"You won't forget, girls," said Lady Kathleen the next morning when breakfast was over, "that Patrick and Gerald are coming to stay here to-day?"

"Hurrah!" said Bridget; "we'll have some shooting and fishing then."

"You can't shoot at this time of year," said the squire.

"I don't mean to shoot game, father," she replied. "I want to learn proper rifle shooting. What do you say, Janet; wouldn't you like to handle firearms?"

Janet hesitated for a moment; she saw disapproval on Lady Kathleen's face, and took her cue from her.

"I don't think I'm strong enough," she said. "Shooting with firearms seems just the one accomplishment which a girl can't manage; at least, I mean an ordinary girl."

Lady Kathleen clapped her hands.

"Hear to you, Mayflower," she said. "Right you are; I go with you, my dear. Firearms are downright dangerous things; and if I had my will, Biddy should never touch them. Do you hear me, squire?"

"Pooh!" said the squire; "what harm do they do? A girl ought to know how to defend herself. As to the danger, if she uses her common sense there is not any. I grant you that a foolish girl oughtn't to touch firearms; but give me a sensible, strong-hearted colleen, and I'll provide that she handles a gun with the precision and care of the best sportsman in the land. Biddy here can bring down a bird on the wing with any fellow who comes to shoot in the autumn, and I don't suppose there is Biddy's match in the county for womanly graces either."

"You spoil her, Dennis," said Lady Kathleen. "It's well she's been sent to school to learn some of her failings, for she'd never find them out here. Not but that I'm as proud as Punch of her myself. For all that, however, I'd leave out the shooting; and I'm very much obliged to little Mayflower for upholding me."

"You haven't a wrist for a gun," said the squire, glancing at Janet's small hands. "Your vocations lie in another direction. You must favor me with a song some evening. I guess somehow by the look of your face that you are musical."

"I adore music," said Janet with enthusiasm.

"That's right. Can you do the 'Melodies'?"

"The 'Melodies'?"

"Yes; 'She is far from the Land,' and 'The Minstrel Boy,' and 'The Harp that once through Tara's Halls'; but it isn't likely you can touch that. It requires an Irish girl born and bred, with her fingers touching the strings of an Irish harp, and her soul in her eyes, and her heart breaking through the beautiful birdlike voice of her, to give that 'Melody' properly. We'll have it to-night, Biddy, you and I. We'll get the harp brought out on the terrace, and when the moon is up we'll have the dogs lying about, and we'll sing it; you and I."

"Dear, dear, squire," said Lady Kathleen, "if you and Biddy sing 'The Harp that once through Tara's Halls' as you can sing it, you'll give us all the creeps! Why, it seems to be a sort of wail when you two do it. I see the forsaken hall, and the knights, and the chieftains, and the fair ladies! Oh, it's melting, melting! You must provide yourselves with plenty of handkerchiefs, Mayflower and Sophy, if we are going to have that sort of entertainment. But here comes the postbag; I wonder if there's anything for me."

The door of the hall was swung open at the farther end, and a man of about thirty, with bare feet, and dressed in a rough fustian suit, walked up the room, and deposited the thick leather bag by the squire's side.

"Now what did you come in for, Jonas?" he asked. "Weren't any of the other servants about?"

"I couldn't help meself, your honor," said Jonas, pulling his front lock of hair, and looking sheepishly and yet affectionately down the long table. "I was hungering for a sight of Miss Biddy. I hadn't clapped eyes on her sence she came back, and I jest ran foul of them varmints, and made free of the hall. Begging your honor's parding, I hope there's no harm done."

"No, Jonas, not any. Make your bob to Miss Biddy now, and go."

The man bowed low, flashed up two eyes of devotion to the girl's face, and scampered in a shambling kind of way out of the room.

"Good soul, capital soul, that," said the squire, nodding to Janet.

"He seems very devoted," she replied, lowering her eyes to conceal her true feelings.

The squire proceeded to unlock the letter-bag and dispense its contents. Most of the letters were for himself, but there was one thick inclosure for Lady Kathleen.

Janet sprang up to take it to her. As she did so she recognized the handwriting and the postmark. The letter came from Eastcliff, and was from Mrs. Freeman.

