LIGHT O' THE MORNING

_The Story of an Irish Girl_

BY

L. T. MEADE

CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER

I. NORA

II. "SOME MORE OF THE LAND MUST GO"

III. THE WILD MURPHYS

IV. THE INVITATION

V. "I AM ASHAMED OF YOU"

VI. THE CAVE OF THE BANSHEE

VII. THE MURPHYS

VIII. THE SQUIRE'S TROUBLE

IX. EDUCATION AND OTHER THINGS

X. THE INVITATION

XI. THE DIAMOND CROSS

XII. A FEATHER-BED HOUSE

XIII. "THERE'S MOLLY"

XIV. BITS OF SLANG

XV. TWO LETTERS

XVI. A CHEEKY IRISH GIRL

XVII. TWO DESCRIPTIONS

XVIII. A COMPACT

XIX. "SHE WILL SOON TAME DOWN"

XX. STEPHANOTIE

XXI. THE ROSE-COLORED DRESS

XXII. LETTERS

XXIII. THE BOX OF BON-BONS

XXIV. THE TELEGRAM

XXV. THE BLOW

XXVI. TEN POUNDS

XXVII. ADVENTURES--AND HOME AGAIN

XXVIII. THE WILD IRISH

XXIX. ALTERATIONS

XXX. THE LION IN His CAGE

XXXI. RELEASE OF THE CAPTIVE

XXXII. ANDY

XXXIII. THE CABIN ON THE MOUNTAIN

XXXIV. A DARING DEED

XXXV. THE COT WHERE HE WAS BORN

XXXVI. "I'M A HAPPY MAN"

CHAPTER I. 

NORA. 

"Why, then, Miss Nora--"

"Yes, Hannah?"

"You didn't see the masther going this way, miss?"

"What do you mean, Hannah? Father is never at home at this hour. "

"I thought maybe--" said Hannah. She spoke in a dubious voice, backing a little away. 

Hannah was a small, squat woman, of a truly Irish type. Her nose wascelestial, her mouth wide, her eyes dark, and sparkling with fun. She was dressed in a short, coarse serge petticoat, with what iscalled a bedgown over it; the bedgown was made of striped calico, yellow and red, and was tied in at the waist with a broad band ofthe same. Hannah's hair was strongly inclined to gray, and herhumorous face was covered with a perfect network of wrinkles. Sheshowed a gleam of snowy teeth now, as she looked full at the younggirl whom she was addressing. 

"Ah, then, Miss Nora, " she said, "it's I that am sorry for yez. "

Before Nora O'Shanaghgan could utter a word Hannah had turned on herheel. 

"Come back, Hannah, " said Nora in an imperious voice. 

"Presently, darlint; it's the childer I hear calling me. Coming, Mike asthore, coming. "

The squat little figure flew down a side walk which led to a paddock:beyond the paddock was a turnstile, and at the farther end of anadjacent field a cabin made of mud, with one tiny window and athatched roof. Hannah was making for the cabin with rapid, waddlingstrides. Nora stood in the middle of the broad sweep which led up tothe front door of the old house. 

Castle O'Shanaghgan was a typical Irish home of the ancient régime. The house, a great square pile, was roomy and spacious; it hadinnumerable staircases, and long passages through which the windshrieked on stormy nights, and a great castellated tower at itsnorth end. This tower was in ruins, and had been given up a longtime ago to the exclusive tenancy of the bats, the owls, and rats solarge and fierce that the very dogs were afraid of them. In thetower at night the neighbors affirmed that they heard shrieks andghostly noises; and Nora, whose bedroom was nearest to it, rejoicedmuch in the distinction of having twice heard the O'ShanaghganBanshee keening outside her window. Nora was a slender, tall, andvery graceful girl of about seventeen, and her face was as typicalof the true, somewhat wild, Irish beauty as Hannah Croneen's was thereverse. 

In the southwest of Ireland there are traces of Spanish as well asCeltic blood in many of its women; and Nora's quantities of thick, soft, intensely black hair must have come to her from a Spanishancestor. So also did the delicately marked black brows and theblack lashes to her dark and very lovely blue eyes; but the clearcomplexion, the cheeks with the tenderest bloom on them, the softlydimpled lips red as coral, and the little teeth white as pearls weretrue Irish characteristics. 

Nora waited for a moment after Hannah had left her, then, shadingher eyes from the westerly sun by one hand, she turned slowly andwent into the house. 

"Where is mother, Pegeen?" she said to a rough-looking, somewhatslatternly servant who was crossing the hall. 

"In the north parlor, Miss Nora. "

"Come along, then, Creena; come along, Cushla, " said the girl, addressing two handsome black Pomeranians who rushed to meet her. The dogs leaped up at her with expressions of rapture, and girl anddogs careered with a wild dance across the great, broad hall in thedirection of the north parlor. Nora opened the door with a somewhatnoisy bang, the dogs precipitated themselves into the room, and shefollowed. 

"Ah, then, mother dear! and have I disturbed you?" she said. 

A pale-faced lady, who was lying full-length on a very old and hardsofa, rose with a querulous expression on her face when Nora entered. 

"I wish someone would teach you thoughtfulness, " she said; "you arethe most tiresome girl in the world. I have been two hours trying toget a wink of sleep, and just when I succeed you come in and wakeme. "

"It's sorry I am to my heart's core, " said Nora. She went up to hermother, dropped on one knee, and looked with her rosy face into theworn and faded one of the elder woman. "Here I am, mammy, " she saidagain, "your own little Nora; let me sit with you a bit--may I?"

Mrs. O'Shanaghgan smiled faintly. She looked all over the girl'sslim figure, and finally her eyes rested on the laughing, lovelyface. Then a cloud crossed her forehead, and her eyes became dimwith tears. 

"Have you heard the last thing, Nora?"

"There are so many last things, mother, " said Nora. 

"But the very last. Your father has to pay back the money whichSquire Murphy of Cronane lent him. It is the queerest thing; but themortgagee means to foreclose, as he calls it, within three months ifthat money is not paid in full. I know well what it means. "

Nora smiled. She took her mother's hand in hers, and began to strokeit gently. 

"I suppose, " she said, "it means this. It means that we must partwith a little more of the beloved land, every sod of which I love. We certainly do seem to be getting poorer and poorer; but nevermind--nothing will ever alter the fact that--"

"That what, child?"

"That we O'Shanaghgans are the proudest and oldest family in thecounty, and that there is scarcely an Englishman across the waterwho would not give all he possesses to change places with us. "

"You talk like a silly child, " said Mrs. O'Shanaghgan; "and pleaseremember that I am English. "

"Oh, mummy, I am so sorry!" said the girl. She laid her soft headdown on the sofa, pressing it against her mother's shoulder. 

"I cannot think of you as English, " she said. "You have lived hereall, all my life. You belong to father, and you belong to Terenceand me--what have you to do with the cold English?"

"I remember a time, " said Mrs. O'Shanaghgan, "when I thought Irelandthe most desolate and God-forsaken place on the earth. It is true Ihave become accustomed to it now. But, Nora, if you only couldrealize what my old home was really like. "

"I don't want to realize any home different from this, " said the girl, a cloud shading her bright eyes for the moment. 

"You are silly and prejudiced, " said Mrs. O'Shanaghgan. "It is agreat trial to me to have a daughter so unsympathetic. "

"Oh, mummy! I don't mean to be unsympathetic. There now, we arequite cozy together. Tell me one of the old stories; I do so love tolisten. "

The frown cleared from Mrs. O'Shanaghgan's forehead, and the peevishlines went out of her face. She began to talk with animation andexcitement. Nora knew exactly what she was going to say. She hadheard the story so often; but, although she had heard it hundredsand thousands of times, she was never tired of listening to thehistory of a trim life of which she knew absolutely nothing. Theorderly, well-dressed servants, the punctual meals, the good andabundant food, the nice dresses, the parties, the solid education, the discipline so foreign to her own existence, all--all held theirproper fascination. But although she listened with delight to thesestories of a bygone time, she never envied her mother those periodsof prosperity. Such a life would have been a prison to her; so shethought, although she never spoke her thought aloud. 

Mrs. O'Shanaghgan began the old tale to-night, telling it with alittle more _verve_ even than usual. She ended at last with asigh. 

"Oh, the beautiful old times!" she said. 

"But you didn't know father then, " answered Nora, a frown coming toher brows, and an angry feeling for a moment visiting her warmheart. "You didn't have father, nor Nora, nor Terry. "

"Of course not, darling, and you make up for much; but, Nora dear, although I love my husband and my children, I hate this country. Ihate it!"

"Don't, mother, " said Nora, with a look of pain. She started to herfeet. At that moment loud, strong steps were heard in the hall; ahearty voice exclaimed:

"Where's Light o' the Morning? Where have you hidden yourself, witch?"

"It's father, " said Nora. She said the words with a sort of gasp ofrejoicing, and the next moment had dashed out of the room. 

CHAPTER II. 

"SOME MORE OF THE LAND MUST GO. "

Squire O'Shanaghgan was a tall, powerfully built man, with deep-seteyes and rugged, overhanging brows; his hair was of a grizzled gray, very thick and abundant; he had a shaggy beard, too, and a longoverhanging mustache. He entered the north parlor still more noisilythan Nora had done. The dogs yelped with delight, and flungthemselves upon him. 

"Down, Creena! down, Cushla!" he said. "Ah, then, Nora, they are asbewitching as yourself, little woman. What beauties they aregrowing, to be sure!"

"I reared them, " said Nora. "I am proud of them both. At one time Ithought Creena could not live; but look at her now--her coat asblack as jet, and so silky. "

"Shut the door, won't you, Patrick?" said his wife. 

"Bless me! I forgot, " said the Squire. He crossed the room, and, with an effort after quietness, closed the door with one foot; thenhe seated himself by his wife's side. 

"Better, Eileen?" he said, looking at her anxiously. 

"I wish you would not call me Eileen, " she said. "I hate to have myname Irishized. "

The Squire's eyes filled with suppressed fun. 

"Ah, but you are half-Irish, whether you like it or not, " he said. "Is not she, colleen? Bless me, what a day it has turned out! We aregetting summer weather at last. What do you say to going for a drive, Eileen--Ellen, I mean? Black Bess is eating her head off in thestables. I want to go as far as Murphy's place, and you might as wellcome with me. "

"And I too?" said Nora. 

"To be sure, child. Why not? You run round to the stables, Norrie, and give the order. "

Nora instantly left the room, the dogs following her. 

"What ails her?" said the Squire, looking at his wife. 

"Ails her, Pat? Nothing that I know of. "

"Then you know very little, " was his answer. "I never see that sortof anxious frown between the colleen's brows without knowing there'smischief in the wind. Somebody has been worrying her, and I won'thave it. " He put down his great hand with a thump on the nearesttable. 

"Don't, Pat. You quite shatter my nerves. "

"Bless you and your nerves, Ellen. I want to give them all possibleconsideration; but I won't have Light o' the Morning worried. "

"You'll spoil that girl; you'll rue it yet. "

"Bless her heart! I couldn't spoil her; she's unspoilable. Did youever see a sweeter bit of a thing, sound to the core, through andthrough?"

"Sweet or not, " said the mother, "she has got to learn her lesson oflife; and it is no good to be too tender with her; she wants alittle bracing. "

"You have been trying that on--eh?"

"Well, not exactly, Pat; but you cannot expect me to keep all ourtroubles to ourselves. There's that mortgage, you know. "

"Bother the mortgage!" said the Squire. "Why do you harp on thingsthe way you do? I'll manage it right enough. I am going round to seeDan Murphy now; he won't be hard on an old friend. "

"Yes; but have you not to pay up?"

"Some day, I suppose. "

"Now listen, Patrick. Do be reasonable. Whenever I speak of moneyyou fight shy of the subject. "

"I don't--I don't, " said the Squire restlessly; "but I am dead tired. I have had a ride of thirty miles; I want my tea. Where is Nora? Doyou mind my calling her? She'll order Pegeen to bring the tea here. "

"No; I won't have it. We'll have tea in the dining room presently. Ithought you objected to afternoon tea. "

"So I do, as a rule; but I am mighty dhry--thirsty, I mean, Ellen. Well, all the better; I'll get more to drink in the dining room. Order the tea as soon as you please. "

"Ring the bell, Patrick. "

The Squire strode to the mantelpiece, pulled a bell-cord which hungfrom the ceiling, a distant bell was heard ringing in noisy fashion, and a moment afterward Pegeen put in her head. 

"Come right in, Margaret, " said her mistress. 

"Aw! then, I'm sorry, ma'am, I forgot, " said the girl. She came in, hiding both her hands under her apron. 

Mrs. O'Shanaghgan uttered an impatient sigh. 

"It is impossible to train these creatures, " she said under herbreath. Aloud, she gave her order in quiet, impassive tones:

"Tea as soon as possible in the west parlor, and sound the gong whenit is ready. "

"Why, then, wasn't I getting it?" said Pegeen. She left the room, leaving the door wide open. 

"Just like them, " said Mrs. O'Shanaghgan. "When you want the dooropen they invariably shut it, and when you want it shut they leaveit open. "

"They do that in England too, as far as I can tell, " said theSquire, with a slightly nettled tone in his voice. 

"Well, now, Patrick, while we have a few moments to ourselves, I wantto know what you mean to do about that ten thousand pounds?"

"I am sure, Ellen, it is more than I can tell you. "

"You will have to pay it, you know. "

"I suppose so, some day. I'll speak to Dan to-night. He is the lastman to be hard on a chap. "

"Some more of the land must go, " said the wife in a fretful tone. "Our rent-roll will be still smaller. There will be still less moneyto educate Terence. I had set my heart on his going to Cambridge orOxford. You quite forget that he is eighteen now. "

"Cambridge or Oxford!" said the Squire. "Not a bit of it. My sonshall either go to Old Trinity or he does without a universityeducation. Cambridge or Oxford indeed! You forget, Ellen, that thelad is my son as well as yours. "

"I don't; but he is half an Englishman, three parts an Englishman, whatever his fatherhood, " said the Squire's wife in a tone of triumph. 

"Well, well! he is Terence O'Shanaghgan, for all that, and he willinherit this old place some day. "

"Much there will be for him to inherit. "

Eager steps were heard on the gravel, and the next instant Noraentered by the open window. 

"I have given the order, " she said; "Angus will have the trap roundin a quarter of an hour. "

"That's right, my girl; you didn't let time drag, " said her father. 

"Angus wants you and mother to be quite ready, for he says BlackBess is nearly off her head with spirit. Now, then, mother, shall Igo upstairs and bring down your things?"

"I don't mind if you do, Nora; my back aches a good bit. "

"We'll put the air-cushion in the trap, " said the Squire, who, notwithstanding her fine-lady airs, had a great respect andadmiration for his wife. "We'll make you right cozy, Ellen, and arattle through the air will do you a sight of good. "

"May I drive, father?" said Nora. 

"You, little one? Suppose you bring Black Bess down on her knees?That horse is worth three hundred pounds, if she's worth a penny. "

"Do you think I would?" said the girl reproachfully. "Now, dad, thatis about the cruelest word you have said to your Nora for many a day. "

"Come and give me a hug, colleen, " said the Squire. 

Nora ran to him, clasped her arms round his neck, and kissed himonce or twice. He had moved away to the other end of the room, andnow he looked her full in the face. 

"You are fretting about something?"

"Not I--not I, " said the girl; but she flushed. 

"Listen to me, colleen, " said the Squire; "if it is that bit of amortgage, you get it right out of your head. It's not going to worry_me_. I am going this very evening to have a talk with Dan. "

"Oh, if it is Dan Murphy you owe it to, " said the girl. 

"Ah, he's all right; he's the right sort; a chip of the old block--eh?He wouldn't be hard on a brother in adversity?"

"He wouldn't if he could help it, " said Nora; but the cloud had notleft her sensitive face. Then, seeing that father looked at her withintense anxiety, she made a valiant effort. 

"Of course, I believe in you, " she said; "and, indeed, what does theloss of money matter while we are together?"

"Right you are! right you are!" said the Squire, with a laugh. Heclapped her on the shoulder. "Trust Light o' the Morning to look atthings in the right direction, " he said. 

CHAPTER III. 

THE WILD MURPHYS. 

Terence made his appearance at the tea table. In every respect he wasa contrast to Nora. He was very good-looking--strikingly handsome, infact; tall, with a graceful elegance of deportment which was instriking contrast to the burly figure of the old Squire. His face wasof a nut-brown hue; his eyes dark and piercing; his features straight. Young as he was, there were the first indications of a black silkymustache on his short upper lip, and his clustering black curls grewin a high ridge off a lofty brow. Terence had the somewhat languid airwhich more or less characterized all his mother's movements. He wasdevoted to her, and took his seat now by her side. She laid her verythin and slender hand on his arm. He did not respond by look or movementto the gesture of affection; but had a very close observer been presenthe would have noticed that he drew his chair about the tenth of an inchnearer to hers. 

Nora and her father at the other end of the table were chatteringvolubly. Nora's face was all smiles; every vestige of that littlecloud which had sat between her dark brows a few moments before hadvanished. Her blue eyes were sparkling with fun. 

The Squire made brilliant sally after sally, to which she respondedwith all an Irish girl's aptitude for repartee. 

Terence and his mother conversed in low tones. 

"Yes, mother, " he was saying, "I had a letter from Uncle George thismorning; he wants me to go next week. Do you think you can manage?"

"How long will you be away, Terence?"

"I don't know; a couple of months, perhaps. "

"How much money will it cost?"

"I shall want an evening suit, and a new dress-suit, and somethingfor everyday. These things are disgraceful, " said the lad, justglancing at the frayed coat-sleeve, beneath which showed a linencuff of immaculate whiteness. 

Terence was always the personification of fastidiousness in hisdress, and for this trait in his character alone Mrs. O'Shanaghganadored him. 

"You shall have it, " she said--"somehow. "

"Well, I must reply tonight, " he continued. "Shall I ask thegovernor, or will you?"

"We won't worry him, Terry; I can manage. "

He looked at her a little anxiously. 

"You are not going to sell any more of them?" he said. 

"There is a gold chain and that diamond ring; I never wear either. Iwould fifty times rather think that you were enjoying yourself withmy relations in England. You are fitted to grace any society. Do notsay another word, my boy. "

"You are the very best and noblest mother in the world, " said thelad with enthusiasm. 

Meanwhile, Nora and her father continued their gay conversation. 

"We will take a basket with us, " said Nora, "and Bridget shall giveme a couple of dozen more of those little brown eggs. Mrs. Perchshall have a brood of chicks if I can manage it. "

"Trust the girleen for that, " said the Squire, and then they rosefrom table. 

"Ellen, " he continued, addressing his wife, "have you and Terencedone colloguing together? for I hear Black Bess coming to the frontdoor. "

"Oh, hasten, mother; hasten!" said Nora. "The mare won't standwaiting; she is so fresh she is just ready to fly. "

The next few moments witnessed a scene of considerable bustle. Mrs. O'Shanaghgan, with all her English nerves, had plenty of pluck, andwould scorn to show even a vestige of fear before the hangers-on, asshe called the numerous ragged urchins who appeared from every quarteron each imaginable occasion. Although she was shaking from head tofoot with absolute terror at the thought of a drive behind Black Bess, she stepped into her seat in the tall dog-cart without a remark. Themare fidgeted and half reared. 

"Whoa! whoa! Black Bess, my beauty!" said the Squire. The groom, abright-faced lad, with a wisp of yellow hair falling over his forehead, held firmly to the reins. Nora jumped up beside her mother. 

"Are you going to drive?" asked that lady. 

"Yes, mummy; you know I can. Whoa, Black Bess! it's me, " said thegirl. She took the reins in her capable little hands; the Squiresprang up behind, and Black Bess flew down the avenue as if on thewings of the wind. 

Mrs. O'Shanaghgan gave one hurried pant of suppressed anguish, andthen sat perfectly still, her lips set, her hands tightly lockedtogether. She endured these drives almost daily, but had never yetgot accustomed to them. Nora, on the contrary, as they spun throughthe air, felt her spirits rising; the hot young blood coursed throughher veins, and her eyes blazed with fun and happiness. She lookedback at her father, who nodded to her briefly. 

"That's it, Nora; keep her well in. Now that we are going uphill youcan give her her head a bit. Whoa, Black Bess! Whoa!"

The mare, after her first wild canter, settled into a more jog-trotgait, and the dog-cart did not sway so violently from side to side. They were soon careering along a wide, well-made road, which ran formany miles along the top of some high cliffs. Below them, at theirfeet, the wild Atlantic waves curled and burst in innumerablefountains of spray; the roar of the waves came up to their ears, andthe breath of the salt breeze, the freshest and most invigorating inthe world, fanned their cheeks. Even Mrs. O'Shanaghgan felt herheart beating less wildly, and ventured to put a question or two toNora with regard to the clucking hen, Mrs. Perch. 

"I have not forgotten the basket, mammy, " said the girl; "and Hannahwill put the eggs under the hen tonight. "

"I am quite certain that Hannah mismanaged the last brood, " saidMrs. O'Shanaghgan; "but everything goes wrong at the Castle justnow. "

"Oh, mother, hush! he will hear, " said Nora. 

"It is just like you, Nora; you wish to keep----"

"Oh, come, now, " said the Squire; "I hear the grumbles beginning. Nogrumbles when we are having our ride--eh, Ellen? I want you to comeback with a hearty appetite for dinner, and a hearty inclination tosleep tonight. "

They drove faster and faster. Occasionally Nora touched the mare thefaintest little flick with the end of her long whip. The creatureresponded to her touch as though girl and horse were one. 

At last they drew up outside a dilapidated gate, one hinge of whichwas off. The Squire jumped down from his seat, came round, and heldthe horse's head. 

"Whoa! whoa!" he said. "Hullo, you, Mike! Why aren't you in yourplace? Come and open the gate this minute, lad. "

A small boy, with bare feet and ragged trousers, came hurrying, headover heels, down the road. Mrs. O'Shanaghgan shuddered and shut hereyes. The gate was swung open. Nora led the mare skillfully round asomewhat sharp corner, and the next instant they were dashing withheadlong speed up a steep avenue. It was neglected; weeds grew allover it, and the adjacent meadows were scarcely distinguishable fromthe avenue itself. 

The Squire ran after the dog-cart, and leaped up while the mare wasgoing at full speed. 

"Well done, father!" called back Nora. 

"Heaven preserve us!" thought Mrs. O'Shanaghgan, who still satspeechless, and as if made of iron. 

