in which was stuck a middogue, or, as it ought to be written, meadoige, and pronounced maddogay.  He wore a kind of cap or barrad, which, as well as his cloak, could, by being turned inside out, instantly change his whole appearance, and mislead his pursuers—­for he was the outlaw.  Such was the startling individual who now approached her, and at whose fierce aspect she trembled—­not less from her knowledge of the natural violence of his character than from a consciousness of her interview with Woodward.

“Well, Granua (Grace),” said he, quickly and with some vehemence, “where have you been?”

“At the well,” she replied; “have you eyes in your head?  Don’t you see my pitcher?”

“I do; but what kept you there so long? and why is your voice tremblin’, as if you wor afeard, or did something wrong?  Why is your face pale, too?—­it’s not often so.”

“The Lord save us, Shawn,” replied Grace, attempting to treat those pointed interrogatories with a jocular spirit, “how can you expect me to answer such a catechize as you’re puttin’ to me at wanst.”

“Answer me, in the mane time,” he replied; “I’ll have no doubling, Granua.”

“Has anything vexed you, Shawn?”

“Chorp an diaoul! tell me why you staid so long at the well”—­and as he spoke his eyes flashed with resentment and suspicion.

“I didn’t stay long at it.”

“I say you did.  What kept you?”

“Why, bekaise I didn’t hurry myself, but took my time.  I was often longer.”

“You were spakin’ to some one at the well.”

“Ah, thin, Shawn, who would I be spakin’ to?”

“Maybe I know—­I believe I do—­but I want now to know whether you’re a liar, as I suspect you to be, or whether you are honest enough to tell the truth.”

“Do you suspect me, then?”

“I do suspect you; or rather I don’t—­bekaise I know the truth.  Answer me—­who were you spakin’ with?”

“Troth,” said she, “I was lookin’ at your sweetheart in the well,” meaning her own shadow, “and was only asking her how she did.”

“You danced with Harry-na-Suil Balor last night?”

“I did; because the gentleman axed me—­and why would I refuse him?”

“You whispered in a corner with him?”

“I did not,” she replied; “how could I when the room was so throng?”

“Ay, betther in a throng room than a thin one; ay, and you promised to meet him at the well to-night; and you kept your word.”

A woman’s courage and determination to persist in falsehood are never so decided and deliberate as when she feels that the suspicion expressed against her is true.  She then gets into heroics and attempts to turn the tables upon her opponent, especially when she knows, as Miss Davoren did on this occasion, that he has nothing but suspicion to support him.  She knew that her lover had been at the bonfire, and that his friends must have seen her dance with Woodward;