Janet felt her heart beat heavily. She felt no doubt whatever that this letter, so thick in substance and so important in appearance, contained an account of poor Biddy's delinquencies.

Lady Kathleen received it, and laid it by her plate.

"Who's your correspondent, Kathleen?" asked the squire, from the other end of the table. It was one of his small weaknesses to be intensely curious about letters.

Lady Kathleen raised the letter and examined the writing.

"It's from Eastcliff," she said, "from Mrs. Freeman; I know by the way she flourishes her t's. The letter is from Mrs. Freeman," she repeated, raising her voice. "A thick letter, with an account, no doubt, of our Biddy's progress."

Bridget, who was standing by her father's side, turned suddenly pale. Her hand, which rested on his shoulder, slightly trembled; a sick fear, which she had thought dead, came over her with renewed force. She had forgotten the possibility of Mrs. Freeman writing an account of her wrong doings to Lady Kathleen. Now she felt a sudden wild terror, something like a bird caught for the first time in the fowler's net.

Squire O'Hara felt her hand tremble. This father and daughter were so truly one that her lightest moods, her most passing emotions were instantly perceived by him.

"You are all in a fuss, colleen," he said, looking back at her; "but if there is a bit of praise in the letter, why shouldn't we hear it? You open it, and read it aloud to us, Kathleen. You'll be glad to hear what my daughter has done at school, Miss Macnamara?"

"Proud, squire, proud," retorted the old lady, cracking the top off another egg as she spoke.

"Please, father, I'd rather the letter wasn't read aloud. I don't think it is all praise," whispered Biddy in his ear.

The Squire's hawk-like face took a troubled glance for a quarter of a minute. He looked into Biddy's eyes and took his cue.

No one else had heard her low, passionate whisper.

"After all," he said, "the colleen has a fair share of womanly modesty, and I for one respect her for it. She can handle a gun with any man among us, but she can't hear herself praised to her face. All right, colleen, you shan't be. We'll keep over the letter for the present, if you please, Kathleen."

"That's as you please, Dennis. For my part, I expect it's just the school bills, and there is no hurry about them. I want to go and speak to Molly Fitzgerald about preserving the late raspberries, so I shan't read the letter at all at present."

She slipped it into her pocket, and, rising from the table, set the example to the others to follow her.

The three girls went out on the terrace. Janet walked by Bridget's side, and Sophy ran on in front.

"I can't believe," said Bridget, looking at Sophy, "that your sister is older than you. She has quite the ways and manners of a very young girl, whereas you——"

"Thank you," said Janet. "I know quite well what you mean, Biddy. I know I'm not young for my age. I needn't pretend when I am with you, Biddy," she continued, speaking with a sudden emphasis; "you wouldn't be young, either, if you had always had to lead my life. I have had to do for myself, and for Sophy, too, since I was ever so little. I have had to plot, and to plan, and contrive. I never had an easy life. Perhaps, if I had had the same chances as other girls, I might have been different."

"I wish you would always talk like that," said Bridget, an expression of real friendliness coming into her face. "If you would always talk as you are doing now—I mean in that true tone—I—I could bear you, Janet."

"Oh, I know what your feelings are well enough," said Janet. "I am not so blind as you imagine. I know you hate having me here, and that if it wasn't for—for something that happened at school you wouldn't tolerate my presence for an hour. But you see something did happen at school; something that you don't want to be known; and you have got to tolerate me; do you hear?"

"You're mistaken in supposing that I would be rude to you now you have come," said Bridget. "I don't think I should have invited you; I didn't invite you. My aunt didn't even tell me that she had done so. She thought we were friends, and that she was giving me a nice surprise when she told me that you were coming."

"I took care that you didn't know," said Janet in a low tone, and with a short little laugh. "You don't suppose Lady Kathleen would have thought of the nice little surprise by herself? It was I who managed everything; the surprise, and the gay jolly time we are to spend at the Castle, and all."

"You are clever," said Bridget, "but I don't think I envy you your kind of cleverness. All the same, now that you are here you are my visitor, and I shall do what I can to give you a good time."

"Thanks," said Janet, "I dare say I can manage that for myself. By the way, did you notice that a letter has come from Eastcliff?"