At last they reached a long, rambling old house, with many smallwindows, interspersed with a few of enormous dimensions. These werecalled parliament windows, and had been put into many houses of thatperiod in order to avoid the window-tax. Most of the windows wereopen, and out of some of them ragged towels were drying in theevening breeze. About half a dozen dogs, most of which were ofmongrel breed, rushed forward at the sound of the wheels, barkingvociferously. Nora, with a dexterous touch of her hand, drew themare up just in front of the mansion, and then sprang lightly to herfeet. '

"Now, mother, shall I help you down?"

"You had better find out first if Mrs. Murphy is in, " said theSquire's wife. 

A ragged urchin, such as seemed to abound like mushrooms in theplace, came and held the reins close to the horse's mouth. Thecreature stood trembling from the violence of her exertions, andpouring down moisture at every pore. "She wants to be well rubbeddown, " said the Squire. "She doesn't get half exercise enough; thiswill never do. What if I have to make money on her, and she isspoiled?"

The low words which came to his lips were not heard by anyone; therewas a frown, very like Nora's own, between his brows. The nextmoment a small man, with reddish hair, in a very shabby suit ofhalf-worn tweed, appeared on the steps of the front door. 

"Hullo, O'Shanaghgan, is that yourself?" he called out. "How are you, Mrs. O'Shanaghgan? Right glad to see you. You'll step inside--won'tyou? I believe the wife is somewhere round. Neil, my man, go and lookfor the missus. Tell her that Madam O'Shanaghgan is here, and theSquire. Well, Nora, I suppose you are wanting a chat with Bridget?You won't find her indoors this fine evening. "

"Where is she, Mr. Murphy?" asked the girl. "I do want to have atalk with her. "

"Ah! what's the basket for?"

"I want her to give me some of the pretty brown eggs. "

"Well, go right down there by the sea-path, and you'll find her, aslikely as not. "

"Very well, " answered Nora. Slinging her basket on her arm, shestarted for her walk. As soon as she was out of sight she began torun. Presently she stopped and began whistling "The Wearing of theGreen, " which was responded to in a moment by another voice, sweetas that of a blackbird. She looked to right and left, and presentlysaw a pair of laughing black eyes looking down at her from beneaththe shelter of a huge oak tree. 

"Here I am. Will you climb up?" said the voice of Bridget Murphy. 

"Give me a hand, and I'll be up with you in a moment, " said Nora. She tossed her basket on the ground; a very firm, little brown handwas extended; and the next moment the girls were seated side by sideon a stout branch of the tree. 

"Well, and what has brought you along here?" said Bridget. 

"I came with father and mother in the dog-cart, " replied Nora. "Father let me drive Black Bess. I had a jolly time; but she didpull a bit--my wrists are quite stiff. "

"I am glad you have come, " said the other girl. "I was having aconcert all by myself. I can imitate the thrush, the blackbird, andmost of the birds round here. Shall I do the thrush for you?"

Before Nora could speak she began imitating the full liquid notes ofthe bird to perfection. 

"I declare you have a genius for it, " said Nora. "But how are youyourself, Biddy?"

"What should ail me?" replied Biddy. "I never had a care nor a worrynor a trouble yet; the day is long, and my heart is light. I am atpeace, and I never had an ache in my body yet. But what is up withyou, Nora alannah?"

"It's that mortgage, you know, " said Nora, dropping her voice. "Whatis your father going to do?"

"Oh, the mortgage, " said Bridget. "Mr. Morgan came down from Dublinyesterday; he and father had a long talk. I don't know. I believethere's worry in the air, and when there is I always steer clear ofit. "

"Your father, you mean?"

"I can't tell you; don't question me. I am glad you have come. Can'tyou stay for the night?"

"No, I can't. I must go back with father and mother. The fact isthis, Bridget, I believe your father would do anything in the worldfor you. "

"I suppose he would. What do you want to coax out of me now? Oh, Nora alannah! don't let us talk of worries. Come down to the seawith me--won't you? I have found the most lovely cave. I mean toexplore it with lanterns. You go into the cave, and you can walk innearly half a mile; and then it takes a sudden turn to the right, and they say there's an entrance into another cave, and just beyondthat there's a ghost supposed to be. Some people say it is the homeof the O'Shanaghgans' Banshee; but whatever it is, I mean to see allabout it. "

"Do you mean the Sea-Nymphs' Cave?" said Nora. "But you can only getto that by crossing the bay. "

"Yes. Well, I am going tomorrow night; the moon is at the full. Youwill come over and go with me--won't you?"

"Oh! I wish I could. "

"But why can't you? Don't let us worry about fathers and mothers. We're a pair of girls, and must have our own larks. There's Neil andthere's Mike; they will get the boat all ready, and we can start offfor the cave just when the tide is high; we can only get in then. We'll run the boat in as far as it will go, and we'll see what we'llsee. You will come--won't you, Nora?"

"I should like it of all things in the world, " said Nora. 

"Well, why not? You can come over tomorrow afternoon, and stay thenight here. Just say that I have asked you. "

"But mother does not much like my sleeping out. "

"You mean that she does not like you to sleep at the house of thewild Murphys--that's what you mean, Nora. Then, get away; I don'twant to force my company on you. I am as good as any other girl inIreland; I have the blood of the old Irish kings in my veins; but ifyou are too proud to come, why----"

"I am not, and you know it, " said Nora; "but mother is an Englishwoman, and she thinks we are all a little rough, you and I into the bargain. All the same, I'll come to-morrow. I do want to explore that cave. Yes, I'll come if you give me a proper invitation before mother. "

"Oh, mercy me!" said the girl, "must I go back to the house? I am soprecious shabby, and your lady-mother has got such piercing eyes. But there, we can smuggle in the back way. I'll go up to my room andput on my bits of finery. Bedad! but I look as handsome as the bestwhen I am dressed up. Come along, Nora; we'll get in the back way, and I'll give the invitation in proper style. "

CHAPTER IV. 

THE INVITATION. 

Bridget and Nora began to climb up a very steep and narrow windingpath. It was nothing more than a grass path in the midst of a lot ofrock and underwood, but the girls were like young chamois, andleaped over such obstacles with the lightness of fawns. Presentlythey arrived at the back entrance of Cronane, the Murphys' decidedlydilapidated residence. They had to cross a courtyard covered withrough cobbles and in a sad state of neglect and mess. Some pigs werewallowing in the mire in one corner, and a rough pony was tetheredto a post not far off; he was endeavoring, with painful insistence, to reach a clump of hay which was sticking out of a hayrick a footor two away. Nora, seeing his wistful eyes, sprang forward, pulled agreat handful of the hay, and held it to his mouth. The littlecreature almost whinnied with delight. 

"There you are, " said Bridget. "What right have you to give our hayto that pony?"

"Oh, nonsense, " said Nora; "the heart in him was starving. " Sheflung her arms round the pony's neck, pressed a kiss on hisforehead, and continued to cross the yard with Biddy. Two or threeragged urchins soon impeded their path; one of them was theredoubtable Neil, the other Mike. 

"Is it to-morrow night you want the boat, Miss Biddy?" said Neil. 

Bridget dropped her voice to a whisper. 

"Look here, Neil, " she said, "mum's the word; you are not to let itout to a soul. You and Mike shall come with us, and Miss Nora iscoming too. "

Neil cast a bashful and admiring glance at handsome Nora, as shestood very erect by Biddy's side. 

"All right, miss, " he said. 

"At ten o'clock, " said Bridget; "have the boat in the cove then, andwe'll be down there and ready. "

"But they say, miss, that the Banshee is out on the nights when themoon is at the full. "

"The O'Shanaghgans' Banshee, " said Biddy, glancing at Nora, whose facedid not change a muscle, although the brightness and wistfulness inher eyes were abundantly visible. She was saying to herself:

"I would give all the world to speak to the Banshee alone--to askher to get father out of his difficulty. "

She was half-ashamed of these thoughts, although she knew and almostgloried in the fact that she was superstitious to her heart's core. 

She and Biddy soon entered the house by the back entrance, and ran upsome carpetless stairs to Biddy's own room. This was a huge bedroom, carpetless and nearly bare. A little camp-bed stood in one corner, covered by a colored counterpane; there was a strip of carpet besidethe bed, and another tiny strip by a wooden washhand-stand. The twogreat parliament windows were destitute of any curtain or even blind;they stared blankly out across the lovely summer landscape as hideousas windows could be. 

It was a perfect summer's evening; but even now the old framesrattled and shook, and gave some idea of how they would behave werea storm abroad. 

Biddy, who was quite accustomed to her room and never dreamed thatany maiden could sleep in a more luxurious chamber, crossed it towhere a huge wooden wardrobe stood. She unlocked the door, and tookfrom its depths a pale-blue skirt trimmed with quantities of dirtypink flounces. 

"Oh, you are not going to put _that_ on, " said Nora, whose owntraining had made her sensitive to incongruity in dress. 

"Yes, I am, " said Biddy. "How can I see your lady-mother in thisstyle of thing?"

She went and stood in front of Nora with her arms akimbo. 

"Look, " she said, "my frock has a rent from here to here, and thispetticoat is none of the best, and my stockings--well, I know it ismy own fault, but I _won't_ darn them, and there is a greathole just above the heel. Now, this skirt will hide all blemishes. "

"But what will your mother say?"

"Bless her!" said Biddy, "she won't even notice. Here, let's whip onthe dress. "

She hastily divested herself of her ragged cotton skirt, and put onthe pale blue with the dirty silk flounces. 

"What are you looking so grave for?" she said, glancing up at Nora. "I declare you're too stately for anything, Nora O'Shanaghgan! Youstand there, and I know you criticise me. "

"No; I love you too much, " replied Nora. "You are Biddy Murphy, oneof my greatest friends. "

"Ah, it's sweet to hear her, " said Biddy. 

"But, all the same, " continued Nora, "I don't like that dress, andit's terribly unsuitable. You don't look ladylike in it. "

"Ladylike, and I with the blood of----"

"Oh, don't begin that, " said Nora; "every time I see you you mentionthat fact. I have not the slightest doubt that the old kings wereruffians, and dressed abominably. "

"If you dare, " said Biddy. She rushed up to the bed, dragged out herpillow, and held it in a warlike attitude. "Another word about myancestors, and this will be at your devoted head!" she cried. 

Nora burst into a merry laugh. 

"There, now, that's better, " said Biddy. She dropped the pillow andproceeded with her toilet. The dirty skirt with its tawdry flounceswas surmounted by a bodice of the same material, equally unsuitable. 

Biddy brushed out her mop of jet-black hair, which grew in thick curlsall over her head and stood out like a mop round her shoulders. She wasa plain girl, with small, very black eyes, a turned-up nose, and a widemouth; but there was an irresistible expression of drollery in her face, and when she laughed, showing her milk-white teeth, there were peoplewho even thought her attractive. Nora really loved her, although thetwo, standing side by side, were, as far as appearances were concerned, as the poles asunder. 

"Now, come along, " said Biddy. "I know I look perfectly charming. Oh, what a sweet, sweet blue it is, and these ducky little flounces! Itwas Aunt Mary O'Flannagan sent me this dress at Christmas. She woreit at a fancy ball, and said it might suit me. It does, down to theground. Let me drop a courtesy to you, Nora O'Shanaghgan. Oh, howproper we look! But I don't care! Now I'm not afraid to face anyone--why, the old kings would have been proud of me. Come along--do. "

She caught Nora's hand; they dashed down the wide, carpetless stairs, crossed a huge hall, and entered a room which was known as thedrawing room at Cronane. It was an enormous apartment, but bore thesame traces of neglect and dirt which the whole of the rest of thehouse testified to. The paper on the walls was moldy in patches, andin one or two places it had detached itself from the wall and fellin great sheets to the ground. One loose piece of paper was tackedup with two or three huge tacks, and bulged out, swaying with theslightest breeze. The carpet, which covered the entire floor, wasworn threadbare; but, to make up for these defects, there werecabinets of the rarest and most exquisite old china, some of thepieces being worth fabulous sums. Vases of the same china adornedthe tall marble mantelpiece, and stood on brackets here and thereabout the room. There were also some exquisite and wonderfullycarved oak, a Queen Anne sofa, and several spindle-legged chairs. Anold spinet stood in a distant window, and the drab moreen curtainshad once been handsome. 

Standing on the hearth, with his elbow resting on the marblemantelpiece close to a unique vase of antique design, stood SquireO'Shanaghgan. He was talking in pleasant and genial tones to Mrs. Murphy, a podgy little woman, with a great likeness to Biddy. 

Mrs. Murphy wore a black alpaca dress and a little three-corneredknitted shawl across her shoulders. She had gray hair, which curledtightly like her daughter's; on top of it was a cap formed of rustyblack velvet and equally rusty black lace. She looked much excitedat the advent of the Squire, and her cheeks testified to the fact bythe brightness of their color. 

Mr. Murphy was doing penance opposite to Mrs. O'Shanaghgan. He wasdreadfully afraid of that stately lady, and was glancing nervouslyround at his wife and the Squire from moment to moment. 

"Yes, madam, " he was saying, "it's turnips we are going to plant inthat field just yonder. We have had a very good crop of hay too. Itis a fine season, and the potatoes promise to be a sight for soreeyes. "

"I hate the very name of that root, " said Mrs. O'Shanaghgan in hermost drawling tones. 

"Why, then, ma'am, you don't say so, " answered Murphy; "it seemshard on the poor things that keep us all going. The potheen and thepotatoes--what would Ireland be without 'em? Glory be to goodness, it's quite awful to hear you abusing the potato, ma'am. "

"I am English, you know, " said Mrs. O'Shanaghgan. 

On this scene Nora and Biddy entered. Mr. Murphy glanced with intenserelief at his daughter. Mrs. O'Shanaghgan slightly raised her brows. It was the faintest of movements, but the superciliousness of theaction smote upon Nora, who colored painfully. 

Biddy, taking her courage in her hand, went straight up to theaugust lady. 

"How do you do?" she said. 

Mrs. O'Shanaghgan extended her hand with a limp action. 

"Oh, dear!" panted Biddy. 

"What is up, my dear Bridget?" said her mother, turning round andlooking at her daughter. "Oh, to goodness, what have you put that onfor? It's your very best Sunday-go-to-meeting dress, and you won'thave another, I can tell you, for six months. "

"There now, mother, hush, do, " said Biddy. "I have put it on for apurpose. Why, then, it's sweet I want to make myself, and I believeit's sweet I look. Oh, there's the mirror; let me gaze at myself. "

She crossed the room, and stood in front of a long glass, examiningher unsuitable dress from the front and side; and then, beingthoroughly satisfied with the elegance of appearance, she went backand stood in front of Mrs. O'Shanaghgan. 

"It's a request I want to make of you, ma'am, " she said. 

"Well, Biddy, I will listen to it if you will ask me properly, " saidMrs. O'Shanaghgan. 

"Yes, to be sure, " said Biddy. "How shall I say it?"

"Speak quietly, my dear. "

"Yes, Biddy, I do wish you would take pattern by Nora, and by Mrs. O'Shanaghgan, " said Mrs. Murphy, who in her heart of hearts enviedMrs. O'Shanaghgan's icy manners, and thought them the most perfectin all the world. She was in mortal fear of this good lady, evenmore terrified of her than her husband was. 

"Well, Biddy, " said Mrs. O'Shanaghgan. 

"May Nora come and spend tomorrow night here?"

"No, " was on Mrs. O'Shanaghgan's lips; but just then the Squire cameforward. 

"To be sure she may; it will do her a sight of good. The childhardly ever goes from home. "

Mrs. O'Shanaghgan raised displeased eyes to her husband's face. 

"Girls of Nora's age ought to stay at home, " she said. 

"Yes, to be sure, to be sure, " said the Squire; "and we would missher awfully if she was away from us; but a day or two off duty--eh, madam?" He glanced at his wife. 

"You have your answer, Biddy, " said Mrs. O'Shanaghgan; "her fatherwishes Nora to accept your invitation. She may stay away for onenight--no longer. "

Biddy winked broadly round at Nora. 

"Now, then, " she said, "come along. " She seized her friend by the arm, and whisked her out of the room. 

"It was the dress that did it, " she said; "it is the loveliestgarment in all the world. Come along now, and let's take it off. Iwant to gather those eggs for you. "

She ran upstairs again, followed by Nora. The dress was disposed of inthe large wooden wardrobe, the old torn frock readjusted on Biddy'sstout form, and the girls went out into the lovely summer air. Theeggs which Nora required were put into the little basket, and inhalf an hour the O'Shanaghgans' party were returning at full speedto Castle O'Shanaghgan. Nora glanced once into her father's face, andher heart gave a great leap. Her high spirits left her as if by magic;she felt a lump in her throat, and during the rest of the drive hardlyspoke. 

The Squire, on the contrary, talked incessantly. He talked more thanever after Nora had looked at him. He slapped his wife on theshoulder, and complimented her on her bravery. Nora's driving wasthe very best in all the world; she was a born whip; she had no fearin her; she was his own colleen, the Light o' the Morning, the dearest, sweetest soul on earth. 

Mrs. O'Shanaghan replied very briefly and coldly to her husband'sexcited words. She treated them with what she imagined the contemptthey deserved; but Nora was neither elated just then by her father'spraise nor chilled by her mother's demeanor. Every thought of herheart, every nerve in her highly strung frame, was concentrated onone fact alone--she had surprised a look, a look on the Squire'sface, which told her that his heart was broken. 

CHAPTER V. 

"I AM ASHAMED OF YOU. "

It was late that same evening, and the household at the Castle hadall retired to rest. Nora was in her own room. This room was notfurnished according to an English girl's fancy. It was plain andbare, but, compared to Biddy Murphy's chamber, it was a room ofcomfort and even luxury. A neat carpet covered the floor, there werewhite dimity curtains to the windows, and the little bed in itsdistant recess looked neat and comfortable. It is true that thewashhand-stand was wooden, and the basin and jug of the plainesttype; but Mrs. O'Shanaghgan herself saw that Nora had at least whatshe considered the necessaries of life. She had a neat hanging-pressfor her dresses, and a pretty chest of drawers, which her motherherself had saved up her pin-money to buy for her. 

Nora now stood by one of the open windows, her thick and very longblack hair hanging in a rippling mass over her neck and shoulders. Suddenly, as she bent out of the window, the faint, very faintperfume of a cigar came up on the night air. She sniffed excitedlyfor a moment, and then, bending a little more forward, said in a lowtone:

"Is that you, Terry?"

"Yes--why don't you go to bed?" was the somewhat ungraciousresponse. 

"I am not sleepy. May I come down and join you?"

"No. "

"Will you come up and join me?"

The answer was about to be "No"; there was a moment's hesitation, then Nora's voice said pleadingly, "Ah, do now, Terry; I want to saysomething so badly. "

"But if anybody hears?"

"They can't hear. Father and mother's room is at the other end ofthe house. "

"All right; don't say any more; you'll wake people with that chatterof yours. I'm coming. "

In a couple of minutes there was a knock at Nora's door. She flew toopen it, and Terence came in. 

"What do you want?" he said. 

"To talk to you; I have got something to say. Come over and sit bythe window. "

Terence obeyed. 

"The first thing to do is to put out that light, " said Nora. She ranto the dressing table, and before her brother could prevent her hadextinguished the candle. 

"Now, then, there is the dear old lady moon to look down upon us, and nothing else can see us. "

"Why don't you go to bed, Nora? Hannah would say that you are losingyour beauty-sleep sitting up at this, hour. "

"As if anything about me mattered just now, " said Nora. 

"Why, what's up?"

"The old thing, Terry; you must know what's up. "

"What old thing? I am sure I can't guess. "

"Well, then, if you can't you ought. Father is in a peck of trouble--apeck of trouble. "

Nora's voice broke and trembled. Terence, who disliked a scene beyondanything, fidgeted restlessly. He leaned out of the window, and droppedhis cigar ash on the ground beneath. 

"And you are his only son and the heir to Castle O'Shanaghgan. "

"The heir to a pack of ruins, " said the boy impatiently. 

"Terry, you don't deserve to be father's son. How dare you speaklike that of the--the beloved old place?"

"Come, come, Nora, if you are going into heroics I think I'll be offto bed, " said Terence, yawning. 

"No, you won't; you must listen. I have got something most importantto say. "

"Well, then, I will give you five minutes; not another moment. Iknow you, Nora; you always exaggerate things. You are an Irishwomanto your backbone. "

"I am, and I glory in the fact. "

"You ought to be ashamed to glory in it. Don't you want to haveanything to do with mother and her relations?"

"I love my mother, but I am glad I don't take after her, " said Nora;"yes, I am glad. "

The moon shone on the two young faces, and Nora looked up at herbrother; he put on a supercilious smile, and folded his arms acrosshis broad chest. 

"Yes, " she replied; "and I should like to shake you for looking likethat. I am glad I am Irish through and through and _through_. Would I give my warm heart and my enthusiasm for your coldness anddeliberation?"

"Good gracious, Nora, what a little ignorant thing you are! Do yousuppose no Englishman has enthusiasm?"

"We'll drop the subject, " said Nora. "It is one I won't talk of; itputs me into such a boiling rage to see you sitting like that. "

Terence did not speak at all for a moment; then he said quietly:

"What is this thing that you have got to tell me? The five minutesare nearly up, you know. "

"Oh, bother your five minutes! I cannot tell you in five minutes. When my heart is scalded with unshed tears, how can I measure timeby _minutes_? It has to do with father; it is worse thananything that has ever gone before. "

"What is it, Norrie?" Her brother's tone had suddenly become gentle. He laid his hand for a moment on her arm; the gentleness of the tone, the unexpected sweetness of the touch overcame Nora; she flung herarms passionately round his neck. 

"Oh, and you are the only brother I have got!" she sobbed; "and Icould love you--I could love you like anything. Can't you besympathetic? Can't you be sweet? Can't you be dear?"

"Oh, come, come!" said Terence, struggling to release himself fromNora's entwining arms; "I am not made like you, you know; but I amnot a bad chap at heart. Now, what is it?"

"I will try and tell you. "

"And for goodness' sake don't look so sorrowfully at me, Nora; wecan talk, and we can act and do good deeds, without giving ourselvesaway. I hate girls who wear their hearts on their sleeves. "

"Oh! you will _never_ understand, " said Nora, starting backagain; all her burst of feeling turned in upon herself. "I can'timagine how you are father's son, " she began. But then she stopped, waited for a moment, and then said quietly, "There is a freshmortgage, and it is for a very big sum. "

"Oh, is that all?" said Terence. "I have heard of mortgages all mylife; it seems to be the fashion at O'Shanaghgan to mortgage to anyextent. There is nothing in that; father will give up a little moreof the land. "

"How much land do you think is left?"

