The boys Patrick and Gerald were jolly, good-humored, handsome lads, with not a scrap of affectation, but with rather more than the average amount of boy mischief in their compositions. They were quite inclined to be friendly with the two English girls whom they found established at Castle Mahun, but that fact would by no means prevent their taking a rise out of them at the first opportunity which offered.

Sophy was full of little nervous terrors. She shrank back when they offered to help her into the boat; she uttered a succession of little shrieks as she was conveyed to her seat in the stern. Patrick winked at Gerald when she did this, and they both made a mental resolution to cajole the unfortunate Sophy into the boat some day when they could have her all to themselves. They would not endanger her life on that occasion, but unquestionably they would give her an exciting time.

They meant to play some pranks on Sophy; but at the same time they regarded the pretty, helpless, nervous little English girl with a certain chivalrous good nature, which by no means animated the feelings with which they looked at Janet.

Janet was not at all to their taste. She had a supercilious manner toward them, which was most riling. They were shrewd enough to guess, too, that Bridget, notwithstanding her gentleness and politeness, in her heart of hearts could not bear Janet. As Patrick and Gerald would both of them have almost died for their cousin Bridget, the knowledge that she was not fond of Janet was likely to give that young lady some unpleasant experiences in the future.

Although Bridget was in apparently gay spirits during the morning of this day, she was in her heart of hearts extremely anxious and unhappy. The fatal letter had arrived; the story of her deceit and underhand ways would soon be known to her father and to Aunt Kathleen. Aunt Kathleen might, and probably would, quickly forgive her; but Squire O'Hara, although he forgave, would, at least, never forget. Forever and forever, all through the rest of his days, the shadow of Bridget's dishonor would cloud his eyes, and keep back the old gay and heart-whole smile from his lips. He would love her, and pity her, and be sweet to her, but never again would she be as the old Biddy to him. Now he looked upon her as a pearl without a flaw, as the best of all created beings; in the future there would be a dimness over her luster.

While the poor young girl was laughing with her cousins, and trying to make her visitors happy, these thoughts darkened and filled her mind. She had also another care.

She must discover if Janet had really taken the two pounds. It would be too awful if she were really proved to be nothing better than a common thief. Bridget intended to ask Janet to accompany her to Pat's cottage on the hills that afternoon. The postal order might all the time be safely tucked away in the envelope of the unread letter. If so, all would be well; but if, on the other hand, it was nowhere to be found, Bridget felt sure that she could, to a great extent, read the truth in Janet's face. It would be impossible for her to speak to Janet on the subject while she was in her father's house, or even in any part of the grounds; but out on the hills, away from the O'Hara estate, she might tell her plainly what she thought of her conduct.

When the early dinner was over, Bridget called Janet aside and spoke to her.

"I am going to ride on my pony Wild Hawk," she said. "I am going to see some poor people who live up in the hills. I don't want the boys to come, but they can amuse Sophy if you like to ride with me, Janet. You told me once at school that you were very fond of riding."

"That is true," replied Janet. "I used to ride in Hyde Park when I was a very little girl, but that, of course, is some years ago."

"Oh, that doesn't matter, the knowledge will remain with you. We have a very nice, quiet lady's horse, called Miss Nelly, in the stables; you shall ride her."

"But I haven't a habit," said Janet.

"I have a nice little one which I have quite outgrown. Come to my room, and let me try if it will fit you; I am almost sure it will."

"All right," replied Janet; "I should enjoy a ride very much."

She hoped that during this ride she would be able to tell Bridget that she had secured the obnoxious letter, and the first step of putting the young girl completely in her power would begin.

She went with Miss O'Hara to her bedroom—an enormous room furnished with oak, and strewn all over with costly knickknacks and ornaments. The three large windows commanded an extensive view. They were wide open, and Bridget when she entered the room went straight up to the center one, and, clasping her hands, said in a low voice of passion:

"How I love you!"

"What do you love, Bridget?" asked Janet.

