CHAPTER IV 



THE ADVENTURE AT THE CASTLE 



" Porter, porter, does this train stop at TuUagh? " 



"You're in the wrong train, mum; this train 

 stops nowhere; this is the ixpress all the way 

 to Cloyne — out you get, for we want to be goin' 

 on. Right, Larry." 



Miss Grimshaw, dusty and tired, seated in the 

 corner of a first-class carriage, heard the foregoing 

 dialogue and smiled. 



It came to her with a puff of gorse-scented air 

 through the open window of the railway carriage. 



" Now," said Miss Grimshaw to herself, " I 

 really beheve I am in Ireland." 



Up to this at Kingstown, in her passage through 

 Dubhn, and during the long, dusty, dull journey 

 that followed, she had come across nothing 

 especially national. It is not in the grooves of 

 travel that you come across the spirit of Ireland. 



Davy Stevens selhng his newspapers on the 

 Carhsle pier at Kingstown had struck her fancy, 

 but nothing followed him up. The jarvey who 

 drove her from station to station in Dubhn was 

 surly, and so speechless that he might have been 



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