"I am sure I can't say; not much, I presume. "

"It is my impression, " said Nora--"I am not sure; but it is myimpression--that there is _nothing_ left to meet this big thingbut the--the--the land on which"--her voice broke--"Terry, the landon which the house stands. "

"Really, Nora, you are so melodramatic. I don't know how you canknow anything of this. "

"I only guess. Mother is very unhappy. "

"Mother? Is she?"

"Ah, I have touched you there! But anyhow, father is in worsetrouble than he has been yet; I never, _never_ saw him look ashe did tonight. "

"As if looks mattered. "

"The look I saw tonight does matter, " said Nora. "We were cominghome from Cronane, and I was driving. "

"It is madness to let you drive Black Bess, " interrupted Terence. "Iwonder my father risks spoiling one of his most valuable horses. "

"Oh, nonsense, Terry; I can drive as well as you, and better, thanks, "replied Nora, much nettled, for her excellent driving was one of thefew things she was proud of. "Well, I turned round, and I saw father'sface, and, oh! it was just as if someone had stabbed me through theheart. You know, or perhaps you don't, that the last big loan camefrom Squire Murphy. "

"Old Dan Murphy; then we are as safe as we can be, " said Terence, rising and whistling. "You really did make me feel uncomfortable, you have such a queer way; but if it is Dan Murphy, he will givefather any amount of time. Why, they are the best of friends. "

"Well, father went to see him on the subject--I happen to know that--andI don't think he has given him time. There is something wrong, anyhow--Idon't know what; but there _is_ something very wrong, and I meanto find out tomorrow. "

"Nora, if I were you I wouldn't interfere. You are only a young girl, and these kind of things are quite out of your province. Father haspulled along ever since you and I were born. Most Irish gentlemenare poor in these days. How can they help it? The whole country isgoing to ruin; there is no proper trade; there is no proper systemanywhere. The tenants are allowed to pay their rent just as theyplease----"

"As if we could harry them, " said inconsistent Nora. "The poordears, with their tiny cots and their hard, hard times. I'd rathereat dry bread all my days than press one of them. "

"If these are your silly views, you must expect our father to be badlyoff, and the property to go to the dogs, and everything to come to anend, " said the brother in a discontented tone. "But there, I say oncemore that you have exaggerated in this matter; there is nothing morewrong than there has been since I can remember. I am glad I am goingto England; I am glad I am going to be out of it all for a bit. "

"You going to England--you, Terry?"

"Yes. Don't you know? Our Uncle George Hartrick has asked me to staywith him, and I am going. "

"And you can go? You can leave us just now?"

"Why, of course; there will be fewer mouths to feed. It's a goodthing every way. "

"But Uncle George is a rich man?"

"What of that?"

"I mean he lives in a big place, and has heaps and heaps of money, "said Nora. 

"So much the better. "

"You cannot go to him _shabby_. What are you going to do fordress?"

"Mother will manage that. "

"Mother!" Nora leaped up from the window-ledge and stood facing herbrother. "You have spoken to mother?"

"Of course I have. Dear me, Nora, you are getting to be quite anunpleasant sort of girl. "

"You have spoken to mother, " repeated Nora, "and she has promised tohelp you? How will she do it?"

Terence moved restlessly. 

"I suppose she knows herself how she will do it. "

"And you will let her?" said Nora--"you, a man, will let her? Youknow she has no money; you know she has nothing but her littletrinkets, and you allow her to sell those to give you pleasure? Oh, I am ashamed of you! I am sorry you are my brother. How can you doit?"

"Look here, Nora, I won't be scolded by you. After all, I am yourelder, and you are bound, at any rate, to show me decent outwardrespect. If you only mean to talk humbug of this sort I am off tobed. "

Terence rose from his place on the window-ledge, and, withoutglancing at Nora, left the room. When he did so she clasped herhands high above her head, and sat for a moment looking out into thenight. Her face was quivering, but no tears rose to her wide-openeyes. After a moment she turned, and began very slowly to undress. 

"I will see the Banshee tomorrow, if it is possible, " she whisperedunder her breath. "If ruin can be averted, it shall be. I don't mindleaving the place; I don't mind starving. I don't mind _anything_but that look on father's face. But father's heart shall not be broken;not while Nora O'Shanaghgan is in the world. "

CHAPTER VI. 

THE CAVE OF THE BANSHEE. 

At ten o'clock on the following evening two eager excited girlsmight have been seen stealing down a narrow path which led toMurphy's Cove. Murphy's Cove was a charming little semicircular baywhich ran rather deeply into the land. The sand here was of thatsilvery sheen which, at low tide, shone like burnished silver. Thecove was noted for its wonderful shells, producing many cowries andlong shells called pointers. 

In the days of her early youth Nora had explored the treasures ofthis cove, and had secured a valuable collection of shells, as wellas very rare seaweeds, which she had carefully dried. Her mother hadshown her how to make seaweeds and shells into baskets, and many ofthese amateur productions adorned the walls of Nora's bedroom. 

All the charm of these things had passed away, however; the time hadcome when she no longer cared to gather shells or collect seaweeds. She felt that she was turning very fast into a woman. She had all anIrish girl's high spirits; but she had, added to these, a peculiarlywarm and sensitive heart. When those she loved were happy, no one inall the world was happier than Nora O'Shanaghgan; but when any gloomfell on the home-circle, then Nora suffered far more than anyonegave her credit for. 

She had passed an anxious day at home, watching her father intently, afraid to question him, and only darting glances at him when shethought he was not looking. The Squire, however, seemed cheerfulenough, plodding over his land, or arranging about the horses, ordoing the thousand-and-one small things which occupied his life. 

Mrs. O'Shanaghgan seemed to have forgotten all about the mortgage, and was eagerly discussing ways and means with Terence. Terenceavoided Nora's eyes, and rode off early in the evening to see thenearest tailor. It was not likely that this individual could make afitting suit for the young heir to O'Shanaghgan; but the boy musthave something to travel in, and Mrs. O'Shanaghgan gave implicitdirections as to the London tailor whom he was to visit as soon ashe reached the Metropolis. 

"For you are to look your best, and never to forget that you are myson, " was her rejoinder; and Terence forgot all about Nora's wordson the previous evening. He was to start in two days' time. EvenNora became excited over his trip and in her mother's account of herUncle Hartrick. 

"I wish you were going, Nora, " said the mother. "I should be proudof you. Of course you are a little rough colt; but you could betrained;" and then she looked with sudden admiration at her handsomedaughter. 

"She has a face in a thousand, " she thought, "and she is absolutelyunconscious of her beauty. "

At five o'clock Nora had started off in the pony-trap to visit herfriend Biddy. The trap had been brought back by one of the numerousgossoons who abounded all over O'Shanaghgan, and Biddy and Nora had afew hours before the great secret expedition was to take place. Andnow the time had come. The girls had put on thick serge petticoats, short jackets, and little tight-fitting caps on their heads. Therewas always a breeze blowing round that extreme corner of the Atlantic. Never did the finest summer day find the waves calm there. Nora andBiddy had been accustomed to these waves since their earliest girlhood, and were not the least afraid. They stood now waiting in the littlecove, and looking round wonderingly for the appearance of Mike andNeil upon the scene. They were to bring the boat with them. The girlswere to wade through the surf to get into it, and Biddy was stoopingdown to take off her shoes and stockings for the purpose. 

"Dear, dear!" she cried. "Do you see that ugly bank of clouds justbehind the moon? I hope my lady moon is not going to hide herself;we can do nothing in the cave if we have not light. "

"But the cave is dark, surely?"

"Yes. But don't you know there is a break in the cliffs above, justin the center? And it is down there the moon sends its shafts whenit is at the full; it is there the Banshee will meet us, if we areto see her at all. The shafts from the moon will only enter the caveat midnight. I have counted the times, and I know everything. "

"I want to see the Banshee so badly, " said Nora. 

"You won't be frightened, then, Nora?"

"Frightened? No. Not of our own Banshee. "

"They say, " began Biddy, "that if you see a spirit, and come face toface with it, you are good for--"

"What?" said Nora. 

"If you hold out during the year you have seen the spirit, you aregood to live for another ten; but during that first year you are inextreme danger of dying. If you escape that fate, however, and arewhole and sound, you will be quite safe to live for ten more years. They say nothing can send you out of the world; not sickness, noraccidents, nor fire, nor water; but the second year you are liable toan accident, and the year after to a misfortune; then in the fourthyear your luck turns--in the fourth year you find gold, in the fifthyear health, in the sixth year beauty. Oh, I would give anything tobe beautiful!"

"You are very well as you are, Biddy. "

"Very well as I am? What nonsense! Look at my turned-up nose. " HereBiddy pressed her finger on the feature in question. 

"It looks very racy, " answered Nora. 

"Bedad, then, it does that, " replied Biddy. "I believe I got itsound and safe from one of the old----"

"You needn't go on, " cried Nora. "I know what you are going to say. "

"And why shouldn't I say it? You would be proud enough to bedescended from----"

"Oh, I have a very fine descent of my own, " answered Nora, with spirit. 

"Now, if I was like you, " began Biddy, "wouldn't I be proud, just?But dear, dear! there never were two Irish girls farther asunder asfar as appearance goes. See here, let me describe myself, feature byfeature. Oh, here's a clear pool. I can get a glimpse of myself init. You come and look in too, Nora. Now, then, we can see ourselves. Oh, holy poker! it's cruel the difference between us. Here's myforehead low and bumpy, and my little nose, scarcely any of it, andwhat there is turned right up to the sky; and my wide mouth, and mylittle eyes, and my hair just standing straight up as rakish as youplease. And look at you, with your elegant features and your--oh, but it's genteel you are!--and I love you, Nora alannah; I love you, and am not a bit jealous of you. "

Here the impulsive girl threw her arms round her friend's neck andkissed her. 

"All the same, " she added, "I wish those clouds were not coming up. It has been so precious hot all day that I should not be the leastsurprised if we had a thunderstorm. "

"A thunderstorm while we are in the cave would be magnificent, " saidNora. 

"Does anything ever frighten you, Nora?"

"I don't think anything in nature could frighten me; but there aresome things I am frightened at. "

"What? Do tell me. I should like to know. "

"You'll keep it a secret--won't you, Biddy?"

"To be sure I will. When did I ever blaze out anything you told me?If I am plain, I am faithful. "

"Well, I am afraid of _pain_, " said Nora. 

"Pain! You? But I have seen you scratch yourself ever so deep andnot so much as wink; and I mind that time when you twisted yourankle and you didn't even pretend you were hurt. "

"Oh, it is not that sort of pain. I am terrified of pain when itaffects those I love. But there! don't ask me any more. Here are theboys; we'll jump into the boat and be off. Why, it is half-past ten, and it will take half-an-hour's good rowing to cross the bay, andthen we have to enter the cave and----"

"I don't like those clouds, " said Biddy. "I wonder if it is safe togo. "

"Safe?" said Nora. "We must go. Mother won't allow me to spend anothernight here, and I shall lose my chance. I am determined to speak to theBanshee or die in the attempt. "

The splash of oars was now distinctly audible, and the next moment afour-oared gig swiftly turned the little promontory and shot with arapid movement into the bay. 

"Why, " said Biddy, running forward, "who's in the boat?"

A lad and a man now stood upright and motioned to the girls. 

"Where's Neil?" said Biddy. 

"Neil could not come, Miss Biddy, so I'm taking his place, " said thedeep voice of a powerful-looking man. He had a black beard down tohis waist, flashing black eyes, a turned-up nose, and a low forehead. A more bull-dog and ferocious-looking individual it would be hard tofind. Biddy, however, knew him; he was Neil's father--Andy Neil, ashe was called. He was known to be a lawless and ferocious man, andwas very much dreaded by most of the neighbors around. Neither Noranor Biddy, however, felt any reason to fear him and Nora said almostcheerfully:

"As we are to have such a stiff row, it is just as well to have aman in the boat. "

"Faix, now, young ladies, come along, and don't keep me waiting, "said Andy, rising and brandishing one of his oars in a threateningway. "There's a storm coming on, and I want to be out of this aforeit overtakes us. Oh, glory be to goodness, there's a flash oflightning!"

There came a flash on the edge of the horizon, lighting up the thickbank of rapidly approaching clouds. 

"Nora, had we better go tonight?" said Biddy. She had as little fearas her friend, but even she did not contemplate with pleasure a wildstorm in the midst of the Atlantic. 

The man Neil looked gravely round. 

"Och! good luck to ye now, young ladies; don't be kaping me waitingafter the botheration of coming to fetch yez. Come along, and bequick about it. "

"To be sure, " said Nora. She splashed bravely into the surf, for theboat could not quite reach the shore. The waves reached high aboveher pretty, rosy ankles as she stepped into the boat. 

Biddy followed in her wake; and then Nora, producing a rough towel, began to dry her feet. Both girls put on their shoes and stockingsagain in absolute silence. 

Neil had now faced the boat seaward, and with great sweeps with a pairof sculls was taking it out to sea. The tide was in their favor, andthey went at a rapid rate. The man did not speak at all, and his facewas in complete shadow. Nora breathed hard in suppressed excitementand delight. Biddy crouched at the bottom of the boat and watched theclouds as they came up. 

"I wish I hadn't come, " she muttered once or twice. 

The boy Mike sat at the stern. The two girls had nothing whatever todo. 

"Shall I take an oar, Andy?" said Nora at last. 

"You, miss?"

"I can take a pair of oars and help you, " said the girl. 

"If it plazes you, miss. " The man hastily stepped to the back of theboat. Nora took her place, and soon they were going at greater speedthan ever. She was a splendid oarswoman, and feathered her oars inthe most approved fashion. 

In less than the prescribed half-hour they reached the entrance tothe great cave. 

They were safe. A hollow, booming noise greeted them as they cameclose. Andy bent forward and gave Nora a brief direction. 

"Ship your oars now, miss. Aisy now; aisy now. Now, then, I'll takeone pull; pull your left oar again. Now, here we are. "

He spoke with animation. Nora obeyed him implicitly. They entered theshadow of the cave, and the next instant found themselves in completedarkness. The boat bobbed up and down on the restless water, and justat that instant a flash of vivid lightning illuminated all the outsidewater, followed by a crashing roar of thunder. 

"The storm is on us; but, thank the Almighty, we're safe, " saidMike, with a little sob. "I wish to goodness we hadn't come, all thesame. "

"And so do I, " said Biddy; "it is perfectly awful being in a cavelike this. What shall we do?"

"Do!" said Neil. "Hould your tongues and stay aisy. Faix, it's theAlmighty is having a bit of a talk; you stay quiet and listen. "

The four oars were shipped now, and the boat swayed restlessly upand down. 

"Aren't we going any farther?" said Nora. 

"Not while this storm lasts. Oh, for goodness' sake, Nora, do stayquiet, " said Biddy. 

Andy now produced out of his pocket a box of matches and a candle. He struck a match, applied it to the candle, and the next moment afeeble flame shot up. It was comparatively calm within the cave. 

"There! that will light us a bit, " said Andy. "The storm won't lastlong. It's well we got into shelter. Now, then, we'll do fine. "

"You don't think, " said Biddy, in a terrified tone, "that the cavewill be be crashed in?"

"Glory be to Heaven, no, miss--we have cheated the storm coming here. "The man smiled as he spoke, showing bits of broken teeth. His wordswere gentle enough, but his whole appearance was more like that of awild beast than a man. Nora looked full at him. The candle lit up herpale face; her dark-blue eyes were full of courage; a lock of herblack hair had got loose in the exertion of rowing, and had fallenpartly over her shoulder and neck. "Faix, then, you might be the Bansheeherself, " said Andy, bending forward and looking at her attentively. 

"If the moon comes out again we may see the Banshee, " whisperedNora. "Can we not go farther into the cave? Time is flying. " Shetook her watch from her pocket and looked at the hour. It wasalready past eleven o'clock. 

"The storm will be over in good time, " said the man. "Do you want toget the gleam of moonlight in the crack of the inner cave? Is thatwhat you're afther, missy?"

"Yes, " said Nora. 

"Well, you stay quiet; you'll reach it right enough. "

"Nora wants to see the Banshee, Andy, " called out Biddy. "Oh, what aflash! It nearly blinded me. "

"The rain will soon be on us, and then the worst of the storm willbe past, " said the man. 

Mike uttered a scream; the lightning was now forked and intenselyblue. It flashed into every cranny in the cave, showing the barnacleson the roof, the little bits of fern, the strange stalactites. Afterthe flash had passed, the darkness which followed was so intense thatthe light of the dim candle could scarcely be seen. Presently therain thundered down upon the bare rock above with a tremendous sound;there were great hailstones; the thunder became less frequent, thelightning less vivid. In a little more than half an hour the fiercestorm had swept on to other quarters. 

"Now, then, we can go forward, " said Andy. He took up his oars. "Youhad best stay quiet, missies; just sit there in the bottom of theboat, and let me push ahead. "

"Then I will hold the candle, " said Nora. 

"Right you are, miss. "

She took it into her cold fingers. Her heart was beating high withsuppressed excitement; she had never felt a keener pleasure in herlife. If only she might see the Banshee, and implore the spirit'sintercession for the fortunes of her house!

The man rowed on carefully, winding round corners and avoiding manydangers. At last they came bump upon some rocks. 

"Now, then, " he said, "we can't go a step farther. "

"But we must, " said Nora. "We have not reached the chasm in therock. We must. "

"We dare not, miss; the boat hasn't water enough to float her. "

"Well, then, I shall wade there. How far on is the chasm?"

"Oh, Nora! Nora! you won't be so mad as to go alone?" called outBiddy. 

"I shan't be a scrap afraid, " said Nora. 

"But there's water up to your knees; you dare not do it, " saidBiddy. 

"Yes, I dare; and the tide is going down--is it not?"

"It will be down a good bit in half an hour, " said the man, "andwe'll be stranded here as like as not. These are bad rocks when thetide is low; we must turn and get out of this, miss, in a quarter ofan hour at the farthest. "

"Oh, I could just do it in a quarter of an hour, " said Nora. 

She jumped up, and the next moment had sprung out of the boat intothe water, which nearly reached up to her knees. 

"Oh, Nora! Nora! you'll be lost; you'll slip and fall in that awfuldarkness, and we'll never see you again, " said Biddy, with a cry ofterror. 

"No, no; let her go, " said Andy. "There ain't no fear, miss; youhave but to go straight on, holding your candle and avoiding therocks to your left, and you'll come to the opening. Be as quick asyou can, Miss Nora; be as quick as you can. "

His voice had a queer note in it. Nora gave him a look of gratitude, and proceeded on her dangerous journey. Her one fear was that thecandle might go out; the flame flickered as the air got less good; thehot grease scalded her fingers; but suddenly a breeze of fresher airreached her, and warned her that she was approaching the aperture. There came a little puff of wind, and the next moment the brave girlfound herself in total darkness. The candle had gone out. Just at thatinstant she heard, or fancied she heard, a splash behind her in thewater. There was nothing for it now but to go forward. She resolvednot to be terrified. Perhaps it was a water-rat; perhaps it was theBanshee. Her heart beat high; still she had no fear. She was going toplead for her father. What girl would be terrified with such a causein view? She walked slowly and carefully on, and at last the fresherair was followed by a welcome gleam of light; she was approaching theopening. The next moment she had found it. She stood nearly up to herknees in the water; the shaft of moonlight was piercing down into thecave. Nora went and stood in the moonlight. The hole at the top waslittle more than a foot in width; there was a chasm, a jagged chasm, through which the light came. She could see a bit of cloudless sky, and the cold moonlight fell all over her. 

"Oh, Banshee!--Lady Spirit who belongs to our house, come and speakto me, " cried the girl. "Come from your home in the rock and give mea word of comfort. A dark time is near, and we implore your help. Come, come, Banshee--it is the O'Shanaghgans who want you. It isNora O'Shanaghgan who calls you now. "

The sound of a laugh came from the darkness behind her, and the nextinstant the startled girl saw the big form of Andy Neil approaching. 

"Don't you be frightened, Miss Nora, " he said. "I aint the Banshee, but I am as good. Faix, now, I want to say something to you. I havecome here for the purpose. There! don't be frightened. I won't hurtye--not I; but I want yez to promise me something. "

"What is that?" said Nora. 

"I have come here for the purpose. _She_ aint no good. " Heindicated with a motion of his thumb the distant form of Biddywithin the dark recess of the cave. 

"Does Miss Murphy know you have followed me?" said Nora. 

"No, she don't know it; she's in the dark. There's the little ladMike will look after her. She won't do nothing until we go back. "

"Oh, I did want to see the Banshee!"

"The Banshee may come or not, " said the man; "but I have my messageto yez, and it is this: If you don't get Squire O'Shanaghgan to letme keep my little bit of land, and to see that I aint evicted, why, I'll--you're a bonny lass, you're as purty a young lady as I everset eyes on, but I'll drownd yez, deep down here in this hole. Noone will ever know; they'll think you has fallen and got drownedwithout no help from me. Yes, I'll do it--yes, I will--unless youpromises that Squire O'Shanaghgan shan't evict me. If I go out, why, you goes out first. Now, you'll do it; you'll swear that you'll doit? You'll leave no stone unturned. You'll get 'em to leave me mycabin where I was born, and the childer was born, and where the wifedied, or I'll drownd yez deep down here in the Banshee's hole. Look!" said the man as the moon nickered on a deep pool of water;"they say there is no bottom to it. Just one shlip, and over yougoes, and nobody will ever see Nora O'Shanaghgan again. "

"I'm not going to be frightened; you wouldn't do it, Andy, " said thegirl. 

"Wouldn't I just? You think that I'd be afraid?"

"I don't think so. I am sure you are afraid of nothing. "

"Then why shouldn't I do it?"

"Because you wouldn't be so bad, not to an innocent girl who neverharmed you. "

"Oh! wouldn't I just? Ain't I a-stharving, and aint the childerstharving, and why should they turn us out of our bit of a cabin?Swear you'll do it; swear you won't have me evicted; you has got topromise. "

"_I_ wouldn't evict you--never, never!" said Nora. "Oh, never!"she added, tears, not of fright, but of pity, filling her eyes. "Buthow can I control my father?"

"That's for you to see to, missy; I must go back now, or we'll noneof us leave this cave alive. But you'll just shlip into that water, and you'll never be heard of again unless you promises. I'll goback; they none of 'em will know I followed yez. You'll be drownedhere in the deep pool, and I'll go back to the boat, or you promisesand we both goes back. "

"But, Andy, what am I to promise?"

"That you won't have me evicted. You say solemn here: 'Andrew Neil, I would rather die myself or have my tongue cut out, and may theHoly Mother cast me from her presence forever, and may the evilspirits take me, if I don't save you, Andy. ' You has to say that. "

"No, I won't, " said Nora with sudden spirit. "I am not afraid. I'lldo my very, very best for you; but I won't say words like those. "

The man looked at her attentively. 