"My land—my Ireland," she said. "Oh, you can't understand. Please help me to open this long drawer. I'll soon find your habit."

Janet assisted her with a will; the heavy drawer was tugged open, and a neat dark blue habit, braided with silver, was pulled into view.

Janet slipped it on, and found that it fitted her perfectly.

"Take it to your room," said Bridget. "I am very glad it fits you; you may want it many times while you are here."

"Yes, and I may want to take it away with me, too," murmured Janet in a whisper to herself.

She went to her room, put on the dark, prettily made habit, and looked at herself with much satisfaction in the glass. With a little arrangement, Bridget's childish habit fitted Janet's neat figure like a glove. She had never looked better than she did at this moment. The rather severe dress gave her a certain almost distinguished appearance. She ran downstairs in high spirits. Bridget was standing in the hall, and the squire was also present to help the two girls to mount their horses. He looked with pleasure at Janet, and said in a hearty tone:

"I am very glad that you can ride, my little girl. It isn't often that Bridget gets anyone at all her equal in horsemanship to accompany her."

"Oh, father, you make a great mistake," exclaimed Bridget; "I have you."

"What's an old boy worth to a young colleen," he replied; but he smiled at her with fond affection, and the horses being led up by a shabbily dressed groom, Bridget sprang lightly into her seat on Wild Hawk's back.

He was a thoroughbred little Arab, with an eye of fire, a sensitive mouth, and a jet-black shining skin. Miss Nelly was a pretty roan-colored horse, but not a thoroughbred like Wild Hawk.

"You'll be thoroughly safe on Miss Nelly," said the squire to Janet. "Yes, that's right, now take the reins, so! You had better not use the whip, but here is one in case you happen to require it."

Janet nodded, smiled, and cantered after Bridget down the avenue.

Her heart was beating fast. She was not exactly nervous, but as her riding in old times had been of the slightest and most superficial kind, she was truly thankful to find that Miss Nelly was gentle in temperament, and not thoroughbred, if to be thoroughbred meant starting at every shadow, and turning eyes like dark jewels to look at the smallest obstruction that appeared on the road.

"It's all right," said Bridget, noticing the uneasiness in Janet's face. "Wild Hawk is a bit fresh, the beauty, but he'll quiet down and go easily enough after I have taken it out of him a bit."

"What do you mean by 'taking it out of him,' Bridget? He does not seem to care much for this easy sort of trot, and he really does start so that he is making Miss Nelly quite nervous."

"Substitute Miss Janet for Miss Nelly," said Bridget, with a saucy curl of her lips, "and you will get nearer to the truth. As to its being taken out of the horse, you don't call this little easy amble anything? Wait until we get on to the breezy hill, and then you will see what kind of pranks Wild Hawk and I will play together."

"But nowhere near Miss Nelly, I hope," said Janet.

"Nowhere near Miss Nelly?" replied Bridget. "Dear me, Janet, you don't suppose I am taking you out like this to lead you into any sort of danger? I am not mean enough for that."

"Some girls would be mean enough," said Janet, almost in a whisper.

"Would they? Not the sort of girls I would have anything to do with. Now, here we are on the top of the hill. Do you see these acres and acres of common land which surround us, and do you notice that small cottage or hovel which looks something like a speck in the far distance? It is in that hovel that the poor people live whom I am going to see. Now I mean to ride for that hovel straight as an arrow from a bow. There are fences and sunk ditches in the way, but Wild Hawk and I care for none of these things. You, my dear Janet, will follow this little stony path on Miss Nelly's back; it is a considerable round to the hovel over there on the horizon, but it is very safe, and you can amble along as slowly as you please. I shall be at the cottage nearly half an hour before you get to it, but what matter? Now then, Wild Hawk, cheer up, my king; go like the wind, or like the bird after whom you are named, my darling."

