“You will not,” said Norah, starting forwards.  “You shall not, sir!  No policeman shall touch me.  I know nothing of the brooch, but I know this:  ever since I was four-and-twenty I have thought more of your wife than of myself:  ever since I saw her, a poor motherless girl put upon in her uncle’s house, I have thought more of serving her than of serving myself!  I have cared for her and her child, as nobody ever cared for me.  I don’t cast blame on you, sir, but I say it’s ill giving up one’s life to any one; for, at the end, they will turn round upon you, and forsake you.  Why does not my missus come herself to suspect me?  Maybe she is gone for the police?  But I don’t stay here, either for police, or magistrate, or master.  You’re an unlucky lot.  I believe there’s a curse on you.  I’ll leave you this very day.  Yes!  I leave that poor Ailsie, too.  I will!  No good will ever come to you!”

Mr. Openshaw was utterly astonished at this speech; most of which was completely unintelligible to him, as may easily be supposed.  Before he could make up his mind what to say, or what to do, Norah had left the room.  I do not think he had ever really intended to send for the police to this old servant of his wife’s; for he had never for a moment doubted her perfect honesty.  But he had intended to compel her to tell him who the man was, and in this he was baffled.  He was, consequently, much irritated.  He returned to his uncle and aunt in a state of great annoyance and perplexity, and told them he could get nothing out of the woman; that some man had been in the house the night before; but that she refused to tell who he was.  At this moment his wife came in, greatly agitated, and asked what had happened to Norah; for that she had put on her things in passionate haste, and had left the house.

“This looks suspicious,” said Mr. Chadwick.  “It is not the way in which an honest person would have acted.”

Mr. Openshaw kept silence.  He was sorely perplexed.  But Mrs. Openshaw turned round on Mr. Chadwick with a sudden fierceness no one ever saw in her before.

“You don’t know Norah, uncle!  She is gone because she is deeply hurt at being suspected.  O, I wish I had seen her—­that I had spoken to her myself.  She would have told me anything.”  Alice wrung her hands.

“I must confess,” continued Mr. Chadwick to his nephew, in a lower voice, “I can’t make you out.  You used to be a word and a blow, and oftenest the blow first; and now, when there is every cause for suspicion, you just do nought.  Your missus is a very good woman, I grant; but she may have been put upon as well as other folk, I suppose.  If you don’t send for the police, I shall.”

“Very well,” replied Mr. Openshaw, surlily.  “I can’t clear Norah.  She won’t clear herself, as I believe she might if she would.  Only I wash my hands of it; for I am sure the woman herself is honest, and she’s lived a long time with my wife, and I don’t like her to come to shame.”