"I was a little frightened at first, " continued Nora; "but I am notnow. I would rather you pushed me into that pool, I would rathersink and die, than take an awful vow like that. I won't take it. I'll do my very best to save you, but I won't make a vow. "

"Faix, then, miss, it's you that has the courage; but now if I letyez off this time, will ye do yer best?"

"Yes, I'll do my best. "

"If yer don't, bonny as you are, and the light of somebody's eyes, you'll go out of the world. But, come, I trust yez, and we must beturning back. "

The man took the matches from his pocket, struck one, and lit thecandle. Then, Andy going in front of Nora, they both turned in thedirection where the boat was waiting for them. 

CHAPTER VII. 

THE MURPHYS. 

It was between two and three in the morning when the girls foundthemselves back again in the desolate mansion of Cronane. Biddy hadleft a window open; they had easily got in by it and gone up toBiddy's big room on the first floor. They were to sleep together inBiddy's small bed. Personally, discomforts did not affect them; theyhad never been accustomed to luxury, and rather liked the sense ofhardship than otherwise. 

"I brought up a bit of supper beforehand, " said Biddy. "I am realhungry. What do you say to cold bacon and taters--eh? I went down tothe larder and got a good few early this morning. I put them in thecupboard in a brown bowl with a plate over it. You're hungry--aren'tyou, Norrie?"

"No, not very, " answered Nora. 

"What's come to you, you're so quiet? You have lost all your spirit. I thought we would have a real rollicking time over our supper, laughing and talking, and telling our adventures. Oh! it was awfulin that cave; and when you were away talking to the lady Banshee Idid have a time of it. I thought that awful Andy was going to murderme. I had a sort of feeling that he was getting closer and closer, and I clutched hold of little Mike. I think he was a bit surprised;I'll give him a penny to-morrow, poor gossoon. But aren't youhungry, and won't you laugh, and shan't we have a jolly spree?"

"Oh, I shall be very glad to eat something, " said Nora; "and I am alittle cold, too. I took a chill standing so long in that icywater. "

"Oh, dear, oh, dear! it's the rheumatics you'll be getting, and thenyou'll lose your beautiful straight figure. I must rub your legs. There, sit on the bed and I'll begin. "

Nora submitted to Biddy's ministrations. The room was lit by a smalldip candle, which was placed in an old tin candlestick on themantelpiece. 

"Dear, dear! the light will be coming in no time, and we can quenchthe glim then, " said Biddy. "I've got to be careful about candles. We're precious short of everything at Cronane just now. We're aspoor as church mice; it's horrid to be so desperately poor as that. But, hurrah for the cold taters and bacon! We'll have a right goodmeal. That will warm you up; and I have a little potheen in a blackbottle, too. I'll put some water to it and you shall have a drink. "

"I never touch it, " said Nora, shuddering. 

"But you must tonight, or you'll catch your death of cold. There, the best thing you can do is to get right into bed. Why, you'reshivering, and your teeth are chattering. It's a fine state Mrs. O'Shanaghgan will be in tomorrow when you go back to her. "

"I must not get ill, Biddy; that would never do, " said Nora, pullingherself together with an effort. "Yes, I'll get into bed; and I'lltake a little of your potheen--very, very weak, if you'll mix it forme--and I'll have some of the bacon and potatoes. Oh! I would eatanything rather than be ill. I never was really ill in my life; butnow, of all times, it would never do. "

"Well, then, here you go. Tumble into bed. I'll pile the blankets onyou. Now, isn't that better?"

Biddy bustled, intent on hospitality. She propped Nora up withpillows, pulled a great rug over her shoulders, and heaped on moreand more blankets, which she pulled expeditiously from under thebed. "They always stay here in the summer, " said Biddy. "That's tokeep them aired; and now they're coming in very handy. You have gotfour doubled on you now; that makes eight. I should think you'd soonbe warm enough. "

"I expect I shall soon be too hot, " said Nora; "but this is verynice. "

She sipped the potheen, ate a little bacon and cold potatoes, andpresently declared herself well again. 

"Oh, I am perfectly all right!" she said; "it was coming home in theboat in my wet things. I wish I had taken a pair of sculls again;then I wouldn't even have been cold. "

"Now you'll tell me, " said Biddy, who sat on the edge of the bedmunching great chunks of bacon and eating her cold potatoes withextreme relish. "Oh! it's hungry I am; but I want to hear all aboutthe lady Banshee. Did she come? Did you see her, Nora?"

"No, she didn't come, " said Nora very shortly. 

"Didn't come? But they say she never fails when the moon is at thefull. She rises up out of that pool--the bottomless pool it iscalled--and she floats over the water and waves her hand. It's awfulto see her if you don't belong to her; but to those who belong toher she is tender and sweet, like a mother, they say; and her breathis like honey, and her kiss the sweetest you ever got in all yourlife. You mean to say you didn't see her? Why, Nora, what has cometo you? You're trembling again. "

"I cannot tell you, Biddy; don't ask me any more. I didn't see theBanshee. It was very, very cold standing up to my knees in thewater. I suppose I did wrong to go; but that's done and over now. Oh, I am so tired and sleepy! Do get into bed, Biddy, and let ushave what little rest we can. "

Early the next morning Nora returned to O'Shanaghgan. All trace ofill effects had vanished under Biddy's prompt treatment. She hadlain under her eight blankets until she found them intolerable, hadthen tossed most of them off, and fallen into deep slumber. In themorning she looked much as usual; but no entreaties on the part ofBiddy, joined in very heartily by Squire Murphy and also by Mrs. Murphy, could induce her to prolong her visit. 

"It's a message I'll take over myself to your father if you'll butstay, Nora, " said the Squire. 

"No, no; I must really go home, " answered Nora. 

"It's too fine you are for us, Nora, and that's the truth; and don'tgo for to be denying it, " said Mrs. Murphy. 

"No; I hope I may never be too fine for my real friends, " said Noraa little sadly. "I must go back. I believe I am wanted at home. "

"You're a very conceited colleen; there's no girl that can't bespared from home sometimes, " said Mrs. Murphy. "I thought you wouldhelp Biddy and me to pick black currants. There are quarts andquarts of 'em in the garden, and the maids can't do it bythemselves, poor things. Well, Biddy, you have got to help metoday. "

"Oh, mammy, I just can't, " answered Biddy. "I'm due down at theshore, and I want to go a bit of the way back with Nora. You can'texpect me to help you today, mammy. "

"There she is, Nora--there she is!" exclaimed the good lady, herface growing red and her eyes flashing fire; "not a bit of good, notworth her keep, I tell her. Why shouldn't she stay at home and helpher mother? Do you hear me, Squire Murphy? Give your orders to thegirl; tell her to stay at home and help her mother. "

"Ah, don't be bothering me, " said Squire Murphy. "It's out I'm goingnow. I have enough on my own shoulders without attending to thetittle-tattle of women. "

He rose from the table, and the next moment had left the room. 

"Dear, dear! there are bad times ahead for poor Old Ireland, " saidMrs. Murphy. "Children don't obey their parents; husbands don'trespect their wives; it's a queer state of the country. When I wasyoung, and lived at my own home in Tipperary, we had full andplenty. There was a bite and a sup for every stranger who came tothe door, and no one talked of money, nor thought of it neither. Theland yielded a good crop, and the potatoes--oh, dear! oh, dear! thatwas before the famine. The famine brought us a lot of bad luck, thatit did. "

"But the potatoes have been much better the last few years, and thisyear they say we're going to have a splendid crop, " said Nora. "ButI must go now, Mrs. Murphy. Thank you so much for asking me. "

"You're looking a bit pale; but you're a beautiful girl, " said thegood woman admiringly. "I'd give a lot if Biddy could change placeswith you--that is, in appearance, I mean. She's not a credit toanybody, with her bumpy forehead and her cocked nose, and her rudeways to her mother. "

"Mammy, I really cannot help the way I am made, " said Biddy; "and asto staying in this lovely day picking black currants and making jam, and staining my fingers, it's not to be thought of. Come along out, Nora. If you must be off back to O'Shanaghgan, I mean to claim thelast few moments of your stay here. "

The girls spent the morning together, and early in the afternoonNora returned to O'Shanaghgan. Terence met her as she was drivingdown the avenue. 

"How late you are!" he said; "and you have got great black shadowsunder your eyes. You know, of course, that I have to catch the earlytrain in the morning?"

"To be sure I do, Terry; and it is for that very reason I have comeback so punctually. I want to pack your things my own self. "

"Ah, that's a good girl. You'll find most of them laid out on the bed. Be sure you see that all my handkerchiefs are there--two dozen--andall marked with my initials. "

"I never knew you had so many. "

"Yes; mother gave me a dozen at Christmas, and I have not used themyet. I shall want every bit of decent clothing I possess for myvisit to my rich Uncle Hartrick. "

"How is mother, Terence?"

"Mother? Quite well, I suppose; she is fretting a bit at my going;you'll have to comfort her. The place is very rough for her justnow. "

"I don't see that it is any rougher than it has ever been, " saidNora a little fiercely. "You're always running down the place, Terry. "

"Well, I can't help it. I hate to see things going to the dogs, " saidthe young man. He turned on his heel, called a small fox-terrier, whowent by the name of Snap, to follow him, and went away in the directionof the shore. 

Nora whipped up her pony and drove on to the house. Here she wasgreeted by her father. He was standing on the steps; and, comingdown, he lifted her bodily out of the dog-cart, strained her to hisheart, and looked full into her eyes. 

"Ah, Light o' the Morning, I have missed you, " he said, and gave agreat sigh. 

The girl nestled up close to him. She was trembling with excess offeeling. 

"And I have missed you, " she answered. "How is the mother?"

"I suppose she is all right, Nora; but there, upon my word, she doesvex me sometimes. Take the horse to the stables, and don't standstaring there, Peter Jones. " The Squire said these latter words onaccount of the fixed stare of a pair of bright black eyes like sloesin the head of the little chap who had brought the trap for Nora. Hewhipped up the pony, turned briskly round, and drove away. 

"Come out for a bit with me round the grounds, Nora. It's vexed Iam, sometimes; I feel I cannot stand things. I wish my lady wouldnot have all those fine airs. But there, I have no right to talkagainst your mother to you, child; and of course she is your mother, and I am desperately proud of her. There never was her like forbeauty and stateliness; but sometimes she tries me. "

"Oh! I know, father; I know. But let's go round and look at the newcalf and the colt. We can spare an hour--can we not?"

"Yes; come along quick, Nora, " answered the Squire, all smiles andjokes once more. "The mother doesn't know you have come back, and wecan have a pleasant hour to ourselves. "

CHAPTER VIII. 

THE SQUIRE'S TROUBLE. 

Nora and her father went slowly down a shady walk, which led in thedirection of the shore. Soon they found themselves in a hay-field. Thecrop here was not particularly good. The hay had been spoiled by rains, which had soaked down on the lands a fortnight ago. It was stunted inheight, and in some parts had that impoverished appearance which is sopainful to the heart of the good farmer. 

Squire O'Shanaghgan, notwithstanding his somewhat careless ways, wasreally a capital farmer. He had the best interests of the land atheart, and did his utmost to get profit out of his many acres. Henow shook his head over the hay-crop. 

"It's just like all the rest, Norrie--everything going to ruin--thewhole place going to the dogs; and yet--and yet, colleen, it's aboutthe sweetest bit of earth in all God's world. I wouldn't giveO'Shanaghgan for the grandest place in the whole of England; and Itold your lady-mother so this morning. "

"Why did you say it, father? Had mother been--"

"Oh, nothing, child--nothing; the old grumbles. But it's her way, poor dear; she can't help herself; she was born so. It's not to beexpected that she who was brought up in that prim land over yonder, where everything is cut and dry, and no one ever thinks of managinganything but by the rule of three, would take to our wild ways. Butthere, Norrie, it's the freedom of the life that suits me; when I amup and away on Black Bess or on Monarch, I don't think there is ahappier fellow in the world. But there, when I come face to facewith money, why, I'm bothered--I'm bothered entirely, child. "

"Father, " said Nora, "won't you tell me what is worrying you?"

"How do you know I am worried about anything, colleen?"

"How do I know, father?" answered Nora a little playfully. She turnedand faced him. "I know, " she said; "that is enough; you are worried. What is it?"

The Squire looked at her attentively. He was much the taller of thetwo, and his furrowed face seemed to the girl, as she looked up athim, like a great rock rising above her. She was wont to sun herselfin his smile, and to look to him always as a sure refuge in anyperplexity. She did not love anyone in the whole world as she lovedher father. His manliness appealed to her; his generous ways suitedher; but, above all these things, he was her father; he was Irish tohis backbone, and so was she. 

"You must tell me, " she said. "Something is troubling you, and Norahas to know. "

"Ah, my Light o' the Morning! what would I do without you?" answeredthe Squire. 

"Prove that you trust me, " said Nora, "and tell me what worriesyou. "

"Well, Nora, you cannot understand; and yet if you could it would be arelief to unburden my mind. But you know nothing about mortgages--doyou, little woman?"

"More than you think, " said Nora. "I am not a child--I am nearlyseventeen; and I have not lived at O'Shanaghgan all my life fornothing. Of course we are poor! I don't know that I want to berich. "

"I'll tell you what I want, " said the Squire; "I want to forget thatthere is such a thing as money. If it were not for money I would sayto myself, 'There's not a better lot than mine. ' What air we havehere!" He opened his mouth and took in a great breath of the pureAtlantic breezes. "What a place it is! Look at the beauty of it!Look round, Norrie, and see for yourself; the mountains over there;and the water rolling up almost to our doors; and the grand roar ofthe waves in our ears; and those trees yonder; and this field withthe sun on it; and the house, though it is a bit of a barrack, yetit is where my forebears were born. Oh, it's the best place onearth; it's O'Shanaghgan, and it's mine! There, Nora, there; I can'tstand it!"

The Squire dashed his hand to his brow. Nora looked up at him; shewas feeling the exposure and excitement of last night. Her pallorsuddenly attracted his attention. 

"Why, what's the matter with you, colleen?" he said. "Are you well--areyou sure you're well?"

"Absolutely, perfectly well, father. Go on--tell me all. "

"Well, you know, child, when I came in for the estate it was not tosay free. "

"What does that mean, father?"

"It was my father before me--your grandfather--the best hunter inthe county. He could take his bottle of port and never turn a hair;and he rode to hounds! God bless you, Nora! I wish you could haveseen your grandfather riding to hounds. It was a sight to remember. Well, he died--God bless him!--and there were difficulties. Beforehe died those difficulties began, and he mortgaged some of the outerfields and Knock Robin Farm--the best farm on the whole estate; butI didn't think anything of that. I thought I could redeem it; butsomehow, child, somehow rents have been going down; the poor folkcan't pay, and I'm the last to press them; and things have got worseand worse. I had a tight time of it five years ago; I was all butdone for. It was partly the fact of the famine; we none of us evergot over that--none of us in this part of Ireland, and many of thepeople went away. Half the cabins were deserted. There's half a mileof 'em down yonder; every single one had a dead man or woman in itat the time of the famine, and now they're empty. Well of course, you know all about that?"

"Oh, yes, father; Hannah has told me of the famine many, manytimes. "

"To be sure--to be sure; but it is a dark subject, and not fit for apretty young thing like you. But there, let me go on. It was fiveyears ago I mortgaged some of the place, a good bit, to my oldfriend Dan Murphy. He lent me ten thousand pounds--not a penny more, I assure you. It just tided me over, and I thought, of course, I'dpay him back, interest and all, by easy stages. It seemed so easy tomortgage the place to Murphy, and there was nothing else to bedone. "

The Squire had been walking slowly; now he stopped, dropped Nora'shand from his arm, and faced her. 

"It seemed so easy to mortgage the land to Dan Murphy, " he said, dropping his voice, "so very easy, and that money was so handy, andI thought--"

"Yes, father?" said Nora in a voice of fear. "You said these wordsbefore. Go on--it was so easy. Well?"

"Well, a month ago, child, I got a letter from Murphy's lawyer inDublin, to say that the money must be paid up, or they wouldforeclose. "

"Foreclose, father. What is that?"

"Take possession, child--take possession. "

"A month ago you got that letter? They would take possession--possessionof the land you have mortgaged. Does that mean that it would belongto Squire Murphy, father?"

"So I thought, my dear colleen, and I didn't fret much. The fact is, I put the letter in the fire and forgot it. It was only three daysago that I got another letter to know what I meant to do. I wasgiven three months to pay in, and if I didn't pay up the whole tenthousand, with the five years' interest, they'd foreclose. I hadn'tpaid that, Nora; I hadn't paid a penny of it; and what with interestand compound interest, it mounted to a good round sum. Dan chargedme six per cent, on the money; but there, you don't understandfigures, child, and your pretty head shan't be worried. Anyhow, Iwas to pay it all up within the three months--I, who haven't evenfifty pounds in the bank. It was a bit of a staggerer. "

"I understand, " said Nora; "and that was why you went the day beforeyesterday to see Squire Murphy. Of course, he'll give you time;though, now I come to think of it, he is very poor himself. "

"He is that, " said the Squire. "I don't blame him--not a bit. "

"But what will you do, father?"

"I must think. It is a bit of a blow, my child, and I don't quitesee my way. But I am sure to, before the time comes; and I have gotthree months. "

"But won't he let you off, father? Must you really pay it in threemonths?"

"God help me, Norrie! I can't, not just now; but I will before thetime comes. "

"But what did he say, father? I don't understand. "

"It's this, Nora. Ah, you have a wise little head on your shoulders, even though you are an Irish colleen. He said that he had sold mymortgage to another man, and had got money on it; and the other man--heis an Englishman, curse him!--and he wants the place, Nora, and he'lltake it in lieu of the mortgage if I don't pay up in three months. "

"The place, " said Nora; "O'Shanaghgan--he wants O'Shanaghgan?"

"Yes, yes; that's it; he wants the land, and the old house. "

"But he can't, " said Nora. "You have not--oh! you have not mortgagedthe house?"

"Bless you, Nora! it is I that have done it; the house that you wereborn in, and that my father, and father before him, and father beforehim again, were born in, and that I was born in--it goes, and theland goes, the lake yonder, all these fields, and the bit of the shore;all the bonny place goes in three months if we cannot pay the mortgage. It goes for an old song, and it breaks my heart, Nora. "

"I understand, " said Nora very gravely. She did not cry out; thetears pressed close to the back of her eyes, and scalded her withcruel pain; but she would not allow one of them to flow. She heldher head very erect, and the color returned to her pale cheeks, anda new light shone in her dark-blue eyes. 

"We'll manage somehow; we must, " she said. 

"I was thinking of that, " said the Squire. "Of course we'll manage. "He gave a great sigh, as if a load were lifted from his heart. "Ofcourse we'll manage, " he repeated; "and don't you tell your mother, for the life of you, child. "

"Of course I will tell nothing until you give me leave. But how doyou mean to manage?"

"I am thinking of going up to Dublin next week to see one or two oldfriends of mine; they are sure to help me at a pinch like this. Theywould never see Patrick O'Shanaghgan deprived of his acres. Theyknow me too well; they know it would break my heart. I was thinkingof going up next week. "

"But why next week, father? You have only three months. Why do youput it off to next week?"

"Why, then, you're right, colleen; but it's a job I don't fancy. "

"But you have got to do it, and you ought to do it at once. "

"To be sure--to be sure. "

"Take me with you, father; let us go tomorrow. "

"But I have not got money for us both. I must go alone; and thenyour mother must not be left. There's Terence gallivanting off toEngland to visit his fine relations, and that will take a good bit. I had to give him ten pounds this morning, and there are only fortynow left in the bank. Oh, plenty to tide us for a bit. We shan'twant to eat much; and there's a good supply of fruit and vegetableson the land; and the poor folk will wait for their wages. Of coursethere will be more rents coming in, and we'll scrape along somehow. Don't you fret, colleen. I declare it's light as a feather my heartis since I told you the truth. You are a comfort to me, Norrie. "

"Father, " said Nora suddenly, "there's one thing I want to say. "

"What is that, pet?"

"You know Andy Neil?"

"What! Andrew Neil--that scoundrel?" The Squire's brow grew veryblack. "Yes, yes. What about him? You have not seen him, have you?"

"Yes, father, I have. "

"Over at Murphy's? He knew he dare not show his face here. Well, what about him, Nora?"

"This, " said Nora, trembling very much; "he--he does not want you toevict him. "

"He'll pay his rent, or he'll go, " thundered the Squire. "No more ofthis at present. I can't be worried. "

"But, oh, father! he--he can't pay it any more than you can pay themortgage. Don't be cruel to him if you want to be dealt with mercifullyyourself; it would be such bad luck. "

"Good gracious, Nora, are you demented? The man pays his rent, or hegoes. Not another word. "

"Father, dear father!"

"Not another word. Go in and see your mother, or she'll be wonderingwhat has happened to you. Yes, I'll go off to Dublin to-morrow. IfNeil doesn't pay up his rent in a week, off he goes; it's men likeAndrew Neil who are the scum of the earth. He has put my back up;and pay his rent he will, or out he goes. "

CHAPTER IX. 

EDUCATION AND OTHER THINGS. 

The next day the Squire and Terence went off together. Mrs. O'Shanaghganwas very angry with her husband for going, as she expressed it, to amusehimself in Dublin. Dirty Dublin she was fond of calling the capital ofIreland. 

"What do you want to go to Dirty Dublin for?" she said. "You'll spend alot of money, and God knows we have little enough at the present moment. "

"Oh, no, I won't, Ellen, " he replied. "I'll be as careful as carefulcan be; the colleen can witness to that. There's a little inn on thebanks of the Liffey where I'll put up; it is called the 'Green Dragon, 'and it's a cozy, snug little place, where you can have your potheenand nobody be any the wiser. "

"I declare, Patrick, " said his lady, facing him, "you are becomingdownright vulgar. I wish you wouldn't talk in that way. If you haveno respect for yourself and your ancient family, you ought toremember your daughter. "

"I'm sure I'm not doing the colleen any harm, " said the Squire. 

"That you never could, father, " replied Nora, with a burst ofenthusiasm. 

Mrs. O'Shanaghgan surveyed her coldly. 

"Go upstairs and help Terence to pack his things, " she said; andNora left the room. 

The next day the travelers departed. As soon as they were gone Mrs. O'Shanaghgan sent for Nora to come and sit in the room with her. 

"I have been thinking during the night how terribly neglected youare, " she said; "you are not getting the education which a girl inyour position ought to receive. You learn nothing now. "

"Oh, mother, my education is supposed to be finished, " answeredNora. 