"From Mrs. Freeman; yes, what of that?"

"There is no good in your saying 'What of that?' so calmly with your lips, Bridget, when your heart is full of the most abject terror. Didn't I see how your face changed color this morning when you saw the letter, and didn't I notice you when you whispered something to your father? You are very, very sorry that letter has come. It would be very terrible to you—very terrible for you, if its contents were known."

Sophy was still flitting on in front. The sunshine was bathing the sloping lawns, and the dark forest trees, and the smooth bosom of Lake Crena. It seemed to Bridget for the first time in her young life that sunshine, even when it fell upon Irish land, was a mockery and a delusion.

"I do not want my father to know," she said, with a break in her voice. "It would kill me if he knew. You see what he is, Janet, the soul of all that is noble and honorable. Oh, it would kill me if he knew what I have done; and I think it would kill him also. O Janet, why did you get me into such an awful scrape?"

"You didn't think it so very awful when you were knowing all your lessons, and getting praise from everyone, and mounting to the head of your class. It seemed all right to you then, and you never blamed me at all; but now that the dark side of the picture comes, and you are in danger of discovery, you see your conduct in a different light. I have no patience with you. You have the appearance of being a very brave girl; in reality you are a coward."

"No one ever said that to me before," said Bridget, clenching her hand, her eyes flashing.

"Well, I say it now; it's very good for the petted, and the courted, and the adored, to listen to unvarnished truths now and then. Oh, so you have come back, Sophy. Yes, those are pretty flowers, but perhaps Miss O'Hara doesn't wish you to pick her flowers."

"Not wish her to pick the flowers," said Bridget, "and she a visitor! What nonsense! Oh, you English don't at all know our Irish ways."

"I think you have quite lovely ways," said Sophy. "I never felt so happy in my life. I never, never was in such a beautiful place, and I never came across such truly kind people."

"Well, run on then," said Janet, "and pick some more of the flowers."

"There's one of those awful jaunting cars coming up the avenue," said Sophy.

"Then the boys have come," exclaimed Bridget. "I must fly to them."

She rushed away, putting wings to her feet, and the two May girls were left standing together. Janet was absorbed in a brown study. Sophy's eager eyes followed the car as it ascended the steep and winding avenue.

"I wonder if we'll have any fun with the boys," she said, "and who are the boys? I hope they are grown up."

"You can make yourself easy on that score," said Janet, "they are only lads—schoolboys. They live on the O'Mahoney estate, about eighteen miles away. Their names are Patrick and Gerald, and I expect they are about as raw and uninteresting as those sort of wild Irish can be. Now, Sophy, do continue your pretty kittenish employment; skip about and pick some more flowers."

"I think I will be kittenish enough to run down the avenue and see what the boys are really like," said Sophy. "I'll soon know whether there is any fun to be got out of them."

She ran off as she spoke, and Janet found herself alone.

She stood still for a minute, irresolute and nervous. The arrival of the letter by that morning's post had given her great uneasiness. She was a young person of very calm judgment and ready resource, but as matters now stood she could not see her own way. The next step was invisible to her, and such a state of things was torture to a nature like hers. Oh, if only she could secure that letter, then how splendid would be her position. Bridget would be absolutely in her power. She could do with this erratic and strange girl just what she pleased.

Four gay young voices were heard approaching, some dogs were yelping and gamboling about, boyish tones rose high on the breeze, followed by the light sound of girlish laughter.

"Talk of Bridget really feeling anything!" murmured Janet; "why, that girl is all froth."

She felt that she could not meet the gay young folks just now, and ran round a shady path which led to the back of the house; here she found herself in full view of a great yard, into which the kitchen premises opened. The yard was well peopled with barefooted men, and barefooted girls and women. Some pigs were scratching, rolling about, and disporting themselves, after their amiable fashion, in a distant corner. Some barn-door fowls and a young brood of turkeys were making a commotion and rushing after a thickly set girl, who was feeding them with barley; quantities of yellow goslings and downy ducklings were to be seen making for a muddy looking pond. Some gentle looking cows were lowing in their sheds. The cart horses were being taken out for the day's work.

