Lady Kathleen did not make much fuss over the loss of her letter.

"It's a queer thing," she said that evening to the squire, as they all sat round the supper table, "but I can't lay my hand on the letter with the Eastcliff post-mark. I made sure that I slipped it into the pocket of the striped lilac silk dress I wore this morning; but I didn't, and I can't imagine where I dropped it."

"Well, my dear, we had better send someone to look for it," said the squire. "That is the letter with all the praise of Biddy in it, isn't it?"

"Squire, you're nothing but a doting old father," replied Lady Kathleen; "you think no one looks at that girl of yours without making a fuss over her. She's a good bit of a thing—I am the last person to deny that; but from the little I saw of Mulberry Court she was no more than any other girl there—indeed, I think our little Janet had wormed herself more into the good graces of the school than my jewel of a Biddy. It's my opinion that the letter contained no more and no less than just the account of the term's expenses, and a request for a check in payment."

"Oh, then, if that's all, it can keep," said Squire O'Hara. "Mr. O'Hagan, I'll trouble you to pass me the whisky bottle, sir. What's that you are saying, Kathleen?"

"I may lay my hand on it in some out-of-the-way corner," said Lady Kathleen; "if not, I'll write in a day or two to Mrs. Freeman, and tell her that it just got lost. Letters are no end of bother, in my opinion; busy people have really no time to read them. Now, my colleen, what ails you? Why, you're quite white in the cheeks, and you're not eating your usual hearty supper! Don't you fancy that sweetbread, Bridget?"

"Yes, Aunt Kathleen, I am enjoying it very much," said Bridget. "I am quite well, too," she added under her breath.

The next morning Janet came into Bridget's room.

"I won't stay a minute," she said; "but I just thought I'd save you the trouble of a decision, so I tore up the letter last night, and burnt the bits in my candle before I went to sleep. You can't get it back now, even if you wish to be honorable—which I know you don't—so there is a weight off your mind. I told you how Lady Kathleen would take it. What a blessing it is that she is that scatter-brained sort of woman!"

"You oughtn't to speak against her," began Bridget in a feeble tone.

"Oh, oughtn't I, my love? Well, I won't another time. Now we are all going for a pleasure party on the lake; won't you join us?"

"I don't think so," said Biddy; "you two girls and Patrick and Gerald can do very well without me. I want to see my father about Pat Donovan's wedding, and——"

"By the way," said Janet, "is it true that we are all going out to high tea at some outlandish place ten miles away?"

"It is true that we are going to Court Macsherry," said Bridget; "but I don't think you will call it an outlandish place when you see it."

"I can't say," retorted Janet; "and, what is more, I do not care. Your wild Ireland does not come up to my idea at all. I don't care twopence about natural beauties. But I have a little bit of news for you, my pet. Who do you think we'll see at Court Macsherry?"

"The Mahonys and their guests," replied Bridget. "I don't know of anyone else."

"Well—you'll be rather startled—Evelyn Percival is there! I had a letter this morning from Susy Price, and she told me so. Now, of course, I don't care in the very least about Evelyn. I dislike her quite as much as you dislike her; but I want to look very smart and fresh when I go to Court Macsherry, and I want my poor little Sophy also to look as trim and bright as a daisy; so, as you are going to stay at home this morning, Biddy, you might look out for some little ornaments to lend us both."

"Ornaments to lend you!" retorted Bridget, opening her eyes. "What do you mean? Even if I wished to lend you my clothes they would not fit either of you."

"Your dresses wouldn't fit us, of course; but there are lots of other things—sashes, for instance, and necklets, and hats, and we wouldn't mind a pretty parasol each, and we should feel most grateful for some of your embroidered handkerchiefs. I have got that sweet, pretty dress Lady Kathleen gave me for the bazaar, but poor little Sophy has really nothing fit to appear in; and you must admit that she's a pretty little creature, and would look sweet if she were well dressed. I dare say you have got some white embroidered dresses you used to wear before you grew so tall and gawky, and if there were a tuck put into one of them, little Sophy would look very well in it. I should like her to have a pale blue sash to wear with it, and some large blue Venetian beads to put around her neck. Oh, a young girl needn't have much dress, if it's good. You'll see about it, Bridget, won't you, and have it ready in our room when we come back from our boating expedition?"

Janet ran out of the room as she spoke, slamming the door rather noisily behind her.