"Finished indeed!" said Mrs. O'Shanaghgan. 

"Since Miss Freeman left I have had no governess; but I read a goodbit alone. I am very fond of reading, " answered Nora. 

"Distasteful as it all is to me, " said Mrs. O'Shanaghgan, "I musttake you in hand myself. But I do wish your Uncle George wouldinvite you over to stay with them at The Laurels. It will do Terencea wonderful lot of good; but you want it more, you are so unkemptand undignified. You would be a fairly nice-looking girl if anyjustice was done to you; but really the other day, when I saw youwith that terrible young person Bridget Murphy, it gave my heartquite a pang. You scarcely looked a lady, you were laughing in sucha vulgar way, and quite forgetting your deportment. Now, what I havebeen thinking is that we might spend some hours together daily, andI would mark out a course of instruction for you. "

"Oh, mammy, " answered Nora, "I should be very glad indeed to learn;you know I always hated having my education stopped, but fathersaid--"

"I don't want to hear what your father said, " interrupted Mrs. O'Shanaghgan. 

"Oh, but, mother dear, I really must think of father, and I mustrespect what he says. He told me that my grandmother stopped herschooling at fourteen, and he said she was the grandest lady, and thefinest and bonniest, in the country, and that no one could ever puther to shame; for, although she had not much learning to boast of, she had a smart answer for every single thing that was said to her. He said you never could catch her tripping in her words, never--never;and he thinks, mother, " continued Nora, sparkling and blushing, "thatI am a little like my grandmother. There is her miniature upstairs. I should like to be like her. Father did love her so very, very much. "

"Of course, Nora, if those are your tastes, I have nothing furtherto say, " answered Mrs. O'Shanaghgan; "but while you are under myroof and under my tuition, I shall insist on your doing a couple ofhours' good reading daily. "

"Very well, mother; I am quite agreeable. "

"I suppose you have quite forgotten your music?"

"No, I remember it, and I should like to play very much indeed; butthe old piano--you must know yourself, mother dear, that it isimpossible to get any music out of it. "

Mrs. O'Shanaghgan uttered a groan. 

"We seem to be beset with difficulties at every step, " she said. "Itis such a mistake your father going to Dublin now, and throwing awayhis little capital. Has he said anything to you about the mortgage, by the way, Nora?"

Nora colored. 

"A little, " she answered in a low voice. 

"Ah, I see--told it as a secret; so like the Irish, making mysteriesabout everything, and then blabbing them out the next minute. Idon't want, my dear, to encroach upon your father's secrets, sodon't be at all afraid. Now, bring down your Markham's History ofEngland and Alison's History of Europe, and I will set you a task toprepare for me for to-morrow. "

Nora went slowly out of the room. She hated Markham's History ofEngland. She had read it five or six times, and knew it by heart. She detested George and Richard and Mary, and their conversationswith their mother were simply loathsome to her. Alison's History, however, was tougher metal, and she thought she would enjoy a goodstiff reading of it. She was a very intelligent girl, and withadvantages would have done well. 

She returned with the books. Her mother carelessly marked abouttwenty pages in each, told her to read them in the course of theday, and to come to her the next morning to be questioned. 

"You can go now, " she said. "I was very busy yesterday, and have aheadache. I shall lie down and go to sleep. "

"Shall I draw down the blind, mother?"

"Yes, please; and you can put that rug over me. Now, don't runshouting all over the house; try to remember you are a young lady. Really and truly, no one would suppose that you and Terence werebrother and sister. He will do great credit to my brother George; hewill be proud of such a handsome young fellow as his nephew. "

Nora said nothing; having attended to her mother's comforts, she leftthe room. She went out into the sunshine. In her hand she carried thetwo books. Her first intention was to take them down to one end of thedilapidated garden and read them steadily. She was rather pleased thanotherwise at her mother's sudden and unlooked-for solicitude withregard to her education. She thought it would be pleasant to learneven under her mother's rather peculiar method of tutelage; but, asshe stood on the terrace looking across the exquisite summer scene, two of the dogs, Creena and Cushla, came into view. They rushed up toNora with cries and barks of welcome. Down went the books on thegravel, and off ran the Irish girl, followed by the two barking dogs. A few moments later she was down on the shore. She had run out withouther hat or parasol. What did that matter? The winds and sea-breezeshad long ago taken their own sweet will on Nora's Irish complexion;they could not tan skin like hers, and had given up trying; they couldonly bring brighter roses into her cheeks and more sweetness into herdark-blue eyes. She forgot her troubles, as most Irish girls will whenanything calls off their attention, and ran races with the dogs up anddown the shore. Nora was laughing, and the dogs were barking andgamboling round her, when the stunted form of Hannah Croneen was seenapproaching. Hannah wore her bedgown and her short blue sergepetticoat; her legs and feet were bare; the breezes had caught upher short gray locks, and were tossing them wildly about. She lookedvery elfin and queer as she approached the girl. 

"Why, then, Miss Nora, it's a word I want with you, a-colleen. "

"Yes--what is it, Hannah?" answered Nora. She dropped her hands toher sides and turned her laughing, radiant face upon the littlewoman. 

"Ah, then, it's a sight for sore eyes you are, Miss Nora. Why, it isa beauty you are, Miss Nora honey, and hondsomer and hondsomer yougets every time I see yez. It's the truth I'm a-telling yez, MissNora; it's the honest truth. "

"I hope it is, Hannah, for it is very pleasant hearing, " answeredNora. "Do I really get handsomer and handsomer? I must be a beautylike my grandmother. "

"Ah, she was a lady to worship, " replied Hannah, dropping a courtesyto the memory; such ways as she had, and her eyes as blue and darkas the blessed night when the moon's at the full, just for all theworld like your very own. Why, you're the mortal image of her; not adoubt of it, miss, not a doubt of it. But there, I want to say aword to yez, and we need not spend time talking about nothing butmere looks. Looks is passing, miss; they goes by and leaves yezwithered up, and there are other things to think of this blessedmorning. "

"To be sure, " answered Nora. 

"And it's I that forgot to wish yez the top of the morning, "continued the little woman. "I hear the masther and Masther Terryhas gone to foreign parts--is it true, miss?"

"It is not true of my father, " replied Nora; "he has only gone toDublin. "

"Ah, bless him! he's one in a thousand, is the Squire, " said Hannah. "But what about the young masther, him with the handsome face andthe ways?--aye, but he aint got your nice, bonny Irish ways, MissNora--no, that he aint. "

"He has gone to England for a time to visit some of my mother'srelations, " replied Nora. "I am, sure it will do him a great deal ofgood, and dear mother is so pleased. Now, then, Hannah, what is it?"

Hannah went close to the girl and touched her on her arm. 

"What about your promise to Andy Neil?" she asked. 

"My promise to Andy Neil, " said Nora, starting and turning pale. "How do you know about it?"

"A little bird told me, " replied Hannah. "This is what it said:'Find out if Miss Nora, the bonniest and handsomest young lady inthe place, has kept her word to Andy. ' Have you done it, Miss Nora?for it's word I have got to take the crayther, and this very night, too. "

"Where?" said Nora. "Where are you going to meet him?"

"In the haunted glen, just by the Druid's Stone, " replied the woman. 

"At what hour?"

"Tin o'clock, deary. Aw, glory be to God! it's just when the clockstrikes tin that he'll be waiting for me there. "

"I have no message, " said Nora. 

"Are you sure, Miss Nora?"

"Quite sure. "

"When will you have?"

"Never. "

"Miss Nora, you don't mane it?"

"Yes, I do, Hannah. I have nothing to do with Andy Neil. I did whatI could for him, but that little failed. You can tell him that ifyou like. "

"But is it in earnest you are, Miss Nora? Do you mane to say thatyou'll let the poor crayther have the roof taken off his cabin? Doyou mane it miss?"

"I wouldn't have the roof taken off his cabin, " said Nora; "butfather is away, and he is Andy's landlord, and Andy has donesomething to displease him. He had better come and talk to fatherhimself. I kept my word, and spoke; but I couldn't do anything. Andyhad better talk to father himself; I can do no more. "

"You don't guess as it's black rage is in the crayther's heart, andthat there's no crime he wouldn't stoop to, " whispered Hannah in alow, awestruck voice. 

"I can't help it, Hannah; I am not going to be frightened. Andywould not really injure me, not in cold blood. "

"Oh, wouldn't he just? The man's heart is hot within him; it's thethought of the roof being taken off his cabin. I have come as hismessenger. You had best send some sort of message to keep him on thequiet for a bit. Don't you send a hard message of that sort, heartasthore; you'll do a sight of mischief if you do. "

"I can only send him a true message, " replied the girl. 

"Whisht now, Miss Nora! You wouldn't come and see him yourselftonight by the Druid's Stone?"

Nora stood for a moment considering. She was not frightened; she hadnever known that quality. Even in the cave, when her danger wasextreme, she had not succumbed to fear; it was impossible for her tofeel it now, with the sunlight filling her eyes and the softest ofsummer breezes blowing against her cheeks. She looked full at Hannah. 

"I won't go, " she said shortly. 

"Miss Nora, I wouldn't ask yez if I could help myself. It's bothered Iam entirely, and frightened too. You'll come with me, Miss Nora--won'tyez?"

"I will not come, " answered Nora. "My mother is alone, and I cannotleave her; but I tell you what I will do. Just to show Andy that Iam not afraid of him, when father returns I will come. Father willbe back in a couple of days; when he returns I will speak to himonce more about Andy, and I will bring Andy the message; and that isall I can promise. If that is all you want to say to me, Hannah, Iwill go home now, for mother is all alone. "

Hannah stood with her little, squat figure silhouetted against thesky; she had placed both her arms akimbo, and was gazing at Norawith a half-comical, half-frightened glance. 

"You're a beauty, " she said, "and you has the courage of ten women. I'll tell Andy what you say; but, oh, glory! there's mischief inthat man's eyes, or I'm much mistook. "

"You can't frighten me, " said Nora, with a laugh. "How are thechildren?"

"Oh, bless yez, they're as well and bonny as can be. Little Mike, hesaid he'd stand and wait till you passed by the gate, he's that tookup with you, Miss Nora. You'd be concaited if you heard all he saysabout you. "

Nora thrust her hand into her pocket. 

"Here, " she said, "is a bright halfpenny; give it to Mike, and tellhim that Nora loves him very much. And now I am going home. Hannah, you'll remember my message to Andy, and please let him understandthat he is not going to frighten me into doing anything I don'tthink right. "

CHAPTER X. 

THE INVITATION. 

Squire O'Shanaghgan came home in a couple of days. He entered thehouse in noisy fashion, and appeared to be quite cheerful. He had agreat deal to say about Dublin, and talked much of his old friendsduring the evening that followed. Nora, however, try as she would, could never meet his eye, and she guessed, even before he told her, that his mission had been a failure. It was early the next morningthat he gave her this information. 

"I tried them, one and all, colleen, " he said, "and never were fellowsmore taken aback. 'Is it you to lose your property, O'Shanaghgan?' theysaid. They wouldn't believe me at first. "

"Well, father, and will they help?" said Nora. 

"Bless you, they would if they could. There's not a better-naturedman in the length and breadth of Ireland than Fin O'Hara; and as toJohn Fitzgerald, I believe he would take us all into his barrack ofa house; but they can't help with money, Nora, because, bedad, theyhaven't got it. A man can't turn stones into money, even for hisbest and dearest friends. "

"Then what is to be done, father?"

"Oh, I'll manage somehow, " said Squire O'Shanaghgan; "and we havethree months all but a week to turn round in. We'll manage by hookor by crook. Don't you fret your pretty little head. I wouldn't havea frown on the brow of my colleen for fifty O'Shanaghgans, andthat's plain enough. I couldn't say more, could I?"

"No, father dear, " answered Nora a little sadly. 

"And tell me what you were doing while I was away, " said the Squire. "Faith! I thought I could never get back fast enough, I seemed topine so for you, colleen; you fit me down to the ground. "

Nora began to relate the small occurrences which had taken place. The Squire laughed at Mrs. O'Shanaghgan's sudden desire that Norashould be an educated lady. 

"I don't hold with these new fashions about women, " he said; "andyou are educated enough for me. "

"But, father, I like to read, I like to learn, " said the girl. "I amvery, very anxious to improve myself. I may be good enough for you, dear father, for you love me with all my faults; but some day I maypine for the knowledge which I have not got. "

"Eh! is it that way with you?" said the Squire, looking at heranxiously. "They say it's a sort of a craze now amongst women, thedesire to beat us men on our own ground; it's very queer, and Idon't understand it, and I am sorry if the craze has seized mygirleen. "

"Oh! never mind, father dear; I wouldn't fret you for all thelearning in Christendom. "

"And I wouldn't fret you for fifty estates like O'Shanaghgan, " saidthe Squire, "so it strikes me we are both pretty equal in oursentiments. " He patted her cheek, she linked her hand in his, andthey walked together down one of the sunny meadows. 

Nora thought of Neil, but determined not to trouble her father abouthim just then. Notwithstanding her cheerfulness, her own heart wasvery heavy. She possessed, with all her Irish ways, some of thecommon sense of her English ancestors, and knew from past experiencethat now there was no hope at all of saving the old acres and theold house unless something very unexpected turned up. She understoodher father's character too well; he would be happy and contenteduntil a week before the three months were up, and then he wouldbreak down utterly--go under, perhaps, forever. As to turning hisback on the home of his ancestors and the acres which had come tohim through a long line, Nora could not face such a possibility. 

"It cannot be; something must happen to prevent it, " she thought. 

She thought and thought, and suddenly a daring idea came into hermind. All her life long her mother's relations had been brought upto her as the pink of propriety, the souls of wealth. Her uncle, George Hartrick, was, according to her mother, a wealthy man. Hermother had often described him. She had said that he had been veryangry with her for marrying the Squire, but had confessed that attimes he had been heard to say that the O'Shanaghgans were theproudest and oldest family in County Kerry, and that some day hewould visit them on their own estate. 

"I have prevented his ever coming, Nora, " said Mrs. O'Shanaghgan;"it would be such a shock to him. He thinks we live in a castle suchas English people live in, with suites of magnificent rooms, andcrowds and crowds of respectably dressed servants, and that we havecarriages and horses. I have kept up this delusion; he must nevercome over to see the nakedness of the land. "

But now the fact that her Uncle George had never seen the nakednessof the land, and that he was attached to her mother, and proud ofthe fact that she had married an Irish gentleman of old descent, kept visiting Nora again and again. If she could only see him! Ifshe could only beg of him to lend her father a little money just toavert the crowning disgrace of all--the O'Shanaghgans leaving theirhome because they could not afford to stop there, Nora thought, andthe wild idea which had crept into her head gathered strength. 

"There is nothing for it; something desperate must be done, " shethought. "Father won't save himself, because he does not know how. He will just drift on until a week of the fatal day, and then hewill have an illness. I cannot let father die; I cannot let hisheart be broken. I, Nora, will do something. "

So one day she locked herself in her room. She stayed there for acouple of hours, and when she came out again a letter was thrustinto her pocket. Nora was not a good letter-writer, and this one hadtaken nearly two hours to produce. Tears had blotted its pages, andthe paper on which it was written was of the poorest, but it wasdone at last. She put a stamp on it and ran downstairs. She went toHannah's cabin. Standing in front of the cabin was her small admirerMike. He was standing on his head with the full blaze of thesunlight all over him, his ragged trousers had slipped down almostto his knees, and his little brown bare legs and feet were twinklingin the sun. His bright sloe-black eyes were fixed on Nora as sheapproached. 

"Come here, Mike, " said the girl. Mike instantly obeyed, and gave aviolent tug to one of his front locks by way of salutation. He thenstood with his legs slightly apart, watching Nora. 

"Mike, I want you to go a message for me. "

"To be sure, miss, " answered Mike. 

"Take this letter to the post-office; put it yourself into thelittle slit in the wall. I will give you a penny when you have doneit. "

"Yes, miss, " answered Mike. 

"Here is the letter; thrust it into your pocket. Don't let anyonesee it; it's a secret. "

"A saycret, to be sure, miss, " answered Mike. 

"And you shall have your penny if you come up to the Castle tonight. Now good-by; run off at once and you will catch the mail. "

"Yes, to be sure, " said Mike. He winked at Nora, rolled his tonguein his cheek, and disappeared like a flash down the dusty road. 

The next few days seemed to drag themselves somehow. Nora felt limp, and not in her usual spirits. The Squire was absent a good deal, too. He was riding all over the country trying to get a loan from hisdifferent friends. He was visiting one house after another. Some ofthe houses were neat and well-to-do, but most of them sadly requiredfunds to put them in order. At every house Squire O'Shanaghganreceived a hearty welcome, an invitation to dinner, and a bed forthe night; but when he made his request the honest face that lookedinto his became sorrowful, the hands stole to the empty pockets, andrefusals, accompanied by copious apologies, were the invariable result. 

"There's no one in all the world I would help sooner, Pat, if Icould, " said Squire O'Grady; "but I have not got it, my man. I am ashard pressed as I can be myself. We don't get in the rents thesetimes. Times are bad--very bad. God help us all! But if you areturned out, what an awful thing it will be! And your family theoldest in the place. You're welcome, every one of you, to come here. As long as I have a bite and sup, you and yours shall share it withme. " And Squire Malone said the same thing, and so did the othersquires. There was no lack of hospitality, no lack of good will, nolack of sorrow for poor Squire O'Shanaghgan's calamities; but fundsto avert the blow were not forthcoming. 

The Squire more and more avoided Nora's eyes; and Nora, who now hada secret of her own, and a hope which she would scarcely dare toconfess even to herself, avoided looking at him. 

Mrs. O'Shanaghgan was a little more fretful than usual. She forgotall about the lessons she had set her daughter in her laments overher absent son, over the tattered and disgraceful state of theCastle, and the ruin which seemed to engulf the family more andmore. 

Nora, meanwhile, was counting the days. She had made herself quite_au fait_ with postal regulations during these hours of waiting. She knew exactly the very time when the letter would reach Mr. Hartrickin his luxurious home. She thought she would give him, perhaps, twelvehours, perhaps twenty-four, before he replied. She knew, then, howlong the answer would take on its way. The night before she expectedher letter she scarcely slept at all. She came down to breakfast withblack shadows under her eyes and her face quite wan. 

The Squire, busy with his own load of trouble, scarcely noticed her. Mrs. O'Shanaghgan took her place languidly at the head of the board. She poured out a cup of tea for her daughter and another for herhusband. 

"I must send to Dublin for some better tea, " she said, looking atthe Squire. "Can you let me have a pound after breakfast, Pat? I mayas well order a small chest while I am about it. "

The Squire looked at her with lack-luster eyes. Where had he got onepound for tea? But he said nothing. 

Just then the gossoon Mike was seen passing the window with thepost-bag hung over his shoulder. Mike was the postman in general forthe O'Shanaghgan household for the large sum of twopence a week. Hewent daily to fetch the letters, and received his money proudly eachSaturday night. Nora now jumped up from the table. 

"The letters!" she gasped. 

Mrs. O'Shanaghgan surveyed her daughter critically. 

"Sit down again, Nora, " she said. "What is the matter with you? Youknow I don't allow these manners at table. "

"But it is the post, mammy, " said the girl. 

"Well, my dear, if you will be patient, Margaret will bring the postin. "

Nora sat down again, trembling. Mrs. O'Shanaghgan gave her a coldstare, and helped herself languidly to a small snippet of leatherytoast. 

"Our cook gets worse and worse, " she said as she broke it. "Dear, dear! I think I must make a change. I have heard of an excellentcook just about to leave some people of the name of Wilson in thetown. They are English people, which accounts for their having agood servant. "

At that moment the redoubtable Pegeen did thrust in her head, holding the post-bag at arm's length away from her. 

"Here's the post, Miss Nora, " she said; "maybe you'll fetch it, miss. I'm a bit dirty. "

Nora could not restrain herself another moment. She rushed across theroom, seized the bag, and laid it by her father's side. As a rule, the post-bag was quickly opened, and its small contents dispersed. These consisted of the local paper for the Squire, which was alwaysput up with the letters, a circular or two, and, at long intervals, aletter for Mrs. O'Shanaghgan, and perhaps one from an absent friendfor the Squire. No one was excited, as a rule, about the post at theCastle, and Nora's ill-suppressed anxiety was sufficiently marked nowto make even her father look at her in some surprise. To the girl'srelief, her mother unexpectedly came to the rescue. 

"She thinks, perhaps, Terence will write, " she said; "but I told himnot to worry himself writing too often. Stamps cost money, and theboy will need every penny to keep up a decent appearance at mybrother's. "

"All the same, perhaps he will be an Irish boy enough to write aletter to his own sister, " said the Squire. "So here goes; we'lllook and see if there is anything inside here for you, my littleNorrie. "

The Squire unlocked the bag and emptied the contents on the table. They were very meager contents; nothing but the newspaper and oneletter. The Squire took it up and looked at it. 

"Here we are, " he said; "it is for you, my dear. "

"For me, " said Mrs. O'Shanaghgan, holding out her hand. "Pass itacross, Nora. "

"No, it is not for you, my lady, as it happens. It is for Nora. Here, Norrie, take it. "

Nora took it up. She was shivering now, and her hand could scarcelyhold it. It was addressed to her, beyond doubt: "Miss O'Shanaghgan, Castle O'Shanaghgan, " etc. 

"Read it at once, Nora, " said her mother. "I have not yet had anyletter to speak of from Terry myself. If you read it aloud it willentertain us. It seems to be a thick letter. "

"I don't think--I don't think it--it is from Terence, " answeredNora. 

"Nonsense, my dear. "

"Open it, Norrie, and tell us, " said the Squire. "It will berefreshing to hear a bit of outside news. "

Nora now opened the envelope, and took a very thick sheet of paperout. The contents of the letter ran as follows:

"My Dear Nora--Your brother Terence came here a week ago, and hastold us a great deal about you. We are enjoying having himextremely; but he has made us all anxious to know you also. I writenow to ask if you will come and pay us a visit at once, while yourbrother is here. Ask your mother to spare you. You can return withTerence whenever you are tired of us and our ways. I have businessat Holyhead next Tuesday, and could meet you there, if you couldmake it convenient to cross that day. I inclose a paper with thehours that the boats leave, and when they arrive at Holyhead. Icould then take you up with me to London, and we could reach herethat same evening. Ask my sister to spare you. You will be heartilywelcome, my little Irish niece. --Your affectionate uncle, George Hartrick. "

Nora could scarcely read the words aloud. When she had finished shelet the sheet of paper flutter to the floor, and looked at hermother with glowing cheeks and sparkling eyes. 

