“I’m a lone widow woman,” said Hannah, plaintively, “I canna be letting the likes of ye in and me in my bed. It wouldna be dacent if I did. Where’d my good name be if I did the like and me not know ye?”
A savage kick at the door shook it on its hinges.
“Bide quiet, now,” said Hannah, “and tell me who ye are afore I open to you. Would you have me let robbers intil the house, and the master awa’?”
“We’re men of the Killulta yeomanry, we’re here to search the house by order of Captain Twinely. Open in the King’s name.”
“Why couldn’t ye have tellt me that afore? There isn’t a woman living has as much respect for the King as mysel’. Wait now, wait till I slip on my petticoat. You wouldna have a woman come to the door to you in her shift, would ye?”
There was a long pause—too long for the yeomen outside. Another kick, and then another, shook the door. Hannah went over to it and began to fumble with the bolt.
“I’m afeard,” she said, “that the lock’s hampered.”
“I’ll soon cure that; stand clear of the keyhole till I fire.”
“For the Lord’s sake, man, dinna be shootin’ aff your guns, I canna abide the sound o’ the like. It dizzens me. Dinna be hasty, fair and easy goes far in the day. Who is it you said you were?”
“The yeomen, you deaf old hag.”