Bridget, whose face was white with passion, felt quite too stunned even to move for a minute or two. Then she clenched her hands, walked to the window, and looked out.

"What have I done?" she murmured. "How can I allow myself to get into that horrid girl's power? Oh, surely it would be much, much better to tell my father everything."

She leaned out of the open window, and looked down on the terrace. Her father was lounging on one of the rustic benches. He was smoking a pipe, and Bruin was lying at his feet. Looking at him from her window, Bridget fancied that his old figure looked tired, more bent than usual, more aged than she had ever before noticed it.

"I can't, I won't give him pain!" murmured the girl fiercely. "I'd rather be under the power of twenty people like Janet than break his heart. But, O Biddy, Biddy O'Hara, what a wicked, senseless girl you have been!"

"Is that you, acushla?" called the squire up to her. "Come right downstairs this minute, and let me hear all your fine plans for Norah's and Pat's wedding. What a colleen you are for planning and contriving! But come away down at once, and let me hear what's at the back of your head."

"Yes, father, in a minute!"

Bridget rushed over to her glass. She looked anxiously at her fair, bright face; it reflected back little or nothing of the loathing with which she regarded herself.

"Oh, what a living lie you are!" she said, clenching her fist at it. "Oh, if father but knew what a base daughter he has got! But he mustn't know. He must never, never know!"

She ran down and joined her father on the terrace.

He put his arm round her, made room for her to seat herself by his side, and the two began eagerly to talk and to make arrangements for the coming wedding.

"But you're out of spirits, my darling," said Dennis O'Hara suddenly. "Oh, you needn't try to hide it from me, Biddy. Your heart and soul aren't in your words; I can tell that in the wink of an eye. What's up with you, mavourneen?"

"I'll tell you one thing, daddy; I hate—I loathe school!"

"Well, now," said the squire, "I have no fancy for schools myself; it was your aunt's wish. But your aunt, Biddy"—here a twinkle came into his eye—"your aunt rules us, not with a rod of iron—oh, by no means—but just with the little, soft, coaxing, and yet determined ways which no one can withstand. She worked on my feelings for nearly two years, Biddy O'Hara. She said you were a fine girl, and a good one, but that you knew nothing, and that if you were ever to be of any use in the world you must go to school."

"Well, father," said Bridget, "did you really think in your own heart when you and I were alone at Castle Mahun that I knew nothing? What about the music we made in the old hall in the winter evenings? and what about that time when I saved Minerva's life, and what about my dancing? I think, somehow or other, I have a little bit of education, father, and I doubt very much if I have really learned anything at school."

"But you will, my pet, you will. These are early days, and you will learn at school. You will learn that sort of things that will make you a fine lady by and by."

"Father," said Bridget, "I don't want to be a fine lady."

She put her arms suddenly round his neck, and looked into his eyes. "Fine ladies are not good, father—they are not good. A girl can be wild and ignorant, and yet good, very good; but a fine lady—oh, I hate the thought of her!"

"How excited you are, Biddy mavourneen, and how strangely you are talking! Whoever thought of your not being the best sort of fine lady, and what fine lady, except your poor Aunt Kathie, have you ever seen, child?"

"I have never seen any; but I feel down in my heart what they are like; and I will never resemble them, even if I spend fifty years in school. Now let us talk of Minerva and her pups. What are you going to do with the pups?"

The conversation turned into channels of a purely domestic nature, and Biddy, as she talked, forgot the cares which harassed and filled her soul.

The young people soon returned from their expedition on Lake Crena. Patrick and Gerald both seemed very much excited, Janet looked resolved and defiant, Sophy alarmed.

"What's the matter with you, Patrick?" said the squire. "I see mischief in that eye of yours. What are you after?"

"Oh, nothing, uncle, nothing," replied the lad. "It is only that Miss Janet May has been rubbing me up. She doesn't believe any of the stories I tell her about Lake Crena."

"Of course I don't," said Janet. "Who would believe a schoolboy's wild chattering nonsense?"

Patrick's black eyes flashed.

"Come, come," said the squire soothingly, and looking with half appeal at Janet; "this fine lad is close on seventeen. He is scarcely to be termed a schoolboy."

