"I beg your pardon, sir, it isn't a man."

"Nonsense, Sergeant; it can't be a boy."

The Sergeant confessed that it was not a boy. "It's a woman," he said.

"What!!!"

"A woman," the patient officer repeated--"and a young one. She asked
for You."

"Bring her in."

Iris was not the sort of person who waits to be brought in. She walked
in, of her own accord.

VII

"GOOD Heavens!" cried Sir Giles. "Iris! With my cloak on!! With my hat
in her hand!!! Sergeant, there has been some dreadful mistake. This is
my god-daughter--Miss Henley."

"We found her at the milestone, your honour. The young lady and nobody
else."

Sir Giles appealed helplessly to his god-daughter. "What does this
mean?" Instead of answering, she looked at the Sergeant. The Sergeant,
conscious of responsibility, stood his ground and looked at Sir Giles.
His face confessed that the Irish sense of humour was tickled: but he
showed no intention of leaving the room. Sir Giles saw that Iris would
enter into no explanation in the man's presence. "You needn't wait any
longer," he said.

"What am I to do, if you please, with the prisoner?" the Sergeant
inquired.

Sir Giles waived that unnecessary question away with his hand. He was
trebly responsible--as knight, banker, and magistrate into the bargain.
"I will be answerable," he replied, "for producing Miss Henley, if
called upon. Good night."

The Sergeant's sense of duty was satisfied. He made the military
salute. His gallantry added homage to the young lady under the form of
a bow. Then, and then only, he walked with dignity out of the room.

"Now," Sir Giles resumed, "I presume I may expect to receive an
explanation. What does this impropriety mean? What were you doing at
the milestone?"

"I was saving the person who made the appointment with you," Iris said;
"the poor fellow had no ill-will towards you--who had risked everything
to save your nephew's life. Oh, sir, you committed a terrible mistake
when you refused to trust that man!"

Sir Giles had anticipated the appearance of fear, and the reality of
humble apologies. She had answered him indignantly, with a heightened
colour, and with tears in her eyes. His sense of his own social
importance was wounded to the quick. "Who is the man you are speaking
of?" he asked loftily. "And what is your excuse for having gone to the
milestone to save him--hidden under my cloak, disguised in my hat?"

"Don't waste precious time in asking question