les were suggestive of her Amazon brood; she
perceived that one of the horses had been under water, and by the time
she had arrived at her own hall door, with the couple still in close
attendance upon her, anxiety as to the fate of her daughters and
exhaustion from much scourging of the donkey, upon whom the heavy
coquetries of the foxy mare had had a most souring effect, rendered the
poor lady but just capable of asking if Sir Thomas had returned.

"He is, my Lady, but he's just after going down to the farm, and he's
going on to call on the English gentleman that's at Mrs. McKeown's."

"And the young ladies?" gasped Lady Purcell.

The answer suited with her fears. Lady Purcell was not wont to take the
initiative, still less one of her husband's horses, without his
approval; but the thought of the saturated side-saddle lent her
decision, and as soon as a horse and trap could be got ready she set
forth for Drinagh.

It need not for a moment be feared that such experienced campaigners as
the Misses Muriel and Nora Purcell had forgotten that their father had
settled to call upon their temporary host, what time the business of the
morning should be ended, or that they had not arranged a sound scheme
of retirement, but when the news was brought to them that during the
absence of the stable-boy--"to borrow a half score of eggs and a lemon
for pancakes," it was explained--their horses had broken forth from the
cowshed and disappeared, it may be admitted that even their stout hearts
quailed.

"Oh, it will be all right!" the Inspector assured them, with the easy
optimism of the looker-on in domestic tragedy; "your father will see
there was nothing else for you to do."

"That's all jolly fine," returned Nora, "but _I'm_ going out to borrow
Casey's car" (Casey was the butcher), "and I'll just tell old Mary Ann
to keep a sharp look out for Sir Thomas, and give us warning in time."

It is superfluous to this simple tale to narrate the conversation that
befel on the departure of Nora. It was chiefly of a retrospective
character, with disquisitions on such abstractions as the consolations
that sometimes follow on the loss of a wealthy great-aunt, the
difficulties of shaving with a "tennis elbow," the unchanging quality of
certain emotions. This later topic was still under discussion when Nora
burst into the room.

"Here's Sir Thomas!" she panted. "Muriel, fly! There's no time to get
downstairs, but Mary Ann Whooly said we cou