"I may go? I must go, " she said. 

"My dear Nora, " said Mrs. O'Shanaghgan, "why that must?"

"Oh, mammy! oh, daddy! don't disappoint me, " cried the girl. "Do--dolet me go, please, please. "

"Nora, " said Mrs. O'Shanaghgan again, "I never saw you so unreasonablein your life; you are quite carried away. Your uncle, after long years, has condescended to send you an invitation, and you speak in thisimpulsive, unrestrained fashion. Of course, it would be extremely nicefor you to go; but I doubt for a single moment if it can be afforded. "

"Oh, daddy, daddy! please take my part!" cried Nora. "Please let mego, daddy--oh, daddy!" She rushed up to her father, flung her armsround his neck, and burst into tears. 

Mrs. O'Shanaghgan rose from the table in cold displeasure. "Give meyour uncle's letter, " she said. 

Nora did not glance at her; she was past speaking. So much hung onthis; all the future of the O'Shanaghgans; the Castle, the oldCastle, the home of her ancestors, the place in which she was born, the land she loved, the father she adored--all, all their futurehung upon Nora's accepting the invitation which she had asked heruncle to give her. Oh! if they ever found out, what would her fatherand mother say? Would they ever speak to her again? But they mustnot find out, and she must go; yes, she must go. 

"What is it, Nora? Do leave her alone for a moment, wife, " said theSquire. "There is something behind all this. I never saw Light o'the Morning give way to pure selfishness before. "

"It isn't--it isn't, " sobbed Nora, her head buried on the Squire'sshoulder. 

"My darling, light of my eyes, colleen asthore, acushla machree!"said the Squire. He lavished fond epithets upon the girl, andfinally took her into his arms, and clasped her tight to his breast. 

Mrs. O'Shanaghgan, after staring at the two in speechlessindignation for a moment, left the room. When she reached the doorshe turned round. 

"I cannot stand Irish heroics, " she said. "This is a disgracefulscene. Nora, I am thoroughly ashamed of you. "

She carried her brother's letter away with her, however, and retiredinto the drawing room. There she read it carefully. 

How nice it would be if Nora could go! And Nora was a beauty, too--anIrish beauty; the sort of girl who always goes down in England. Shewould want respectable dress; and then--with her taking ways and thoseroguish, dark-blue eyes of hers, with that bewitching smile whichshowed a gleam of the whitest and most pearly teeth in the world, withthe light, lissome figure, and the blue-black hair--what could notIrish Nora achieve? Conquests innumerable; she might make a matchworthy of her race and name; she might--oh, she might do anything. Shewas only a child, it is true; but all the same she was a budding woman. 

Mrs. O'Shanaghgan sat and pondered. 

"It seems a great pity to refuse, " she said to herself. "And Noradoes need discipline badly; the discipline of England and mybrother's well-ordered home will work wonders with her. Poor child, her father will miss her. I really sometimes think the Squire isgetting into his dotage. He makes a perfect fool of that girl; tosee her there speaking in that selfish way, and he petting her, andcalling her ridiculous names, with no meaning in them, and foldingher in his arms as if she were a baby, and all for pure, downrightselfishness, is enough to make any sensible person sick. Nora, too, who has always been spoken of as the unselfish member of the family, who would not spend a penny to save her life if she thought theSquire was going to suffer. Now she wants him to put his hand intohis pocket for a considerable amount; for the child cannot go to mybrother without suitable clothes--that is a foregone conclusion. But, dear me! all women are selfish when it comes to mere pleasure, and Nora is no better than the rest. For my part, I admire dearTerence's downright method of asking for so-and-so, and getting it. Nora is deceitful. I am much disappointed in her. "

CHAPTER XI. 

THE DIAMOND CROSS. 

But although Mrs. O'Shanaghgan spoke of her daughter to herself asdeceitful, she did not at all give up the idea of her accepting heruncle's invitation. George Hartrick had always had an immenseinfluence over his sister Ellen. He and she had been great friendslong ago, when the handsome, bright girl had been glad to take theadvice of her elder brother. They had almost quarreled at that briefperiod of madness in Ellen Hartrick's life, when she had fallen inlove with handsome Squire O'Shanaghgan; but that quarrel had long beenmade up. Mrs. O'Shanaghgan had married the owner of O'Shanaghgan Castle, and had rued her brief madness ever since. But her pride had preventedher complaining to her brother George. George still imagined that shekept her passionate love intact for the wild Irishman. Only one thingshe had managed ever since their parting, many years ago, and thatwas, that her English brother should not come to see her in her Irishhome. One excuse after the other she had offered, and at last she hadtold him frankly that the ways of the Irish were not his ways; andthat, when he really wanted to see his sister, he must invite her tocome to England to visit him. 

Hartrick was hurt at Ellen's behavior, and as he himself had marriedabout the same time, and his own young family were growing up aroundhim, and the making of money and the toil of riches were claiminghim more and more, he did not often think of the sister who was awayin the wilds of Ireland. She had married one of the proud old Irishchiefs. She had a very good position in her way; and when her sonand daughter required a little peep into the world, Hartrickresolved that they should have it. He had invited Terence over; andnow Nora's letter, with its perplexity, its anguish, its boldrequest, and its final tenderness, had come upon him with a shock ofsurprise. 

George Hartrick was a much stronger character than his sister. He wasa very fine man, indeed, with splendid principles and downright ways;and there was something about this outspoken and queer letter whichtouched him in spite of himself. He was not easily touched; but herespected the writer of that letter. He felt that if he knew her hecould get on with her. He resolved to treat her confidence with therespect it seemed to him it deserved; and, without hesitation, hewrote her the sort of letter she had asked him to write. She shouldpay him a visit, and he would find out for himself the true state ofthings at Castle O'Shanaghgan. Whether he would help the Squire ornot, whether there was any need to help him, he could not say, forNora had not really revealed much of the truth in her passionateletter. She had hinted at it, but she had not spoken; she would waitfor that moment of outpouring of her heart until she arrived at TheLaurels. 

Now, Mrs. O'Shanaghgan, standing alone in her big, empty drawingroom, and looking out at the summer landscape, thought of how Noramight enter her brother's house. Fond as Mrs. O'Shanaghgan was ofTerence--he was in truth a son after her own heart--she had a queerkind of pride about her with regard to Nora. Wild and untutored asNora looked, her mother knew that few girls in England could hold acandle to her, if justice were done her. There was something aboutthe expression in Nora's eyes which even Mrs. O'Shanaghgan couldscarcely resist at times, and there were tones and inflections ofentreaty in Nora's voice which had a strange power of melting thehearts of those who listened to her. 

After about an hour Mrs. O'Shanaghgan went very slowly upstairs. Herbedroom was over the drawing room. It was just as large as thedrawing room--a great bare apartment. The carpet which covered thefloor was so threadbare that the boards showed through in places;the old, faded chintz curtains which hung at the windows were alsoin tatters; but they were perfectly clean, for Mrs. O'Shanaghgan didher best to retain that English cleanliness and order which she feltwere so needed in the land of desolation, as she was pleased to callIreland. 

A huge four-post bedstead occupied a prominent place against one ofthe walls; there was an enormous mahogany wardrobe against another;but the whole center of the room was bare. The dressing-table, however, which stood right in the center of the huge bay, was fullof pretty things--silver appointments of different kinds, brushesand combs heavily mounted in silver, glass bottles with silverstoppers, perfume bottles, pretty knick-knacks of all sorts. WhenNora was a little child she used to stand fascinated, gazing at hermother's dressing-table. It was the one spot where any of therichness of the Englishwoman's early life could still be found. Mrs. O'Shanaghgan went up now and looked at her dressing-table, sweepingher eyes rapidly over its contents. The brushes and combs, thebottles of scent, the button-hooks, the shoe-horns, the thousand-and-one little nothings, polished and bright, stood upon thedressing-table; and besides these there was a large, silver-mountedjewel-case. 

Mrs. O'Shanaghgan was not at all afraid to leave this jewel-caseout, exposed to view day after day, for no one all round the placewould have touched so much as a pin which belonged to the Squire'slady. The people were poor, and would think nothing of stealing halfa bag of potatoes, or helping themselves to a good sack of fruit outof the orchard; but to take the things from the lady's bedroom oranything at all out of the house they would have scorned. They hadtheir own honesty, and they loved the Squire too much to attemptanything of the sort. 

Mrs. O'Shanaghgan now put a key into the lock of the jewel-caseand opened it. When first she was married it was full of prettythings--long strings of pearls, a necklet of very valuable diamonds, a tiara of the same, rings innumerable, bracelets, head ornamentsof different kinds, buckles for shoes, clasps for belts, pins, brooches. Mrs. O'Shanaghan, when Nora was a tiny child, used onevery one of the little girl's birthdays to allow her to overhaulthe jewel case; but of late years Nora had never looked inside it, and Mrs. O'Shanaghgan had religiously kept it locked. She opened itnow with a sigh. The upper tray was quite empty; the diamonds hadlong ago been disposed of. They had gone to pay for Terence'sschooling, for Terence's clothes, for one thing and another thatrequired money. They had gone, oh! so quickly; had melted away socertainly. That first visit of her son's to England had cost Mrs. O'Shanaghgan her long string of pearls, which had come to her as anheirloom from her mother before her. They were very valuable pearls, and she had sold them for a tenth, a twentieth part of their value. The jeweler in Dublin, who was quite accustomed to receiving thepoor lady's trinkets, had sent her a check for fifty pounds for thepearls, knowing well that he could sell them himself for at leastthree hundred pounds. 

Mrs. O'Shanaghgan now once more rifled the jewel case. There weresome things still left--two or three rings and a diamond cross. Shehad never wanted to part with that cross. She had pictured over andover how it would shine on Nora's white neck; how lovely Nora wouldlook when dressed for her first ball, having that white Irish cross, with its diamonds and its single emerald in the center, shining onher breast. But would it not be better to give Nora the chance ofspending three or four months in England, the chance of educatingherself, and let the cross go by? It was so valuable that the goodlady quite thought that she ought to get seventy pounds for it. Withseventy pounds she could fit Nora up for her English visit, and havea little over to keep in her own pocket. Only Nora must not go nextTuesday; that was quite impossible. 

Mrs. O'Shanaghgan quickly determined to make the sacrifice. Shecould still supply Nora with a little, very simple pearl necklet, towear with her white dress during her visit; and the cross would haveto go. There would be a few rings still left; after that the jewelcase would be empty. 

Mrs. O'Shanaghgan packed the precious cross into a little box, andtook it out herself to register it, and to send it off to thejeweler who always bought the trinkets she sent him. She told himthat she expected him to give her, without the smallest demur, seventy pounds for the cross, and hoped to have the money by thenext day's post. 

Having done this and dispatched her letter, she walked briskly backto the Castle. She saw Nora wandering about in the avenue. Nora, hatless and gloveless, was playing with the dogs. She seemed to haveforgotten all about her keen disappointment of the morning. When shesaw her mother coming up the avenue she ran to meet her. 

"Why, mammy, " she said, "how early you are out! Where have youbeen?"

"I dislike extremely that habit you have, Nora, of calling me mammy;mother is the word you should address your parent with. Pleaseremember in future that I wish to be called mother. "

"Oh, yes, mother!" answered Nora. The girl had the sweetest temperin the world, and no amount of reproof ever caused her to answerangrily. "But where have you been?" she said, her curiosity gettingthe better of her prudence. 

"Again, Nora, I am sorry to say I must reprove you. I have been tothe village on business of my own. It is scarcely your affair whereI choose to walk in the morning. "

"Oh, of course not, mam--I mean mother. "

"But come with me down this walk. I have something to say to you. "

Nora eagerly complied. There was something in the look of hermother's eyes which made her guess that the usual subject ofconversation--her own want of deportment, her ignorance ofetiquette--was not to be the theme. She felt her heart, which hadsunk like lead within her, rise again to the surface. Her eyessparkled and smiles played round her rosy lips. 

"Yes, mother, " she said; "yes. "

"All impulse, " said Mrs. O'Shanaghgan--she laid her hand on Nora'sarm--"all impulse, all Irish enthusiasm. "

"I cannot help it, you know, " said Nora. "I was born that way. I amIrish, you know, mammy. "

"You are also English, my dear, " replied her mother. "Pray rememberthat fact when you see your cousins. "

"My cousins! My English cousins! But am I to see them? Mother, mother, do you mean it?"

"I do mean it, Nora. I intend you to accept your uncle's invitation. No heroics, please, " as the girl was about to fling her arms roundher mother's neck; "keep those for your father, Nora; I do not wishfor them. I intend you to go and behave properly; pray remember thatwhen you give way to pure Irishism, as I may express your mostpeculiar manners, you disgrace me, your mother. I mean you to go inorder to have you tamed a little. You are absolutely untamed now, unbroken in. "

"I never want to be broken in, " whispered Nora, tears of mingledexcitement and pain at her mother's words brimming to her eyes. "Oh, mother!" she said, with a sudden wail, "will you never, neverunderstand Nora?"

"I understand her quite well, " said Mrs. O'Shanaghgan, her voiceassuming an unwonted note of softness; "and because I do understandNora so well, " she added--and now she patted the girl's slender arm--"Iwant her to have this great advantage, for there is much that is goodin you, Nora. But you are undisciplined, my dear; wild, unkempt. Little did I think in the old days that a daughter of mine should haveto have such things said to her. Our more stately, more sober wayswill be a revelation to you, Nora. To your brother Terence they willcome as second nature; but you, my dear, will have to be warnedbeforehand. I warn you now that your Uncle George will not understandthe wild excitement which you seem to consider the height of goodbreeding at O'Shanaghgan. "

"Mother, mother, " said Nora, "don't say anything againstO'Shanaghgan. "

"Am I doing so?" said the poor lady. She stood for a moment andlooked around her. Nora stopped also and when she saw her mother'seyes travel to the rambling old house, to the neglected lawn, theavenue overgrown with weeds, it seemed to her that a stab of thecruelest pain was penetrating her heart. 

"Mother sees all the ugliness; she is determined to, " thought Nora;"but I see all the beauty. Oh! the dear, dear old place, it shan'tgo if Nora can save it. " Then, with a great effort, she controlledherself. 

"How am I to go?" she said. "Where is the money to come from?"

"You need not question me on that point, " said Mrs. O'Shanaghgan. "Iwill provide the means. "

"Oh, mother!" said Nora; "no, I would rather stay. " But then sheremembered all that this involved; she knew quite well that hermother had rifled the jewel-case; but as she had done so over andover again just for Terence's mere pleasure, might she not do soonce more to save the old place?

"Very well, " she said demurely; "I won't ask any questions. "

"You had better not, for I have not the slightest idea of replyingto them, " answered Mrs. O'Shanaghgan. "I shall write to your uncleto-day. You cannot go next week, however. "

"Oh! why not? He said Tuesday; he would meet me at Holyhead onTuesday. "

"I will try and provide a fit escort for you to England; But youcannot go next Tuesday; your wardrobe forbids it, " answered Mrs. O'Shanaghgan. 

"My wardrobe! Oh, mother, I really need not bother about clothes!"

"You may not bother about them, Nora; but I intend to, " replied Mrs. O'Shanaghgan. "I must buy you some suitable dress. "

"But how will you do it?"

"I have not been away from Castle O'Shanaghgan for a long time, "said Mrs. O'Shanaghgan, "and it will be a nice change for me. Ishall take you to Dublin, and get you what things are necessary. Iwill then see you off on board the steamer. "

"But would not father be best?"

"Your father can come with us or not, just as he pleases; but I amthe person who will see to your wardrobe for your English visit, "replied her mother. 

Nora, excited, bewildered, charmed, had little or nothing to opposeto this plan. After all, her mother was coming out in a new light. How indifferent she had been about Nora's dress in the past! ForTerence were the fashionable coats and the immaculate neckties andthe nice gloves and the patent-leather boots. For Nora! Now and thenan old dress of her mother's was cut down to fit the girl; but as arule she wore anything she could lay hands on, made anyhow. It istrue she was never grotesque like Biddy Murphy; but up to thepresent dress had scarcely entered at all as a factor into her life. 

The next few days passed in a whirl of bewildered excitement. Mrs. O'Shanaghgan received, as she expected, by return of post, seventypounds from the Dublin jeweler for her lovely diamond cross. Thisman was rapidly making his fortune out of poor Mrs. O'Shanaghgan, and he knew that he had secured a splendid bargain for himself whenhe bought the cross. 

Mrs. O'Shanaghgan, therefore, with a full purse, could givedirections to her household during her brief absence, and altogetherwas much brightened and excited at the thought of Nora's visit. Shehad written herself to her brother, saying that she would be veryglad to spare her daughter, and giving him one or two hints withregard to Nora's manners and bringing up. 

"The Irish have quite different ideas, my dear brother, " she wrote, "with regard to etiquette to those which were instilled into us; butyou will bear patiently with my little wild Irish girl, for she hasa very true heart, and is also, I think you will admit, nice-looking. "

Mr. Hartrick, who read between the lines of his sister's letter, wrote to say that business would bring him to Holyhead on thefollowing Tuesday week also, and, therefore, it would be quiteconvenient for him to meet Nora on that day. 

The evening before she was to depart arrived at last. The Squire hadspent a busy day. From the moment when Nora had told him that hermother had provided funds, and that she was to go to England, he hadscarcely reverted to the matter. In truth, with that curious Irishphase in his character which is more or less the inheritance ofevery member of his country, he contrived to put away thedisagreeable subject even from his thoughts. He was busy, very busy, attending to his farm and riding round his establishment. He wasstill hoping against hope that some money would come in his way longbefore the three months were up, when the mortgagee would forecloseon his property. He was not at all unhappy, and used to enter hishouse singing lustily or whistling loudly. Nora sometimes wonderedif he also forgot how soon she was going to leave him. His firstcall when he entered the house had always been "Light o' theMorning, where are you? Come here, asthore; the old dad hasreturned, " or some such expression. It came to the excited girl'sheart with a pang how he would miss her when she was no longerthere; how he would call for her in vain, and feel bewildered for amoment, and then remember that she was far away. 

"But I shan't be long away, " she thought; "and when I come back andsave him and the old place, oh, how glad he will be! He will indeedthen think me his Light o' the Morning, for I shall have saved himand the old home. "

But the last evening came, and Nora considered whether she ought torecall the fact that she was going away, perhaps for a couple ofmonths, to her father. He came in as usual, sat down heavily on thenearest settee, and stretched out his long legs. 

"I wonder if I am getting old?" he said. "I declare I feel a bittired. Come along here, Nora, and cheer me up. What news have youthis evening, little woman?"

"Oh, father! don't you know?"

"Well, your eyes look bright enough. What is it, girleen?"

"I am going away to Dublin to-morrow. "

"You? Bless you! so you are, " said the Squire, with a hearty laugh. "Upon my soul I forgot all about it. Well, and you are going to havea good time, and you'll forget the old dad--eh?--you'll forget allabout the old dad?"

"Father, father, you know better, " said Nora--she flung her armsround his neck and laid her soft cheek against his--"as if I couldever forget you for a single moment, " she said. 

"I know it, a-colleen; I know it, heart's asthore. Of course youwon't. I am right glad you are going; it will be a nice change foryou. And what about the bits of duds--eh?--and the pretty trinkets?Why, you'll be going into grand society; you'll be holding yourlittle head like a queen. Don't you forget, my pet, that you'reIrish through and through, and that you come of a long line of braveancestors. The women of your house never stooped to a shabby action, Nora; and never one of them sacrificed her honor for gold oranything else; and the men were brave, girleen, very brave, and hadnever fear in one of them. You remember that, and keep yourselfupright and brave and proud, and come back to the old dad with aspure and loving a heart as you have now. "

"Oh, father, of course, of course. But you will miss me? you willmiss me?"

"Bedad! I expect I shall, " said the Squire; "but I am not going tofret, so don't you imagine it. "

"Have you, " said Nora in a low whisper--"have you done anythingabout-about the mortgage?"

"Oh, you be aisy, " said the Squire, giving her a playful poke; "andif you can't be aisy, be as aisy as you can, " he continued, referring to the old well-known saying. "Things will come rightenough. Why, the matter is weeks off yet. It was only yesterday Iheard from an old friend, Larry M'Dermott, who has been inAustralia, and has made a fine pile. He is back again, and I amthinking of seeing him and settling up matters with him. Don't youhave an uneasy thought in your head, my child. I'll write to youwhen the thing is fixed up, as fixed it will be by all that's likelyin a week or fortnight from now. But look here, Norrie, you'll wantsomething to keep in your pocket when you are away. I had best giveyou a five-pound note. "

"No, no, " said Nora. "I wouldn't touch it; I don't want it. "

"Why not? Is it too proud you are?"

"No; mother is helping me to this visit. I don't know how she hasgot money. I suppose in the old way. "

"Poor soul!" said the Squire. "To tell you the truth, Norrie, Ican't bear to look at that jewel-case of hers. I believe, upon myword, that it is nearly empty. She is very generous, is your mother. She's a very fine woman, and I am desperate proud of her. WhenM'Dermott helps me to tide over this pinch I'll have all thosejewels back again by hook or by crook. Your mother shan't suffer inthe long run, and I'll do a lot to the old place--the old housewants papering and painting. We'll dance a merry jig at O'Shanaghganat your wedding, my little girl; and now don't keep me, for I havegot to go out to meet Murphy. He said he would look around aboutthis hour. "

Nora left her father, and wandered out into the soft summergloaming. She went down the avenue, and leaned for a time over thegate. The white gate was sadly in need of paint, but it was nothanging off its hinges as the gate was which led to the estate ofCronane. Nora put her feet on the last rung, leaned her arms on thetop one, and swayed softly, as she thought of all that was about tohappen, and the glorious adventures which would in all probabilitybe hers during the next few weeks. As she thought, and forgotherself in dreams of the future, a low voice calling her name causedher to start. A man with shaggy hair and wild, bright eyes had comeup to the other side of the gate. 

"Why, then, Miss Nora, how are ye this evening?" he said. He pulledhis forelock as he spoke. 

Nora felt a sudden coldness come over all her rosy dreams; but shewas too Irish and too like her ancestors to feel any fear, althoughshe could not help remembering that she was nearly half a mile awayfrom the house, and that there was not a soul anywhere within call. 

"Good-evening, Andy, " she said. "I must be going home now. "

"No, you won't just yet, " he answered. He came up and laid his dirtyhand on her white sleeve. 

"No, don't touch me, " said Nora proudly. She sprang off the gate, and stood a foot or two away. "Don't come in, " she continued; "staywhere you are. If you have anything to say, say it there. "

"Bedad! it's a fine young lady that it is, " said the man. "It aintafeared, is it?"

