No Defense | Page 4

of
weakness, had stumbled on the road, and, in falling, had struck his head
on a stone and had lost consciousness. He was an old peasant of the
usual Irish type, coarsely but cleanly dressed. Lying beside him was a
leather bag, within which were odds and ends of food and some small
books of legend and ritual. He was a peasant of a superior class,
however.
In falling, he had thrown over on his back, and his haggard face was
exposed to the sun and sky. At sight of him Dyck and Sheila ran
forward. Dyck dropped on one knee and placed a hand on the stricken
man's heart.
"He's alive, all right," Dyck said. "He's a figure in these parts. His
name's Christopher Dogan."
"Where does he live?"
"Live? Well, not three hundred yards from here, when he's at home, but
he's generally on the go. He's what the American Indians would call a

medicine-man."
"He needs his own medicine now."
"He's over eighty, and he must have gone dizzy, stumbled, fallen, and
struck a stone. There's the mark on his temple. He's been lying here
unconscious ever since; but his pulse is all right, and we'll soon have
him fit again."
So saying, Dyck whipped out a horn containing spirit, and, while Sheila
lifted the injured head, he bathed the old man's face with the spirit, then
opened the mouth and let some liquor trickle down.
"He's the cleanest peasant I ever saw," remarked Sheila; "and he's
coming to. Look at him!"
Yes, he was coming to. There was a slight tremor of the eyelids, and
presently they slowly opened. They were eyes of remarkable poignancy
and brightness--black, deep-set, direct, full of native intelligence. For
an instant they stared as if they had no knowledge, then understanding
came to them.
"Oh, it's you, sir," his voice said tremblingly, looking at Dyck. "And
very kind it is of ye !" Then he looked at Sheila. "I don't know ye," he
said whisperingly, for his voice seemed suddenly to fail. "I don't know
ye," he repeated, "but you look all right."
"Well, I'm Sheila Llyn," the girl said, taking her hand from the old
man's shoulder.
"I'm Sheila Llyn, and I'm all right in a way, perhaps."
The troubled, piercing eyes glanced from one to the other.
"No relation?"
"No--never met till a half-hour ago," remarked Dyck.
The old man drew himself to a sitting posture, then swayed slightly.

The hands of the girl and Dyck went out behind his back. As they
touched his back, their fingers met, and Dyck's covered the girl's. Their
eyes met, too, and the story told by Dyck in that moment was the
beginning of a lifetime of experience, comedy, and tragedy.
He thought her fingers were wonderfully soft, warm, and full of life;
and she thought that his was the hand of a master-of a master in the
field of human effort. That is, if she thought at all, for Dyck's warm,
powerful touch almost hypnotized her.
The old peasant understood, however. He was standing on his feet now.
He was pale and uncertain. He lifted up his bag, and threw it over his
shoulder.
"Well, I'm not needing you any more, thank God!" he said.
"So Heaven's blessing on ye, and I bid ye good-bye. You've been kind
to me, and I won't forget either of ye. If ever I can do ye a good turn,
I'll do it."
"No, we're not going to leave you until you're inside your home," said
Dyck.
The old man looked at Sheila in meditation. He knew her name and her
history. Behind the girl's life was a long prospect of mystery. Llyn was
her mother's maiden name. Sheila had never known her father. Never to
her knowledge had she seen him, because when she was yet an infant
her mother had divorced him by Act of Parliament, against the wishes
of her church, and had resumed her maiden name.
Sheila's father's name was Erris Boyne, and he had been debauched,
drunken, and faithless; so at a time of unendurable hurt his wife had
freed herself. Then, under her maiden name, she had brought up her
daughter without any knowledge of her father; had made her believe he
was dead; had hidden her tragedy with a skilful hand.
Only now, when Sheila was released from a governess, had she moved
out of the little wild area of the County Limerick where she lived; only

now had she come to visit an uncle whose hospitality she had for so
many years denied herself. Sheila was two years old when her father
disappeared, and fifteen years had gone since then.
One on either side of the old man, they went with him up the hillside
for about three hundred yards,