hy
shouldn't you know, Miss Bawn, my lamb? There's some for Master Luke and
there's some against him, but I'm for him whatever story was the true
one."

"So should I be, Maureen," said I. "I remember how he carried me round
the stables and to the kennels on his shoulder, and how he brought me in
to see Bridget Kinsella, the huntsman's wife, and she gave me bread and
brown sugar with cream over it. And when we were coming back it was
cold, and Uncle Luke carried me inside his coat."

"Aye," said Maureen, "he was ever softhearted. A bit wild, but not more
so than became his station. And if Miss Champion had been kinder with
him the trouble need never have happened."

I had often noticed a curious hostility in Maureen towards Miss
Champion, and had wondered at it, since she was so devoted to us all.

"She tell the story, indeed!" she went on with bitterness. "If she tells
it she'd better keep back nothing. Why did she send him to get
consolation from other ladies? He was always true-hearted from a child.
And if Miss Cardew had a fancy for him, who should blame her?"

Now, I had heard dimly of Miss Cardew who was an heiress, and of how Sir
Jasper Tuite had tried to abduct her, but somehow I had never heard the
whole of the story. People had dropped talking about it as soon as they
had discovered my presence. And I had had no idea at all that it had to
do with Uncle Luke.

CHAPTER VI

ONE SIDE OF A STORY

"Tell me now, Maureen," I said, "since you have told me so much. It was
Sir Jasper Tuite, was it not, that waylaid Miss Cardew on her way from
Kilmany Church, and was killed in the struggle? And what had Uncle Luke
to do with it?"

"Ah, that is what only he himself could tell. For the poor young lady,
who was never over-strong, went clean out of her wits afterwards: and to
be sure Sir Jasper Tuite was dead and cold when they found him. The
horses that drew the carriage had taken flight and galloped off home
with Miss Cardew, and her cowardly coachman had run away and never came
back till the whole thing was over. Miss Cardew, poor thing, never could
tell what happened, rightly. And Sir Jasper, if he _was_ dead, he hadn't
died of the pistol-shot, but of an old trouble of the heart. The bullet
was in the fleshy part of his shoulder, and the doctors would have got
it out as easy as possible. And, sure, if he'd lived he'd have been sent
to prison. It used to be life for runnin' away with a lady against her
w