Bridget rode on a few paces in front of Janet; then she suddenly bent forward, until her lips nearly touched Wild Hawk's arched neck. Janet thought that the wild Irish girl had whispered a word to the wild horse; the next moment the two were seen flying through space together. The horse seemed to put wings to his feet, his slender feet scarcely touched the ground. With the lightness and sureness of a bird he cleared the fences which came in this way. Janet could not help drawing in her breath with a deep sigh—half of envy, half of admiration.

"How splendid Bridget O'Hara is," she murmured; "such a figure, such a face, such a bold, brave spirit! There is something about her which, if the Fates were at all fair, even I could love. But they are not fair," continued Janet, an angry flush filling her cheeks; "they have given her too much, and me too little. I must help myself out of her abundance, and there's noway of doing it but by humbling her."

So Janet rode gently along the stony path, and in the course of time found herself drawing in her reins by the low mud hovel, which looked to her scarcely like a human habitation.

The moment she appeared in sight two lean dogs of the cur species came out and barked vociferously. Miss Nelly was, however, accustomed to the barking of dogs, and did not take any notice. At the same instant a stoutly built, gray-headed woman rushed out of the cabin and helped her to alight.

Janet felt a slight sense of discomfort when she recognized in this woman the person who had warned her not to drink the water of the Holy Well. It was not in her nature, however, to show her discomfort, except by an extra degree of pertness.

"How do you do?" she said, nodding to the woman, and springing to the ground as she spoke. "I have not begun to dwindle yet, you see."

"Why, me dear, it is to be hoped not," answered Norah, in quick retort; "for, faix! then, you are so small already that if you grow any less there'll be nothing for the eye to catch hould of. But come into the cottage, missy; Miss Biddy is sitting by Pat, and comforting the boy a bit with her purty talk."

"Pat!" whispered Janet to herself. Her feeling of discomfort did not grow less. The name of Pat seemed in some queer way familiar, but it did not occur to her to connect it with the friends about whom Bridget had cried at Mulberry Court.

She had to stoop her head to enter the hovel, and could not help looking round the dirty little place with disgust.

"I have come, Biddy," she exclaimed. "I don't suppose you want to stay long; this cottage is very, very close. I don't care to stop here myself, but I can walk about while you are talking to your friends."

"Oh, pray, don't!" said Bridget, springing to her feet; "I want to introduce you to Pat. Come here, please!" She seized Janet's small wrist, and pulled her forward. "Mr. Patrick Donovan—Miss Janet May. This man, Janet, whom I have introduced to you as Patrick Donovan, is one of my very dearest friends."

"At your sarvice, miss," said Pat, blushing a fiery red, and pulling his forelock awkwardly with one big, rather dirty hand.

He was a powerfully built man, with great shoulders, long legs, and grisly hair curling round his chin and on his head. His eyes were dark and deep-set; capable of ferocity, but capable also of the affectionate devotion which characterizes the noblest sort of dog. He looked askance at Janet, read the contempt in her glance, and turned to look at Bridget with a humble, respectful, but adoring glance.

Norah had also entered the room; she was standing looking alternately from Pat to Biddy. She was as plain as Patrick was the reverse, but the love-light in her eyes, as she glanced at her suffering hero, would have redeemed and rendered beautiful a far uglier face than hers.

"It's all right then, Pat," said Bridget, "we'll have the wedding next week; you'll be fit to be moved then, and you shall come down from the hills on a litter, and the wedding shall be at Castle Mahun, and the feast shall be in our kitchen, and I'll give you your bride my own self."

"Oh, Miss Biddy, long life to ye; the Heavens above presarve ye," murmured poor Norah, in a voice of ecstasy. "Oh, me boy, me boy, to think as in the long last we'll be wed!"

"It's all right, Norah," said Pat, touching her forehead for a moment with his big hand; "don't make a fuss, colleen, before the quality. Keep yourself to yourself when there's strangers looking on."

"Who talks of Miss Biddy as a stranger?" said Norah, with fierce passion.

"No one," said Pat; "but there's the young Englisher lady; may the God above bless her, if she's a friend of yours though, Miss Biddy."

Bridget made no response to this. She rose and offered her chair to Janet.