It was a gay and picturesque scene, and Janet, anxious as she felt, could not help standing still for a moment to view it.

"And now, where are you going, Mayflower? and why aren't you with the others?" exclaimed a gay voice.

Janet hastily turned her head, and saw Lady Kathleen, with her rich, trailing silk dress turned well up over her petticoat, a gayly colored cotton handkerchief tied over her head, and a big basket in her hand.

"Why aren't you with the others, Mayflower?" she repeated. "Are they bad-hearted enough, and have they bad taste enough, not to want you, my little mavourneen?"

"I don't know, Lady Kathleen," said Janet, raising eyes which anxiety had rendered pathetic. "I don't know that I am really much missed; some people whom Bridget speaks of as 'the boys' have just arrived, and she——"

"Oh, mercy!" interrupted Lady Kathleen, "and so the lads have come. I must go and talk to them as soon as ever I have helped cook a bit with the raspberries. We are going in for a grand preserving to-day, and cook and I have our hands full. Would you like to come along and give us a bit of assistance, Mayflower!"

"You may be sure I would," said Janet.

"Well, come then," said Lady Kathleen. "You can eat while you pick. I can tell you that the Castle Mahun raspberries are worth eating; why, they are as large as a cook's thimble, each of them; I don't mean a lady's thimble, but a cook's; and that's no offense to you, Molly Malone."

Molly Malone, who resembled a thick, short sack in figure, spread out her broad hands and grinned from ear to ear.

"Why, then, you must be always cracking your jokes, me lady," she said, "and fine I likes to hear you; and it's the beautiful, hondsome lady you is."

"Get out with you, Molly," said Lady Kathleen; "don't you come over me with your blarney. Now, then, here we are. Isn't it a splendid, great, big patch of berries, Mayflower?"

"I never saw raspberries growing before," said Janet; "how pretty they look!"

"They look even prettier when they are turned into rich red jam. Now, then, we must all set to work. Put your basket here, Molly, and run and fetch us some cabbage leaves; we'll each have a cabbage leaf to fill with berries, and when our leaves are full we'll pop the berries into the big basket. Oh, bother those brambles, they are tearing and spoiling my dress; I wish I hadn't it on. It is quite a good silk, and I know it will get both stained and torn, but when the notion came to me to help Molly Malone with the preserving, I really could not be worried changing it."

Janet made no remark, and Lady Kathleen quickly busied herself with the raspberry briars. She was a very expert picker, and filled two or three leaves with the luscious, ripe fruit while Janet was filling one.

"Why, my dear," she said, "what are you about? Those small fingers of yours are all thumbs. Who'd have believed it? Oh! and you must only pick the ripe fruit; the fruit that almost comes away when you look at it. Let me show you; there, that's better. Now you have gone and scratched your hand, poor mite; it's plain to be seen you have no Irish blood in you."

Janet looked at her small wounded hand with a dismal face.

"As I said a minute ago, I never saw raspberries growing before," she said.

"You needn't remark that to us, my love; your way of picking them proves your ignorance. Now, I tell you what you shall do for me. This silk skirt that I have on is no end of a bother. I'll just slip it off; there'll be no one to see me in my petticoat, and you can run with it to the house and bring back a brown holland skirt which you'll find in my wardrobe. Run straight to the house with the skirt, Janet, and I'll be everlastingly obliged to you. Anyone will show you my bedroom; it is at the end of the Ghost's Corridor. Run, child, run; put wings to your feet. Well, you are a good-natured little thing; your eyes quite sparkle with delight."

"I am very glad to oblige you, Lady Kathleen," said Janet. Her eyelashes drooped over her bright eyes as she spoke. Lady Kathleen flung the rich silk skirt carelessly over her arm, and she ran off.

"Be sure you bring me the brown holland, my dear, with the large fruit stain in front; there are two of them in the wardrobe, and I want the one with the fruit stain," shouted the good lady after her.

Janet called back that she would remember, and, running faster, was soon lost to view.

When she could no longer get even a peep at Lady Kathleen she stood still, and, slipping her hand into the pocket of the rich silk skirt, took out the thick letter with the Eastcliff postmark on it. This was transferred to her own pocket; then, going on to the house, she found Lady Kathleen's bedroom, took down the holland skirt with the stain on it, and was back again with the good lady after an absence of not more than ten minutes.