"Afraid!" said Nora. "What do you take me for?"

"Sure, then, I take yez for what you are, " said the man--"as fineand purty a slip of a girleen as ever dwelt in the old Castle; butbe yez twice as purty, and be yez twice as fine, Andy Neil is notthe man to forget his word, his sworn word, his oath taken to thepowers above and the powers below, that if his bit of a roof istaken off his head, why, them as does it shall suffer. It's for youto know that, Miss Nora. I would have drowned yez in the deep pooland nobody would ever be the wiser, but I thought better of that;and I could here--yes, even now--I could choke yez round your prettysoft neck and nobody would be any the wiser, and I'd think no moreof it than I'd think of crushing a fly. I won't do it; no I won't, Miss Nora; but there's _thim_ as will have to suffer if AndyNeil is turned out of his hut. You spake for me, Miss Nora; youspake up for me, girleen. Why, the Squire, you're the light of hiseyes; you spake up, and say, 'Lave poor Andy in his little hut; lavepoor Andy with a roof over him. Don't mind the bit of a rint. ' Why, then, Miss Nora, how can I pay the rint? Look at my arrum, dear. " Asthe man spoke he thrust out his arm, pushing up his ragged shirtsleeve. The arm was almost like that of a skeleton's; the skin wasstarting over the bones. 

"Oh, it is dreadful!" said Nora, all the pity in her heart wellingup into her eyes. "I am truly, truly sorry for you, Andy, I would doanything in my power. It is just this: you know father?"

"Squire? Yes, I guess I know Squire, " said the man. 

"You know, " continued Nora, "that when he takes what you might callthe bit between his teeth nothing will move him. He is set againstyou, Andy. Oh, Andy! I don't believe he will listen. "

"He had betther, " said the man, his voice dropping to a low growl;"he had betther, and I say so plain. There's that in me would stickat nothing, and you had best know it, Miss Nora. "

"Can you not go away, Andy?"

"I--and what for?"

"But can you?"

"I could, but I won't. "

"I don't believe father will yield. I will send you some money fromEngland if you will promise to go away. "

"Aye; but I don't want it. I want to stay on. Where would my oldbones lie when I died if I am not in my own counthry? I'm not goingto leave my counthry for nobody. The cot where I was born shall seeme die; and if the roof is took off, why, I'll put it back again. I'll defy him and his new-fangled ways and his English wife to thedeath. You'll see mischief if you don't put things right, Miss Nora. It all rests with yez, alannah. "

"I am awfully sorry for you, Andy; but I don't believe you wouldseriously injure father, for you know what the consequences wouldbe. "

"Aye; but when a man like me is sore put to it he don't think ofconsequences. It's just the burning wish to avenge his wrongs;that's what he feels, and that's what I feel, Miss Nora, and so youhad best take warning. "

"Well, I am going away to-morrow, " said the girl. "My father is ingreat trouble, and wants money very badly himself, and I am going toEngland. "

"To be out of the way when the ruin comes. I know, " said the man, with a loud laugh. 

"No; you are utterly mistaken. Andy, don't you remember when I was alittle girl how you used to let me ride on your shoulder, and onceyou asked me for a tiny bit of my hair, that time when it was all incurls, and I gave you just the end of one of my curls, and you saidyou would keep it to your dying day? Would you be cruel to Nora now, and just when her heart is heavy?"

"Your heart heavy? You, one of the quality--'taint likely, " said theman. 

"It is true; my heart is very heavy. I am so anxious about father; youwon't make me more anxious--will you? You won't do anything--anythingwrong--while I am away? Will you make me a promise that you will letme go with an easy mind?"

"You ask your father to give me three months' longer grace, and thenwe'll see. "

"I will speak to him, " said Nora very slowly. "I am sorry, becausehe is worried about other things, and he does not take it kindlywhen I interfere in what he considers his own province; but I'll domy best. I cannot stay another moment now, Andy. Good-by. "

She waved her hand to him, and ran down the avenue, looking like awhite wraith as she disappeared into the darkness. 

CHAPTER XII. 

A FEATHER-BED HOUSE. 

Before she went to sleep that night Nora wrote a tiny note to herfather:

"DEAREST DAD:

"For the sake of your Light o' the Morning, leave poor Andy Neil inhis little cottage until I come back again from England. Do, deardad; this is the last wish of Nora before she goes away. 

"YOUR COLLEEN. "

She thought and thought, and felt that she could not have expressedherself better. Fear would never influence the Squire; but he woulddo a good deal for Nora. She laid the letter just where she knew hewould see it when he entered his ramshackle study on the followingday; and the next morning, with her arms clasped round his neck andher kisses on his cheeks, she gave him one hearty hug, one fervent"God bless you, dad, " and rushed after her mother. 

The outside car was ready at the door. Mrs. O'Shanaghgan was alreadymounted. Nora sprang up, and they were rattling off into the world, "to seek my fortune, " thought the girl, "or rather the fortune ofhim I love best. "

The Squire, with his grizzled locks and his deep-set eyes, stood inthe porch to watch Nora and her mother as they drove away. 

"I'll be back in a twinkling, father; never you fret, " called outhis daughter, and then a turn in the road hid him from view. 

"Why, Nora, what are you crying for?" said her mother, who turnedround at that moment, and encountered the full gaze of the largedark-blue eyes swimming in tears. 

"Oh, nothing. I'll be all right in a moment, " was the answer, andthen the sunshine broke all over the girl's charming face; andbefore they reached the railway station Nora was chatting to hermother as if she had not a care in the world. 

Her first visit to Dublin and the excitement of getting reallypretty dresses made the next two or three days pass like a flash. Mrs. O'Shanaghgan with money in her pocket was a very differentwoman from Mrs. O'Shanaghgan without a penny. She enjoyed makingNora presentable, and had excellent taste and a keen eye for abargain. She fitted up her daughter with a modest but successfulwardrobe, bought her a proper trunk to hold her belongings, and sawher on board the steamer for Holyhead. 

The crossing was a rough one, but the Irish girl did not suffer fromseasickness. She stood leaning over the taffrail chatting to the captain, who thought her one of the most charming passengers he ever had tocross in the _Munster_; and when they arrived at the oppositeside, Mr. Hartrick was waiting for his niece. He often said sincethat he would never forget his first sight of Nora O'Shanaghgan. She was wearing a gray tweed traveling dress, with a little gray capto match; the slender young figure, the rippling black hair, and thebrilliant face flashed for an instant on the tired vision of the manof business; then there came the eager outstretching of two hands, andNora had kissed him because she could not help herself. 

"Oh, I am so glad to see you, Uncle George!" The words, the action, the whole look were totally different from what his daughters wouldhave said or done under similar circumstances. He felt quite surethat his sister's description of Nora was right in the main; but hethought her charming. Drawing her hand through his arm, he took herto the railway station, where the train was already waiting toreceive its passengers. Soon they were flying in _The Wild IrishGirl_ to Euston. Nora was provided with innumerable illustratedpapers. Mr. Hartrick took out a little basket which containedsandwiches, wine, and different cakes, and fed her with the best hecould procure. He did not ask her many questions, not even about theCastle or her own life. He was determined to wait for all thesethings. He read something of her story in her clear blue eyes; buthe would not press her for her confidence. He was anxious to knowher a little better. 

"She is Irish, though, and they all exaggerate things sodreadfully, " was his thought. "But I'll be very good to the child. What a contrast she is to Terence! Not that Terence is scarcelyIrish; but anyone can see that this child has more of her fatherthan her mother in her composition. "

They arrived at Euston; then there were fresh changes; a cab tookthem to Waterloo, where they once again entered the train. 

"Tired, my dear niece?" said her uncle as he settled her for thefinal time in another first-class compartment. 

"Not at all. I am too excited to be tired, " was her eager answer. And then he smiled at her, arranged the window and blind to herliking, and they started once more on their way. 

Mr. Hartrick lived in a large place near Weybridge, and Nora had herfirst glimpse of the lovely Surrey scenery. A carriage was waitingfor the travelers when they reached their destination--a carriagedrawn by a pair of spirited grays. Nora thought of Black Bess, andsecretly compared the grays to the disadvantage of the latter. Butshe was determined to be as sweet and polite and English as hermother would desire. For the first time in her whole existence shewas feeling a little shy. She would have been thoroughly at home ona dog cart, or on her favorite outside car, or on the back of BlackBess, who would have carried her swift as the wind; but in thelandau, with her uncle seated by her side, she was altogether at aloss. 

"I don't like riches, " was her inward murmur. "I feel all in silkenchains, and it is not a bit pleasant; but how dear mammy--oh, I mustthink of her as mother--how mother would enjoy it all!"

The horses were going slowly uphill, and now they paused at somehandsome iron gates. These were opened by a neatly dressed woman, who courtesied to Mr. Hartrick, and glanced with curiosity at Nora. The carriage bowled rapidly down a long avenue, and drew up before afront door. A large mastiff rose slowly, wagged his tail, andsniffed at Nora's dress as she descended. 

"Come in, my dear; come in, " said her uncle. "We are too late fordinner, but I have ordered supper. You will want a good meal andthen bed. Where are all the others? Where are you, Molly? Where areyou, Linda? Your Irish cousin Nora has come. "

A door to the left was quickly opened, and a graceful-looking lady, in a beautiful dress of black silk and quantities of coffee lace, stood on the threshold. 

"Is this Nora?" she said. "Welcome, my dear little girl. " She wentup to Nora, laid one hand on her shoulder, and kissed her gravely onthe forehead. There was a staid, sober sort of solemnity about thiskiss which influenced Nora and made a lump come into her throat. 

This gracious English lady was very charming, and she felt at oncethat she would love her. 

"The child is tired, Grace, " said her husband to Mrs. Hartrick. "Where are the girls? Why are they not present?"

"Molly has been very troublesome, and I was obliged to send her toher room, " was her reply; "but here is Terence. Terence, your sisterhas come. "

"Oh, Terry!" cried Nora. 

The next moment Terence, in full evening dress, and lookingextremely manly and handsome, appeared upon the scene. Nora forgoteverything else when she saw the familiar face; she ran up to herbrother, flung her arms round his neck, and kissed him over andover. 

"Oh, it is a sight for sore eyes to see you!" she cried. "Oh, Terry, how glad, how glad I am that you are here!"

"Hush! hush! Nonsense, Nora. Try to remember this is an Englishhouse, " whispered Terence; but he kissed her affectionately. He wasglad to see her, and he looked at her dress with marked approval. "She will soon tame down, and she looks very pretty, " was histhought. 

Just then Linda was seen coming downstairs. 

"Has Nora come?" called out her sweet, high-bred voice. "How do youdo, Nora? I am so glad to see you. If you are half as nice asTerence, you will be a delightful addition to our party. "

"Oh, but I am not the least bit like Terence, " said Nora. She feltrather hurt; she did not know why. 

Linda was a very fair girl. She could not have been more thanfifteen years of age, and was not so tall as Nora; but she hadalmost the manners of a woman of the world, and Nora feltunaccountably shy of her. 

"Now take your cousin up to her room. Supper will be ready in aquarter of an hour, " said Mrs. Hartrick. "Come, George; I havesomething to say to you. "

Mr. And Mrs. Hartrick disappeared into the drawing-room. Linda tookNora's hand. Nora glanced at Terence, who turned on his heel andwent away. 

"See you presently, sis, " he called out in what he considered a verymanly tone; and Nora felt her heart, as she expressed it, sink downinto her boots as she followed Linda up the richly carpeted stairs. Her feet sank into the velvety pile, and she hated the sensation. 

"It is all a sort of feather-bed house, " she said to herself, "and Ihate a feather-bed house. Oh, I can understand my dad better thanever to-night; but how mother would enjoy this!"

CHAPTER XIII. 

"THERE'S MOLLY. "

As they were going upstairs Linda suddenly turned and looked full ather cousin. 

"How very grave you are! And why have you that little frown betweenyour brows? Are you vexed about anything?"

"Only I thought Terry would be more glad to see me, " replied Nora. 

"More glad!" cried Linda. "I saw you hugging him as I randownstairs. He let you. I don't know how any one could show gladnessmore. But come along; this is your room. It is next to Molly's andmine. Isn't it pretty? Molly and I chose it for you this morning, and we arranged those flowers. You will have such a lovely view, andthat little peep of the Thames is so charming. I hope you will likeyour room. "

Nora entered one of the prettiest and most lovely bedrooms she hadever seen in her life. Never in her wildest dreams had she imaginedanything so cozy. The perfectly chosen furniture, the elegantappointments of every sort and description, the view from the partlyopened windows, the view of winding river and noble trees--alllooked rich and cultivated and lovely; and the Irish girl, as shegazed around, found suddenly a great, fierce hatred rising up in herheart against what she called the mere prettiness. She turned andfaced Linda, who was watching her with curiosity in her somewhatsmall blue eyes Linda was essentially English, very reserved andquiet, very self-possessed, quite a young lady of the world. Shelooked at Nora as if she meant to read her through. 

"Well, don't you think the view perfect?" she said. 

"Have you ever been in Ireland?" was Nora's answer. 

"Never. Oh, dear me! have you anything as pretty as this inIreland?"

"No, " said Nora fiercely--"no. " She left the window, turned back, and began to unpin her hat. 

"You look as if you did not care for your room. "

"It is a very, very pretty room, " said Nora, "and the view is very, very pretty, but I am tired to-night. I did not know it; but I am. Ishould like to go to bed soon. "

"So you shall, of course, after you have had supper. Oh, how awfullythoughtless of me not to know that you must be very tried andhungry! Molly and I are glad you have come. "

"But where is Molly? I should like to see her. "

Linda went up to Nora and spoke in a low whisper. 

"She is in disgrace. "

"In disgrace? Has she done anything naughty?"

"Yes, fearfully naughty. She is in hot water as usual. "

"I am sorry, " said Nora. She instantly began to feel a strongsensation of sympathy for Molly. She was sure, in advance, that shewould like her. 

"But is she in such dreadful disgrace that I may not see her?" sheasked after a pause. 

"Oh, I don't know. I don't suppose so. "

Just then there was heard at the room door a gay laugh and a kind ofscamper. A knock followed, but before Nora could answer the door wasburst open, and a large, heavily made, untidy-looking girl, with adark face and great big black eyes, bounded into the apartment. 

"I have burst the bonds, and here I am, " she said. "How do you do, Nora? I'm Molly. I am always and always in hot water. I like beingin hot water. Now, tell-tale-tit, you can go downstairs and acquaintmother with the fact that I have burst the bonds, for kiss littleIrish Nora I will. "

"Oh, I am glad to see you, " said Nora. Her depression vanished onthe spot. She felt that, naughty as doubtless Molly was, she couldget on with her. 

"Come, let's take a squint at you, " said the eldest Miss Hartrick;"come over here to the light. "

Molly took Nora by both hands over to the window. 

"Now then, let's have a category of your charms. Terence has beentelling us that you are very pretty. You are. Come, Linda; come andlook at her. Did you ever see such black hair? And it's as soft assilk. "

Molly put up a rather large hand and patted Nora somewhat violentlyon the head. 

"Oh, don't!" said Nora, starting back. 

"My dear little cousin, I am a very rough specimen, and you must putup with me if you mean to get on at The Laurels. We are all stiffand staid here; we are English of the English. Everything is done byrule of thumb--breakfast to the minute, lunch to the minute, afternoon tea to the minute, dinner to the minute, even tennis tothe minute. Oh! it's detestable; and I--I am expected to be good, and you know there's not a bit of goodness in me. I am all fidgets, and you can never be sure of me for two seconds at a time. I am aworry to mother and a worry to father; and as to Terence--oh, mydear creature, I am so truly thankful you are not like Terence! HereI drop a courtesy to his memory. What an awfully precise man he willmake by and by! I did not know you turned out that kind of articlein Ireland. "

Nora's face, over which many emotions had been flitting, now lookedgrave. 

"You know that Terence is my brother?" she said slowly. 

Molly gazed at her; then she burst into a fit of hearty laughter. 

"You and I will get on, " she said. "I like you for sticking up foryour brother. But now, my dear, I must go back. I am supposed tostay in my bedroom until to-morrow morning. Linda, if you tell--well, you'll have to answer to me when we are going to bed, that'sall. By-by, Nora. I'll see you in the morning. Do get her some hotwater, Linda. She's worth waiting on; she's a very nice sort ofchild, and very, very pretty. If that is the Irish sort of face, Ifor one shall adore it. Good-by, Nora, for the present. "

Molly banged herself away--her mode of exit could scarcely be calledby any other name. As soon as the door had closed behind her Lindalaughed. 

"I ought to tell, you know, " she said in her precise voice; "it isvery, very wrong of Molly to leave her bedroom when mother ispunishing her. "

"But what has she done wrong?" asked Nora. 

"Oh, went against discipline. She is at school, you know, and shewould write letters during lessons. It is really very wrong of her, and Miss Scott had to complain; so mother said she should stay inher room, instead of being downstairs to welcome you. She is a goodsoul enough; but we none of us can discipline her. She is veryfunny; you'll see a lot of her queer cranks while you are here. "

"How old is she?" asked Nora. 

"Between sixteen and seventeen; too old to be such a romp. "

"Only a little older than I am, " said Nora. "And how old are you, Linda?"

"Fifteen; they all tell me I look more. "

"You do; you look eighteen. You are very old for your age. "

"Oh, thank you for the compliment. Now, then, do brush your hair andwash your hands; there's the supper-gong. Mother will be annoyed ifwe are not down in a jiffy. Now, do be quick. "

Nora washed her hands, brushed her hair, and ran downstairs with hercousin. As she ate during the somewhat stiff meal that followed shethought many times of Molly. She felt that, naughty as Mollydoubtless was, she would make the English house tolerable. Terencesat near her at supper, by way of extending to her brotherlyattentions; but all the time he was talking on subjects of localinterest to his aunt and uncle. 

Mr. Hartrick evidently thought Terence a very clever fellow, andlistened to his remarks with a deference which Nora thought by nomeans good for him. 

"He wants one of the dear old dad's downright snubs, " was her inwardcomment. "I must have a talk with him to-morrow. If he progresses atthis rate toward English refinement he will be unbearable atO'Shanaghgan when he returns; quite, quite unbearable. Oh, for asniff of the sea! oh, for the wild, wild wind on my cheeks! and oh, for my dear, darling, bare bedroom! I shall be smothered in thatheavily furnished room upstairs. Oh, it is all lovely, I know--verylovely; but I'm not made to enjoy it. I belong to the free, and Idon't feel free here. The silken chains and the feather-bed lifewon't suit me; of that I am quite sure. Thank goodness, however, there's Molly; she is in a state of rebellion, too. I must notsympathize with her; but I am truly glad she is here. "

CHAPTER XIV. 

BITS OF SLANG. 

Early the next morning Nora was awakened from a somewhat heavy sleepby someone pulling her violently by the arm. 

"Wake up! wake up!" said a voice; and then Nora, who had been dreamingof her father, and also of Andy Neil, started up, crying as she didso, "Oh, don't, Andy! I know father will let you stay a little longerin the cot. Don't, don't, Andy!"

"Who, in the name of fortune, is Andy?" called the clear voice ofMolly Hartrick. "Do wake up, Nora, and don't look so dazed. Youreally are a most exciting person to have staying in the house. Whois Andy, and what cot are you going to turn him out of? Is he ababy?"

Nora now began to laugh. 

"I quite forgot that I was in England, " she said. "Am I really inEngland? Are you--are you----Oh, now I remember everything. You areMolly Hartrick. What is the hour? Is it late? Have I missedbreakfast?"

"Bless you, child! lie down and keep quiet; it's not more than sixo'clock. I wanted to see some more of you all by myself. I am out ofpunishment now; it ended at midnight, and I am as free as anybodyelse; but as it is extremely likely I shall be back in punishment bythe evening, I thought we would have a little chat while I was ableto have it. Just make way for me in your bed; I'll nestle up closeto you, and we'll be ever so jolly. "

"Oh, do, " said Nora, in a hearty tone. 

Molly scrambled in, taking the lion's share of the bed, Nora lay onthe edge. 

"I am glad you are facing the light, for I can examine your featureswell, " said Molly. "You certainly are very nice-looking. Howprettily your eyebrows are arched, and what white teeth you have!And, although you have that wonderful black hair, you have a fairskin, and your cheeks have just enough color; not too much. I hateflorid people; but you are just perfect. "

"I wish you would not flatter me, Molly, " said Nora; "nobodyflatters me in Ireland. "

"They don't? But I thought they were a perfect nation of flatterers. I am sure it is always said of them. "

"Oh, if you mean the poor people, " said Nora; "they make prettyspeeches, but nobody thinks anything about that. Everybody makespretty speeches to everybody else, except when we are having aviolent scold by way of a change. "

"How delicious!" said Molly. "And what sort of house have you? Likethis?"

"No, not the least like this, " answered Nora. 

"With what emphasis you speak. Do you know that father told me youlived in a beautiful place, a castle hanging over the sea, and thatyour mountains and your sea and your old castle were things to beproud of?"

"Did he? Did your father really say that?" asked Nora. She sat up onher elbow; her eyes were shining; they assumed a look which Nora'seyes often wore when she was, as she expressed it, "seeing thingsout of her head. " Far-off castles in the clouds would Nora look atthen; rainbow-tinted were they, and their summits reached heaven. Molly gazed at her with deepening interest. 

"Yes, Nora, " she said; "he did say it. He told me so before Terencecame; but I--do forgive me--I don't care for Terence. "

"You must not talk against him to me, " said Nora, "because hehappens to be my brother; but I'll just whisper one thing back toyou, Molly--if he was not my brother he would not suit me. "

"How nice of you to say that! We shall get on splendidly. Of course, you must stick up for him, being your brother; he stuck up for youbefore you came. It is very nice and loyal of you, and I quiteunderstand. But, dear me! I am not likely to see much of you whileyou are here. "

"Why not? Are you not going to stay here?"