"Sit, Janet," she exclaimed; "there's a little matter I want to talk over before we leave the cottage. You remember my telling you at Mulberry Court about Pat's accident; you remember how troubled I was. I wrote a letter to Pat and Norah, and you posted it. I gave you two sovereigns to get a postal order to put into the letter. Now, a very queer thing has happened. The letter arrived quite safely; here is the letter; you see how neatly Pat has framed it; but the postal order never arrived."

"That's thrue, Miss Biddy," exclaimed Norah. "Here's all as was in the letter, as sure as I'm standing up in my stockinged feet this minute."

"I put the postal order in," said Janet, in a careless voice; "what else should I do? I suppose your postmen here aren't honest."

"Why then, miss, that's a bould thing to say of Mike Carthy," answered Pat, in a low, angry voice, which resembled a growl.

"I thought you might be able to throw some light on the matter," said Bridget, "but it seems you cannot. We must be going home now, so I shall have to say good-by, Pat. Norah, you can come down to the Castle for some fresh eggs to-morrow, and I'll get Molly Malone to make up a basket of all sorts of good things to strengthen Pat for his wedding."

"You won't forget a wee dhrop of the crathur, lady?" muttered the giant, looking up into Biddy's face.

"No, no, that I won't, Pat, my poor fellow."

Bridget wrung her retainer's hand, and a moment or two later she and Janet were on their homeward way.

"Now, look here," said Bridget, when the girls had gone a little distance in almost unbroken silence; "I wish to say something; I shan't talk about it when we get home, but out here we are both on equal ground, and I can talk my mind freely and fully. I watched your face when we were in that little cottage, Janet, and I am quite certain you know something about those two sovereigns which I gave you to post to Pat Donovan."

"What if I do?" retorted Janet.

"You have got to tell me the truth," answered Bridget. "If what I suspect is the case, I shall not ask Aunt Kathleen to do anything to shorten your stay at Castle Mahun; I shall not breathe the knowledge that is given to me, to a soul in the house; but I myself will never speak to you again. A few bare civilities it will be necessary for me to offer, but beyond this I shall never address you. My silence will not be noticed, for everyone else will be kind; but I—I tell you plainly that, if what I suspect is true, I will not associate with you."

"Will you kindly tell me your suspicions?" replied Janet.

"I think—oh! it's an awful thing to say—I think that you took those two sovereigns and put them into your own pocket."

"And because of that, supposing it to be true, you will not speak to me?"

"I will not!"

"But I tell you that you will; you will speak to me, and pet me, and fawn on me, even though you regard me as a thief—there!"

"I won't, Janet; I am a proud Irish girl, and I can't."

"You are a very cowardly, mean Irish girl. You are not a bit the sort of creature that people imagine you to be!" replied Janet, who was now almost overcome by the passion which choked her. "You talk of speaking quite openly and frankly, because we are on the hills together. I, too, will give you a piece of my mind out here, with no one to listen to us."

"No one to listen to us!" said Bridget, her face growing pale; "oh, you forget, you must forget, there is Nature herself, her voice in the breeze, and in the twitter of the birds, and her face looking up at us from the earth, and her smile looking down at us from the sky. I should be awfully afraid to tell a lie out here, alone with Nature."

"My dear, I have no intention of telling any lies to you. I do breathe tarradillies now and then; I am not too proud to confess it. You would, too, if you were situated like me; but I don't waste them on people whom it is necessary to be honest with. I did keep that money; it was far more useful to me than it would be to that Patrick of yours. He didn't want it, and I did. You were full of pity for him, but you had not a scrap of pity to bestow on me, so I had to pity myself, and I did so by taking your money. I found it most useful. But for it, Sophy and I would not now be at Castle Mahun. I hoped what I did would never be discovered. Well, it has been, but it does not greatly matter, as you are the one to make the discovery."

"What do you mean? what can you mean?"

"What I say; you can send me to prison, of course, and ruin me for life, but you won't, for your own sake. See what I have done to save you!"

