Damnation!" it said, with vigour. "Damnation! It's a hell of a
country, and myself was the benighted fool ever to come near it at
all. Whist to it now! Anyone would think the devil himself was
trying for admittance."

Very strangely that voice reassured Sylvia though she had never
heard it before in her life. It did more; it sent such a rush of
relief through her that she nearly laughed aloud.

She groped her way out into the passage, feeling as if a great
weight had been lifted from her. "Come in, whoever you are!" she
said. "It is rather infernal certainly. I'll light a candle in a
moment--as soon as I can find some matches."

She saw a dim, broad figure standing in front of her and heard a
long, soft whistle of dismay.

"I beg your pardon, madam," said the voice that had spoken such
hearty invective a few seconds before. "Sure, I had no idea I was
overheard. And I hope that I'll not have prejudiced you at all
with the violence of me language. But it's in the air of the
country, so to speak. And we all come to it in time. If it's a
match that you're wanting, I've got one in my pocket this minute
which I'll hand over with all the good will in the world if you'll
do me the favour to wait."

Sylvia waited. She knew the sort of face that went with that
voice, and it did not surprise her when the red Irish visage and
sandy brows beamed upon her above the flickering candle. The laugh
she had repressed a moment before rose to her lips. There was
something so comic in this man's appearance just when she had been
strung up for tragedy.

He looked at her with the eyes of a child, smiling good-