"That's right, my love, that's right," said Lady Kathleen; "you are like that dear, little, old Greek god, Mercury, for swiftness and expedition; and now, as you don't seem to care to pick raspberries, you can go and join your young friends. They are safe to go on the lake this morning, and I have no doubt you'll enjoy a row."

"Oh, thank you," said Janet, "I love the water."

She turned away, and soon found herself outside the great kitchen garden and walking down the steep path which led directly to the lake. She heard gay voices in the distance, and was willing enough to join the young party now. Her heart felt as light as a feather. It was delicious to know that she had, by one dexterous stroke, saved Bridget, and, at the same time, put her into her power.

"I am made for life," whispered Janet, as she stepped along. "Who would have thought half an hour ago that such a lucky chance was to be mine? I know perfectly well that Biddy hates me, but she would rather conceal her hatred all her life than let her father know the contents of the letter which I have in my pocket. I am not the least afraid of Lady Kathleen suspecting me of having taken it. She is so erratic and careless herself that she has probably quite forgotten that she ever put Mrs. Freeman's letter into her pocket. Oh! I am as safe as safe can be, and as happy also. I cannot stay long in this wild, outlandish sort of place, but it is very well for a short time; and as I mean to make plenty of use of Lady Kathleen in the future, I may as well cultivate her all I can now. It would be rather a nice arrangement if poor little Sophy were made Bridget's companion by and by; of course I can make any terms with Bridget that I like, as I shall always keep the letter as a rod in pickle to hold over her devoted head. Bridget will be so much afraid of me that she will do exactly what I please, and it would be nice for Sophy to live with her.

"As to myself, I mean to go to Paris with Lady Kathleen. I shall go to Paris and have a really gay and fine time; I mean to go, and I mean also to wear some of the lovely Parisian dresses which are showered in such profusion on that tiresome, stupid Biddy, which she can't appreciate, and won't appreciate, but which I should make a fine harvest out of. Oh, yes! oh, yes! my future is secure. Who would have thought that in one little short half hour Dame Fortune would have so completely turned her wheel?"

Janet skipped and ran down the winding path. She presently came to the neighborhood of the Holy Well. She knew nothing about the well. It had no history whatever to her; but as she felt hot and thirsty, and a little wooden cup was hanging by a chain to the arched stone roof, and the water looked dark and clear and cool beneath, she stooped, intending to take a long draught of the cold water. Going close to the well, she held up her dress, and walked on the tips of her dainty shoes. Bending forward, and stretching out her hand, she was about to take the little wooden cup from its hook, and to dip it into the well, in order to get a good draught of the delicious water, when a voice suddenly said to her:

"Why then, missy, if you drink that wather, you that don't belong to the quality what lives at the big house, you'll have no luck all the rest of your born days."

The sound of this voice was so unexpected that Janet stepped back, startled.

A thickly set woman, with white hair, was standing near the well.

"That wather is only for the O'Haras," she said. "They and their kinsfolk can drink it, and it brings them a power of luck, but if so be as strangers so much as wets their lips with it, why, a curse enters into their bones with every dhrop they takes. That's thrue as I am standing here, miss, and you had better be warned. Wance the curse enters into you, you dwindles and dwindles till you dhrops out of sight entirely."

Janet gave a mocking laugh.

"Oh, you are a silly old woman," she exclaimed. "And do you really think that I am going to be taken in by nonsense of that sort? I'll show you now how much I believe you."

She filled the wooden cup to the brim, then, raising it to her lips, took a long, deep draught.

"Am I beginning to dwindle already?" she asked, dropping a courtesy to the angry looking Irishwoman. Without waiting for a reply she turned on her heel, and ran down the slope.

The woman followed her retreating form with flashing eyes.

"I can't abide her!" she muttered. "She's an Englisher, and I can't abide them Englishers. I hope she will dwindle and dwindle. Oh! me boy, me boy! you as was a follower of the family—you and your forbears before you—you ought to get good from this holy wather, and, oh! if it would turn your heart to the breaking heart of your Norah, how happy I'd be."