"Oh, well, it does not matter what he is called," continued Janet. "If I thought he were only joking, I shouldn't mind; but when he tells me in sober earnest that a witch does live in the island in the center of the lake; that she comes out on winter nights and curses the people who sail on the lake; and, in short, that she's a sort of malevolent old dame who belongs to the Dark Ages, I simply refuse to believe him."

The squire looked rather startled while Janet was speaking.

"You shouldn't talk of these things," he said to Patrick. "It's all stuff and nonsense. Lake Crena is Lake Crena, the sweetest, sunniest spot in the world all through the summer months; in the winter she is the Witch's Cauldron, and we leave her alone, that's all. Now, young folks, come in to lunch."

Janet did not say anything further, but when in the course of the afternoon the whole party were driving in a great big wagonette to Court Macsherry, Patrick and she found themselves side by side.

"Look here," he said to her then, "are you willing to stick to your word?"

"To what word?" she asked.

"Why, you said that you didn't believe in the Witch?"

"No more I do. How could I be so silly?"

"Hush! Don't talk so loud; Uncle Dennis will hear us. Well, now, I'll put faith in your bravery if you'll stick to what you said. You said you wouldn't mind spending from nine till twelve any night alone on the Witch's Island. Will you do it?"

"As far as the Witch is concerned, I certainly will."

"What do you mean by 'as far as the Witch is concerned'? There is certainly no one else likely to trouble you. There is a little broken-down arbor on the island where you can sit, and Gerald and I will row you over, and come for you again after midnight."

"But," said Janet, "if I promise to do this, you and Gerald won't play me any trick, will you? I know what schoolboys are capable of. I used to stay at a house once where there were lots of boys. I was a little tot at the time, but they did lead me a life."

"I should rather think they did," said Patrick, winking one of his black eyes solemnly at his brother, who was regarding the two from the opposite side of the wagonette with suppressed merriment.

"Well," said Janet, "I know quite well what boys are like; and I'm not going to give myself up to their tender mercies. Of course I don't believe in that silly, stupid story about the Witch, but I do think that you and that fine Gerald of yours over there would be quite capable of playing me a trick, and dressing up as the Witch, or something of that sort. If you both promise on your honor—and Irishmen seem to think a great lot of their honor—if you'll both promise that you'll do nothing mean of that sort, why I'll go to the Witch's Island any night you like, and stay there from nine till twelve o'clock."

"That's all right," said Patrick. "Gerry and I will give you our solemn promise that we'll take you there and go away again, and come back at midnight to fetch you, and that we won't do anything to frighten you ourselves, nor, as far as we can tell, allow anyone else to play a trick on you. There, now, are you satisfied?"

"I suppose I am."

"What night will you go?"

"To-morrow night, if you wish."

"That will do finely. The moon will be at her full from nine till twelve to-morrow night, and if the Witch comes out of her lair you will have a grand opportunity to get a good view of her. Well, then, that's all right; only you mustn't tell anybody what you're going to do, for, hark ye, Miss May, my Uncle Dennis over there believes in that Witch as he believes in his own life. You wouldn't catch him spending three hours alone on that island; no, not for anybody under the sun."

Bridget had felt very angry when Janet had coolly proposed that she and her sister should be decked out in her finery; but, angry as she was, the spell which was over her was sufficiently potent to make her comply with the audacious request which had been made to her. Accordingly, Janet and Sophy looked wonderfully smart when they took off their light dust cloaks in the enormous square oak hall at Court Macsherry. There is really very little difference between one soft coral pink sash and another, between one row of sky-blue Venetian beads and another row; and although Aunt Kathie, with one flashing glance of her bright eyes, discovered that the sashes with which the May girls were ornamented, and the beads which encircled their pretty throats, belonged to Bridget, no one else guessed this for a moment. The Mays looked extra smart and extra pretty, but Biddy had taken less pains than usual with her own dress. It was rich and expensive in texture, as almost all her clothes were, but it was put on untidily, and was too heavy and hot-looking for this lovely summer evening. Her cheeks were flushed, too, and her eyes too bright. She looked like a girl who might be ill presently, and when Evelyn Percival, running down to meet her friends, asked Biddy if she had a headache, she had to own to the fact that this was the case.

Evelyn was not a pretty girl, but her sweet, kind face looked full of pleasantness to Bridget to-night. Her eyes had such an open, truthful way of looking at one, her lips were so kindly in their curves, her voice so pleasant in its tone, that Squire O'Hara, as he said afterward, fell in love with her on the spot. There were several handsome young Irish girls living at Court Macsherry, and Evelyn looked only like a very pale little flower among them; nevertheless, the squire singled her out for special and marked approval.

