Phil sprang upstairs two steps at a time, and dashed into the chamber. Mr. McGuire was lying on the outside of the bed, peacefully smoking a clay pipe.
“What’s the matther?” he asked, repeating his wife’s question.
“They have come for me,” said Phil.
“Have they?” said Pat. “Then they’ll go back, I’m thinkin’. Where are they?”
But there was no need of a reply, as their voices were already audible from below, talking with Mrs. McGuire. The distance was so trifling that they had seen Phil enter the house, and the padrone, having a contempt for the physical powers of woman, followed boldly.
They met Mrs. McGuire at the door.
“What do you want?” she demanded.
“The boy,” said the padrone. “I saw him come in here.”
“Did ye? Your eyes is sharp thin.”
She stood directly in the passage, so that neither could enter without brushing her aside.