n the house but Captain Cardew's
soldier-servant, Terence Murphy, whose old mother lived in Araglin
village. I did not want to meet Terence; and I had an idea, having heard
of the great extent of Brosna--indeed, it was easy to judge of it from
the aspect of the place outside--that I might slip in somewhere and
leave my letter without meeting with him.

So, without going near the hall door, I passed through a little iron
gate in the wall at one end of the house, which I found led to an
overgrown garden.

The grass in the garden was as high as my waist, and here and there a
rose tree, standing up above the tangle, showed a pale autumn rose; and
little old-fashioned chrysanthemum bushes bore their clusters of tawny
and lilac flowers. Beyond, I could see a kitchen garden with the apples
in the boughs, and, standing up in the midst of it, a projecting part
of the house which, to my amazement, was covered with thatch.

I was reassured at the moment by hearing Terence Murphy's voice shouting
at a distance. It must have been at the other side of the house, in the
stable-yard, I judged, and I thought I should be able to deliver my
letter before he could by any possibility reach where I was.

There was a glass door leading from the thatched room into the garden,
and I found that it stood open. I noticed that in front of it the grass
plot had been cleared and there were flowers in the borders. Within I
found a very pretty and comfortable room arranged with unexpected
tidiness. As I looked about me I remembered having heard that Terence
always kept a place in readiness for the return of his master. All the
rest of the place might be in ruin, but this room was pleasant and
home-like.

It had once been a woman's room, I thought, from certain prettinesses,
the blue, rose-wreathed carpet on the floor, the ceiling groined under
its thatch and painted in blue with a crescent moon and stars in gold,
the walls covered with silk set in panels.

But now it was a man's room, with the pleasant litter of a man's
belongings. There was a square writing-table in the window, with a
wooden chair drawn up in front of it. There were many pipes, old and
new, and whips and hunting-crops; and a gun-case standing by the wall
and some crossed weapons on the wall. I saw a pair of spurs in one
corner, and, flung carelessly on the writing-table, as though the owner
might return at any moment, there was a glove.

I took up the glove and kissed it furti