At this my grandmother looked alarmed, and said something under her
breath of which I caught but a name or two, my Uncle Luke's and
Theobald's.

From whatever my grandmother had said Miss Champion seemed to dissent
even violently.

"It is all forgotten," she said, "and if any remembered it they would
take my view of it and not yours. He should have stayed and faced it
out. No jury would have brought in a worse verdict than manslaughter,
and if it had been tried outside Dublin, in Irish Ireland, no jury would
have convicted at all. I know the people adore Luke's memory because he
struck that blow in defence of a woman. Why will you behave as though
you held him guilty, Lady St. Leger?"

She gained heat as she proceeded, and although she spoke hastily, and
hardly above her breath I heard every word.

It was not the first indication I had had that my Uncle Luke's
disappearance was connected somehow with a deed of violence, although
the details had never been told to me. Now I spoke up.

"I am sure that Uncle Luke did nothing we need be ashamed of, Gran," I
said. "I remember him well, and he was very kind. I can see him now
putting my canary's little leg in splints when it had broken it, and the
dogs adored him. Old Dido yet listens for his return."

My grandmother began to weep softly.

"I did not want Bawn to know anything about those dreadful happenings,