Roseen was silent for a moment, apparently battling with herself, and at last she said in a very shaky voice: 

“It’s a poor case if it’s me that’s bringin’ this throuble on them all.  Grandfather, if—­if I was to give ye me word that I wouldn’t spake to Mike in the way of courtin’ agin—­”

“Wisha!” cried Peter sarcastically, “much good that would do.  I know the way ye would keep your promise, me lady; no, no, I’ll make sure of this job.”

“Oh, grandfather!  I’ll promise, I promise faithful never so much as to look at Mike!”

But Peter was inexorable; he had been wounded in his tenderest point, bearded by these two impudent young people—­set at nought.  His pride, moreover, could not brook the proximity of the audacious youth who had dared to aspire to the hand of his granddaughter, and of the parents who had, as he had been reminded that day, ventured to befriend her when he himself had cast her off.

He felt that he must be rid of them without delay.  Poor Roseen crept upstairs and sat disconsolately at the window, watching the corner of the haggard where she expected before long to see Mike appear.  It had been the custom of the young pair to meet for a few moments every evening, under the shadow of the big hayrick and there converse before Mike returned home.  He would surely come, if only to say good-bye.  Poor fellow, what would he do?  Whither would he go?  Big tears rolled down Roseen’s cheeks as she thought of his desperate plight.

As she sat watching and waiting—­for she dared not venture out too soon lest her grandfather’s suspicions should be aroused—­a sudden rattling and fumbling at the lock of her own door made her turn round.  The door was opened for a moment, a lean hand thrust into the room, the key which had been on the inner side was withdrawn suddenly; then the door quickly closed again, and before Roseen thoroughly realised what had happened, old Peter locked her in.

“Good night, me dear!” he cried ironically through the keyhole; “I think it’s as well for ye to stay quiet this evenin’ an’ not be takin’ any more walks, or tirin’ or excitin’ yourself.  Pleasant dreams, dear.”

Down the stairs he went, chuckling to himself and leaving the girl furious.  She banged at the door with all her might and main, but the lock held fast and no one came to her rescue; then she rushed to the window and threw it open; but the distance from the ground was too great for even a desperate maiden to jump, and she wrung her hands frantically.  Mike would think she had given him up; he would fancy her grandfather had got round her, and that she had deserted him in his humiliation and distress.  Was there nobody who would help her, no one by whom she could convey at least a message?

As if in answer to her agonised prayer, certain shuffling steps were presently heard below, and old Judy’s white sunbonnet appeared round the corner of the house.  Roseen clapped her hands:  here was one who would do her bidding, a faithful hench-woman who could be trusted to carry out her orders in defiance of old Peter’s commands.