Janet put her hand into her pocket and pulled out the Eastcliff letter.

She held it aloft, and laughed in her companion's face. "You won't be hard on me now, Biddy," she said, in the tones of one addressing an equal. "If I have been a thief—it is an ugly word, and there is no use in speaking it again; if I have been a thief, you, too, have done something which you are ashamed of. That something has been discovered at Mulberry Court, and this letter contains a full account of it. Your aunt, Lady Kathleen, was to read it first, and then, of course, in the ordinary course, your father would have heard the whole disgraceful story. Little as you think of me, I have saved you from disgrace, Biddy, my love. You are fond of Nature, but Nature won't tell tales. If you will promise to respect the secret you have discovered about me, I will respect your secret; I will tear up this letter, here on this wild hilltop, and Nature shall bury the tell-tale pieces as she wills and where she likes. Here is the letter, Biddy; I have saved you. Ought you not to be obliged to me?"

A queer change came over Bridget while Janet was speaking; a certain nobleness seemed to go out of her figure; she looked less like part of Wild Hawk than she had done five minutes ago; the color receded from her cheeks; her eyes lost their proud fire, her lips their proud smile.

"How did you manage to get that letter?" she whispered in a low tone.

"I am not going to tell you, my darling; I have got it, and that ought to be enough for you. Now, are we each to respect the secret of the other, or not?"

"Oh, I don't know; it seems so dreadful."

"It is rather dreadful, dear; I admit that. If you go and tell your father and Lady Kathleen about me, and about what I have just confessed to you, I shall have a very uncomfortable time. I shall be thoroughly and completely ruined, but in my ruin I shall pull you down too, Bridget, from the pedestal which you now occupy. It would be easy for me to put this letter back where Lady Kathleen will be able to lay her hands on it; in that case she will read it, and your father will know everything. I shall be ruined, and you will have a very unpleasant time. You must choose now what you will do; shall we both go on appearing what we are not? I, a modest, good-natured little girl, who never did an underhand trick in my life, and you—you, Biddy, the soul, the essence of what an Irishman calls honor."

"Oh, don't," said Bridget, "you make my eyes burn; you make me feel so small and wicked. Janet, why do you tempt me so awfully? Janet, I wish—I wish that I had never, never known you."

"My dear, I can't echo your wish. I am glad that I have met you, for you can be very useful to me; but now you have got to choose; shall I put the letter back in Lady Kathleen's room, or shall I tear it up?"

"But, even if you do tear it up," said Bridget, "the evil day is only delayed. When my aunt does not reply to Mrs. Freeman's letter, she will soon write her another, and Aunt Kathleen will perhaps find out that you took the letter."

"I don't think she will; she is the kind of erratic person who won't in the least remember where she put her letter, and not having a clew, why should she suspect me of taking it?"

"But Mrs. Freeman will write again."

"When she does there will be time enough to consider the right steps to take. She won't write for a week or a fortnight, and a great deal can happen in that time. If the worst comes to the worst, it will be quite possible for me to obtain possession of her next letter."

"O Janet, I can't listen to you; your suggestions are too dreadful."

"All right, my dear." Janet slipped the letter into her pocket. "I know Lady Kathleen's room," she continued, "and I shall manage to put this letter back on her dressing table when I go in. Who's that coming to meet us? Oh, I declare, it is Squire O'Hara! How well your father rides, Bridget! what a handsome man he is!"

Bridget felt as if she should choke; the squire's loud, hearty voice was heard in the distance.

"Hullo, colleens; there you are!" he shouted. "I thought I'd bring the General round in this direction; I had a curiosity to see how you were managing Miss Nelly, my dear." He bowed as he spoke to Janet. "I see you keep your seat very nicely. And you, Biddy—eh, my jewel—why, you look tired. Has Wild Hawk been too much for you?"

"Not a bit, father; I am as right as possible." Bridget turned swiftly to Janet as she uttered these words.

"I will give you your answer to-morrow," she said in a low tone; "give me until to-morrow to decide."