"So you are one of my colleen's schoolfellows!" he said. "Well, well, everyone to their taste, but I should have thought Lady Kathleen would have asked you to come and stay with us at Castle Mahun."

"I shall be very glad to come over with my cousins to see you some day," replied Evelyn. "I am not Irish, but I love Ireland, and I think Court Macsherry the sweetest place in the world."

"Oh, it isn't bad," said Dennis O'Hara. "I am not going to deny that it is a fine bit of land, and notwithstanding those big bogs to the left there, well cultivated. It might be improved by a bit of water, for instance, but it isn't for me to disparage my neighbor's property."

"My Cousin Norry has been telling me about your Lake Crena," said Evelyn. "I should like to see it!"

"So you shall, my dear; you'll admire it fine. It is as good as the sea to us; there isn't its like in all the country round. When the sun shines on its bosom it is a sight to be remembered, and as to the moonlight effects, why they're just ravishing. Come and take a walk with me on this terrace, my dear; I want to ask you about my girl Biddy. She don't seem to take to that English school of yours, and I must own that I'm scarcely surprised. That colleen of mine is a wild sort of bird-like thing, and if you have a good many primity ways at school, I don't wonder she can't abide them. Do you see much of her, Miss Percival? You look about the same age, and I suppose you are in the same class."

"I am older than Bridget," said Evelyn Percival. "Bridget is a great deal taller and bigger than any other girl of fifteen in the school."

"Well, do you see much of her?"

"Not as much as I should like. The fact is——"

"What is it, my dear? you might confide in the colleen's father; if there is anything I ought to know.

"I can't exactly say there is, except—oh, perhaps I ought not to say it."

"But, indeed, you ought. I can see by your eyes that you are a truthful, good sort of girl, and though I have only known you ten minutes, I'd like my wild colleen to be friends with you. What is it now? What's in your mind?"

"I don't at all like to tell you; but the fact is, I was most anxious to be fond of Biddy."

"Yes, my dear, yes; I'm scarcely surprised at that."

"I felt attracted to her the moment I saw her; she was so different from the other girls. Of course, she didn't know the meaning of rules, but there was something about her wonderfully fresh and pleasant, and I and my friend Dorothy Collingwood would have done anything in our power to make school life easy to her."

"You don't mean to tell me that it wasn't easy? Why, she's about as clever a bit of a thing as you could find."

"I don't think anyone denies that; she has not been taught in the ordinary way, so, of course, she could not get into a high class; but that is not the point. I'd have been friends with her, the best of friends, if she hadn't repulsed me."

"Biddy repulse you! She never repulsed mortal in her whole life, the poor darling!"

"I don't think it was her fault; indeed, I am sure it was not, but—and this is the thing that I don't at all like to say—she was, I am convinced, influenced against me by another."

"By another? Who? If you have a nasty sort of girl at the school, she ought to be got rid of. Whom do you mean?"

"I can't bear to tell you, and I may be wrong, but we do think, Dorothy and I, that Biddy would be much, much happier at Mulberry Court but for Janet May."

"Phew!" the Squire drew a long breath; "that pretty little visitor of mine? Lady Kathleen invited her and seemed much taken with her. She told me that Janet was Biddy's dearest friend; but, now that you mention it, I do not see the colleen much with her. You don't mean to tell me?—oh, but I mustn't hear a word against one of my visitors."

"I don't want to say anything, only that Dolly and I are sorry about Bridget, and we are—I must say it frankly—not at all fond of Janet."

"Maybe you're prejudiced; she's a pretty creature, and seems to mean well."

The great bell in the yard at Court Macsherry sounded a tremendous peal for supper.

"That's right," said the squire heartily; "that's a grateful sort of sound when a man is starving, as I happen to be. Let me give you my arm, Miss Percival. I'll never breathe what you have said, of course; but I should be glad if you could do a kindness to my girl next term."

"I will do my very utmost to help her," said Evelyn heartily.

The guests had now assembled in the great dining hall, where a groaning board awaited them.

The squire looked down the long table. Biddy was nowhere to be seen.

"Where can the girl be?" he said under his breath. Somebody else remarked her absence, and Patrick immediately started up to go and look for her.