"Oh, my dear, yes; I'll stay. School has just begun over again, youknow, and I am always in hot water. I cannot help it; it is a sortof way of mine. This is the kind of way I live. Breakfast everymorning; then a lecture from mother or from father. Off I go in lowspirits, with a great, sore heart inside me; then comes the hatefuldiscipline of school; and every day I get into disgrace. I have alot of lessons returned, and am low down in my class, instead ofhigh up, and am treated from first to last as a naughty child. Bythe middle of the day I am a very naughty child indeed. "

"But you are not a child at all, Molly; you are a woman. Why, youare older than I. "

"Oh, what have years to do with it?" interrupted Molly. "I shall be achild all my days, I tell you. I shall never be really old. I likemischief and insubordination, and--and--let me whisper it to you, little Nora--vulgarity. Yes, I do love to be vulgar. I like shockingmother; I like shocking father. Since Terence came I have had rare funshocking him. I have learned a lot of slang, and whenever I see TerenceI shout it at him. He has got quite nervous lately, and avoids me. Helikes Linda awfully, but he avoids me. But, to go on with my day. Iam back from school to early dinner, generally in disgrace. I am notallowed to speak at dinner. Back again I go to school, and I am home, or supposed to be home, at half-past four; but not a bit of it, mydear; I don't get home till about six, because I am kept in to learnmy lessons. It is disgraceful, of course; but it is a fact. Then backI come, and mother has a talk with me. However busy mother may be, and she is a very busy woman, Nora--you will soon find that out--shealways has time to find out if I have done anything naughty; and, asfibs are not any of my accomplishments, I always tell her the truth;and then what do you think happens? An evening quite to myself in mybedroom; my dinner sent up to me there, and I eating it in solitarystate. They are all accustomed to it. They open their eyes and almostglare at me when by a mere chance I do come down to dinner. They arequite uncomfortable, because, you see, I am waiting my opportunity tofire slang at one of them. I always do, and always will. I never couldfit into the dull life of the English. "

"You must be Irish, really, " said Nora. 

"You don't say so! But I am afraid I am not. I would give all theworld to be, but am quite certain I am not. There, now, of courseI'd be awfully scolded if it was found out that I had awakened youat this hour, and had confided my little history to you. I am oversixteen. I shall be seventeen in ten months' time. And that is myhistory, insubordination from first to last. I don't suppose anybodyreally likes me, unless it is poor Annie Jefferson at school. "

"Who is Annie Jefferson, Molly?"

"A very shabby sort of girl, who is always in hot water too. I havetaken to her, and she just adores me. There is no one else who lovesme; and she, poor child, would not be admitted inside these walls;she is not aristocratic enough. Dear me, Nora! it is wrong of me togive you all this information so soon; and don't look anxious aboutme, little goose, for I have taken an enormous fancy to you. "

"I will tell you one thing, " said Nora after a pause, "if you willnever tell again. "

"Oh, a secret!" said Molly. "Tell it out, Nora. I love secrets. I'llnever betray; I have no friends to betray them to. You may tell mewith all the heart in the world. "

"Well, it is this, " said Nora; "we are not at all rich at home. Weare poor, and have no luxuries and the dear old house is very bare;and, oh! but, Molly, there is no place like it--no place like it. It'sworth all the world to me; and when I came here last night, and sawyour great, rich, beautiful house, I--I quite hated it, and I almosthated Linda too; and even my uncle, who has been so kind, I could notget up one charitable thought for him, nor for your mother, who issuch a beautiful, gracious lady; and even Terence--oh! Terry seemedquite English. Oh, I was miserable! But when I saw you, Molly, I saidto myself, 'There is one person who will fit me'; and--oh, don'tMolly! What is it?"

"Only, if you say another word I shall squeeze you to death in thehug I am giving you, " said Molly. Her arms were flung tightly roundNora's neck. She kissed her passionately three or four times. 

"We'll be friends. I'll stick up for you through thick and thin, "said Molly. "And now I'm off; for if Linda caught me woe betide me. "

"One word before you go, Molly, " called out Nora. 

"Yes, " said Molly, standing at the door. 

"Try to keep straight to-day, for my sake, for I shall want to say agreat deal to you to-night. "

"Oh, yes, so I will, " answered Molly. "Now then, off I go. "

The door was banged behind her. It awoke Mrs. Hartrick, who turnedslowly on her pillow, and said to herself, "I am quite certain thatwicked girl Molly has been disturbing our poor little traveler. " Butshe fell asleep, and Nora lay thinking of Molly. How queer she was!And yet--and yet she was the only person in the English home who hadyet managed to touch Nora's warm Irish heart. 

The rest of the day passed somewhat soberly. Molly and Linda bothstarted for school immediately after an early breakfast. Terencewent to town with his uncle, and Nora and her aunt were left alone. She had earnestly hoped that she might have had one of her firstimportant talks with Mr. Hartrick before he left that morning; buthe evidently had no idea of giving her an opportunity. He spoke toher kindly, but seemed to regard her already as quite one of thefamily, and certainly was not disposed to alter his plans or put outhis business arrangements on her account. She resolved, with aslightly impatient sigh, to abide her time, and followed her auntinto the morning-room, where the good lady produced some fancywork, and asked Nora if she would like to help her to arrange littlesquares for a large patchwork quilt which was to be raffled for at abazar shortly to be held in the place. 

Nora gravely took the little bits of colored silk, and, under heraunt's supervision, began to arrange them in patterns. She was not aneat worker, and the task was by no means to her taste. 

"What time ought I to write in order to catch the post?" she said, breaking the stillness, and raising her lovely eyes to Mrs. Hartrick's face. 

"The post goes out many times in the day, Nora; but if you want tocatch the Irish mail, you must have your letter in the box in thehall by half-past three. There is plenty of time, my dear, and youwill find notepaper and everything you require in the escritoire inthe study. You can always go there if you wish to write yourletters. "

"Thank you, " answered Nora. 

"When you are tired of work, you can go out and walk about thegrounds. I will take you for a drive this afternoon. I am sorry thatyou have arrived just when the girls have gone back to school; butyou and Linda can have a good deal of fun in the evenings, youknow. "

"But why not Molly too?" asked Nora. She felt rather alarmed atmentioning her elder cousin's name. 

Mrs. Hartrick did not speak at all for a moment; then she gave asigh. 

"I am sorry to have to tell you, Nora, that Molly is by no means agood girl. She is extremely rebellious and troublesome; and if thisstate of things goes on much longer her father and I will be obligedto send her to a very strict school as a boarder. We do not wish todo that, as my husband does not approve of boarding-schools forgirls. At present she is spending a good deal of her time inpunishment. "

"I hope she won't be in punishment to-night, " said Nora. "I like herso much. "

"Do you, my dear? I hope she won't influence you to becomeinsubordinate. "

Nora felt restless, and some of the bits of colored silk flutteredto the floor. 

"Be careful, my dear Nora, " said her aunt in a somewhat sharp voice;"don't let those bits of silk get about on the carpet. I am mostparticular that everything in the house should be kept neat and inorder. I will get you a little work-basket to keep your things inwhen next I go upstairs. "

"Thank you, Aunt Grace, " answered Nora. 

"And now, as we are alone, " continued the good lady, "you might tellme something of your life. Your uncle is very anxious that yourmother should come and pay us a visit. He is very much attached tohis sister, and it seems to me strange that they should not have metfor so many years. You have a beautiful place at home, Nora--haveyou not?"

"Yes, " said Nora; "the place is"--she paused, and her voice took anadded emphasis--"beautiful. "

"How emphatically you say it, dear! You have a pretty mode ofspeech, although very, very Irish. "

"I am Irish, you see, Aunt Grace, " answered Nora. 

"Yes, dear, you need scarcely tell me that; your brogue betraysyou. "

"But mother was always particular that I should speak correctly, "continued the girl. "Does my accent offend you, Aunt Grace?"

"No, dear; your uncle and I both think it quite charming. But tell mesome more. Of course you are very busy just now with your studies, Nora. A girl of your age--how old did you say you were--sixteen?--agirl of your age has not a moment to lose in acquiring those thingswhich are essential to the education of an accomplished woman ofthe present day. "

"I am afraid I shall shock you very much indeed, Aunt Grace, when Itell you that my education is supposed to be finished. "

"Finished!" said Mrs. Hartrick. She paused for a moment and staredfull at Nora. "I was astonished, " she continued, "when your unclesuggested that you should pay us a visit now. I said, as Septemberhad begun, you would be going back to school; but you accepted theinvitation, or rather your mother did for you, without any allusionto your school. You must have got on very well, Nora, to be finishedby now. How many languages do you know?"

"I can chatter in Irish after a fashion, " said Nora; "and I amsupposed, after a fashion also, to know my own tongue. "

"Irish!" said Mrs. Hartrick in a tone of quivering scorn. "I don'tmean anything of that sort. I allude to your acquaintance withFrench, German, and Italian. "

"I do know a very little French, " said Nora; "that is, I can readone or two books in French. Mother taught me what I know; but I donot know any German or any Italian. I don't see that it matters, "she continued, a flush coming into her cheeks. "I should never talkGerman or Italian in Ireland. I wouldn't be understood if I did. "

"That has nothing to do with it, Nora; and your tone, my dear, withoutmeaning it, of course, was just a shade pert just now. It is essentialin the present day that all well-educated women should be able tospeak at least in three languages. "

"Then I am sorry, Aunt Grace, for I am afraid you will despise me. Ishall never be well educated in that sense of the word. "

Mrs. Hartrick was silent. 

"I will speak to your uncle, " she said after a pause. "While you arehere you can have lessons. It would be possible to arrange that youwent to school with Linda and Molly, and had French and Germanlessons while there. "

"But I don't expect to be very long in England, " said Nora, a noteof alarm in her voice. 

"Oh, my dear child, now that we have got you, we shall not allow youto go in a hurry. It is such a nice change for you, too; this isyour first visit to England, is it not?"

"Yes, Aunt Grace. "

"We won't let you go for some time, little Nora. Your brother is adear fellow; your uncle and I admire him immensely, and he is quitewell educated and so adaptable; and I am sure you would be the same, my dear, when you have had the many chances which will be offered toyou here. You must look upon me as your real aunt, dear, and tell meanything that you wish. Don't be shy of me, my love; I can quiteunderstand that a young girl, when she first leaves her mother, israther shy. "

"I never felt shy at home, " answered Nora; "but then, you know, Iwas more with father than with mother. "

"More with your father! Does he stay at home all day, then?"

"He is always about the place; he has nothing else to do. "

"Of course he has large estates. "

"They are not so very large, Aunt Grace. "

"Well, dear, that is a relative term, of course; but from youruncle's description, and to judge from your mother's letters, itmust be a very large place. By the way, how does she manage herservants? She must have a large staff at Castle O'Shanaghgan. "

"I don't think we manage our servants particularly well, " saidNora. "It is true they all stay with us; but then we don't keepmany. "

"How many, dear?"

"There's Pegeen--she is the parlor-maid--and there's the cook--we dochange our cook sometimes, for mother is rather particular; thenthere is the woman who attends to the fowls, and the woman who doesthe washing, and--I think that is about all. Oh, there's the post-boy;perhaps you would consider him a servant, but I scarcely think heought to be called one. We give him twopence a week for fetching theletters. He is a very good little boy. He stands on his head wheneverhe sees me; he is very fond of me, and that is the way he shows hisaffection. It would make you laugh, Aunt Grace, if you saw Michaelstanding on his head. "

"It would make me shudder, you mean, " said Mrs. Hartrick. "Really, Nora, your account of your mother's home is rather disparaging; twoor three very rough servants, and no more. But I understood youlived in castle. "

"Oh, a castle may mean anything; but it is not fair for you andUncle George to think we are rich, for we are very poor. And, "continued Nora, "for my part, I love to be poor. " She stood upabruptly. In her excitement all her bits of silk tumbled to thefloor. "May I go out and have a run, Aunt Grace?" she said. "I feelquite stiff. I am not accustomed to being indoors for so long at atime. "

"You can go out, Nora, if you like, " said her aunt in a displeasedtone; "but, first, have the goodness to pick up all those bits youhave dropped. "

Nora, with flushed cheeks, stooped and picked up the bits of silk. She wrapped them in a piece of paper and put them on the table. 

"You can stay out for an hour, my dear; but you are surely not goingwithout a hat. "

"I never wear a hat at home, " said Nora. 

"You must run upstairs and fetch your hat, " said Mrs. Hartrick. 

Poor Nora never felt more tried in the whole course of her life. 

"I shall get as bad as Molly if this goes on, " she thought toherself. 

CHAPTER XV. 

TWO LETTERS. 

"DEAR MOTHER [wrote Nora O'Shanaghgan later on that same morning]: Iarrived safely yesterday. Uncle George met me at Holyhead, and wasvery kind indeed. I had a comfortable journey up to town, and UncleGeorge saw that I wanted for nothing. When we got to London we droveacross the town to another station, called Waterloo, and took atrain on here. A carriage met us at the station with a pair ofbeautiful gray horses. They were not as handsome as Black Bess, butthey were very beautiful; and we arrived here between eight and nineo'clock. This is just the sort of place you would like, mother; suchthick carpets on the stairs, and such large, spacious, splendidlyfurnished rooms; and Aunt Grace has meals to the minute; and theyhave lots and lots of servants; and my bedroom--oh, mother! I thinkyou would revel in my bedroom. It has such a terribly thick carpeton the floor--I mean it has a thick carpet on the floor; and thereis a view from the window, the sort you have so often described tome--great big trees, and a lawn like velvet, and four or fivetennis-courts, and a shrubbery with all the trees cut so exact andround and proper, and a peep of the River Thames just beyond. Mycousins keep a boat on the river, and they often go out in thesummer evenings. They are going to take me for a row on Saturday, when the girls have a holiday. 

"I saw Terence almost immediately after I arrived. He looked just asyou would like to see him, so handsome in his evening dress. He wasa little stiff--at least, I mean he was very correct in his manner. We had supper when we arrived. I was awfully hungry, but I did notlike to eat too much, for Terence seemed so correct--nice in hismanner, I mean--and everything was just as you have described thingswhen you were young. There are two girls, my cousins--Linda, a verypretty girl, fair, and so very neatly dressed; and Molly, who is notthe least like the others. You would not like Molly; she is ratherrough; but of course I must not complain of her. I have been sittingwith Aunt Grace all the morning, until I could bear it no longer--Imean, until I got a little stiff in my legs, and then I had a run inthe garden. Now I am writing this letter in Aunt Grace's morning-room, and if I look round I shall see her back. 

"Good-by, dear mother. I will write again in a day or two. --Youraffectionate daughter, "NORA O'SHANAGHGAN. "

"There, " said Nora, under her breath, "that's done. Now for daddy. "

She took out another sheet of paper, and began to scribble rapidly. 

"Darling, darling, love of my heart! Daddy, daddy, oh! but it's Ithat miss you. I am writing to you here in this could, couldcountry. Oh, daddy, if I could run to you now, wouldn't I? What areyou doing without your Light o' the Morning? I am pent up, daddy, and I don't think I can stand it much longer. It's but a tiny visitI'll pay, and then I'll come back again to the mountains and thesea, and the old, old house, and the dear, darling dad. Keep up yourheart, daddy; you'll soon have Light o' the Morning home. Oh! it'sso proper, and I'm wrapped up in silk chains; they are surroundingme everywhere, and I can't quite bear it. Aunt Grace is sittinghere; I am writing in her morning-room. Oh! if I could, wouldn't Iscream, or shout, or do something awfully wicked; but I must not, for it is the English way. They have got the wild bird Nora into theEnglish cage; and, darling dad asthore, it's her heart that will bebroke if she stays here long. There's one comfort I have--or, bedad!I don't think I could bear it--and that's Molly. She's a bit of aromp and a bit of a scamp, and she has a daring spirit of her own, and she hates the conventionalities, and she would like to be Irishtoo. She can't, poor colleen; but she is nice and worth knowing, andshe'll just keep my heart from being broke entirely. 

"How are they all at home? Give them lashins and lavins of love fromNora. Tell them it's soon I'll be back with them. You go round andgive a message to each and all; and don't forget Hannah Croneen, andlittle Mike, and Bridget Murphy, and Squire Murphy, and the rest--alland every one who remembers Nora O'Shanaghgan. Tell them it's herheart is imprisoned till she gets back to them; and she would ratherhave one bit of her own native soil than all the gold in the wholeof England. I declare it's rough and wild I am getting, and my heartis bleeding. I have written a correct letter to mother, and givenher the news; but I am telling you a bit of my true, true heart. Sendfor me if you miss me too much, and I'll fly back to you. Oh! it'schains wouldn't keep me, for go I must if this state of thingscontinues much longer. --Your

"LIGHT O' THE MORNING. "

The two letters were written, the last one relieving Nora's feelingsnot a little. She put them into separate envelopes and stamped them. 

Mrs. Hartrick rose, went over to her desk, and saw Nora's letters. 

"Oh, you have written to your parents, " she said. "Quite right, mydear. But why put them into separate envelopes? They could go nicelyin one. That, really, is willful waste, Nora, which we in Englandnever permit. "

"Oh, please, don't change them, Aunt Grace, " said Nora, as Mrs. Hartrick took the two letters up and paused before opening one ofthe envelopes. "Please, please, let them go as they are. It's my ownstamp, " she continued, losing all sense of grammar in herexcitement. 

"Well, my dear, just as you please. There, don't excite yourself, Nora. I only suggested that, when one stamp would do, it was ratherwasteful to spend two. "

"Oh, daddy does like to get his own letters to his own self, " saidNora. 

"Your father, you mean. You don't, surely, call him by the vulgarword daddy?"

"Bedad! but I do, " answered Nora. 

Mrs. Hartrick turned and gave her niece a frozen glance. Presentlyshe laid her hand on the girl's shoulder. 

"I don't want to complain or to lecture you, " she said; "but thatexpression must not pass your lips again while you are here. "

"It shan't. I am ever so sorry, " said the girl. 

"I think you are, dear; and how flushed your cheeks are! You seemquite tired. Now, go upstairs and wash your hands; the luncheon-gongwill ring in five minutes, and we must be punctual at meals. "

Nora slowly left the room. 

"Oh! but it's like lead my heart is, " she said to herself. 

The day passed very dismally for the wild Irish girl. After lunchshe and her aunt had a long and proper drive. They drove throughlovely country; but Nora was feeling even a little bit cross, andcould not see the beauties of the perfectly tilled landscape, of theorderly fields, of the lovely hedgerows. 

"It is too tidy, " she said once in a choking sort of voice. 

"Tidy!" answered Mrs. Hartrick. She looked at Nora, tittered a sigh, and did not speak of the beauties of the country again. 

When they got back from their drive things were a little better, forLinda and Molly had returned from school; and, for a wonder, Mollywas not in disgrace. She looked quite excited, and darting out ofthe house, took Nora's hand and pulled it inside her arm. 

"Come and have a talk, " she said. "I am hungering for a chat withyou. "

"Tea will be ready in fifteen minutes, Molly, " called out Mrs. Hartrick, then entered the house accompanied by Linda. 

Meanwhile Molly and Nora went round to the shrubbery at the back ofthe house. 

"What is the matter with you?" said Molly. She turned and faced hercompanion. 

Nora's eyes filled with sudden tears. 

"It is only that I am keeping in so much, " she said; "and--and, oh!I do wish you were not all quite so tidy. I am just mad for somebodyto be wild and unkempt. I feel that I could take down my hair, ortear a rent in my dress--anything rather than the neatness. Oh! Ihate your landscapes, and your trim hedges, and your trim house, andyour--"

"Go on, " said Molly; "let it out; let it out. I'll never repeat it. You must come in, in about a quarter of an hour, to a stiff meal. You will have to sit upright, let me tell you, and not lounge; andyou will have to eat your bread and butter very nicely, and sip yourtea, and not eat overmuch. Mother does not approve of it. Then whentea is over you will have to leave the room and go upstairs and getthings out for dinner. "

"My things out for dinner?" gasped Nora. "What do you mean?"

"Your evening-dress. Do you suppose you will be allowed to dine inyour morning-dress?"

"Oh, to be sure, " said Nora, brightening; "now I understand. Motherdid get me a white frock, and she had it cut square in the neck, andthe sleeves are a little short. "

"You will look sweet in that, " said Molly, gazing at her critically;"and I will bring you in a bunch of sweet-peas to put in your belt, and you can have a little bunch in your hair, too, if you like. Youknow you are awfully pretty. I am sure Linda is just mad withjealousy about it; I can see it, although she does not say anything. She is rather disparaging about you, is Linda; that is one of herdear little ways. She runs people down with faint praise. She wastalking a lot about you as we were going to school this morning. Shebegan: 'You know, I do think Nora is a pretty girl; but it is such apity that--'"

"Oh, don't, " said Nora, suddenly putting out her hand and closingMolly's lips. 

"What in the world are you doing that for?" said Molly. 

"Because I don't want to hear; she did not mean me to know that shesaid these things. "

"What a curiosity you are!" said Molly. "So wild, so defiant, and yet--oh, of course, I like you awfully. Do you know that the vision ofyour face kept me good all day? Isn't that something to be proud of? Ididn't answer one of my teachers back, and I did have a scolding, letme tell you. Oh, my music; you don't know what I suffer over it. Ihave not a single particle of taste. I have not the faintest ghost ofan ear; but mother insists on my learning. I could draw; I couldsketch; I can do anything with my pencil; but that does not suitmother. It must be music. I must play; I must play well at sight; Imust play all sorts of difficult accompaniments for songs, becausegentlemen like to have their songs accompanied for them; and I must beable to do this the very moment the music is put before me. And I mustnot play too loud; I must play just right, in perfect time; and I mustbe ready, when there is nothing else being done, to play long pieces, those smart kind of things people do play in the present day; and Imust never play a wrong note. Oh, dear! oh, dear! and I simply cannotdo these things. I don't know wrong notes from right. I really don't. "

"Oh, Molly!" cried Nora. 

"There you are; I can see that you are musical. "

"I think I am, very. I mean I think I should always know a wrongnote from a right one; but I have not had many opportunities oflearning. "

"Oh, good gracious me! what next?" exclaimed Molly. 

"I don't understand what you mean, " said Nora. 

"My dear, I am relieving my feelings, just as you relieved yours ashort time ago. Oh, dear! my music. I know I played atrociously; butthat dreadful Mrs. Elford was so cross; she did thump so herself onthe piano, and told me that my fingers were like sticks. And whatcould I do? I longed to let out some of my expressions at her. Youmust know that I am feared on account of my expressions--my slang, Icall them. They do shock people so, and it is simply irresistible to seethem shudder, and close their eyes, and draw themselves together, andthen majestically walk out of the room. The headmistress is summonedthen, and I--I am doomed. I get my pieces to do out of school; and whenI come home mother lectures me, and sends me to my bedroom. But I amfree to-night. I have been good all day; and it is on account of you, Nora; just because you are a little Irish witch; and I sympathize withyou to the bottom of my soul. "

"Molly! Molly!" here called out Linda's voice; "mother says it'stime for you and Nora to come in to wash your hands for tea. "

"Oh, go to Jericho!" called out Molly. 

Linda turned immediately and went into the house. 

"She is a tell-tale-tit, " said Molly. "She will be sure to repeat thatto mother; and do you think I shall be allowed any cake? There is avery nice kind of rice-cake which cook makes, and I am particularlyfond of it. You'll see I am not to have any, just because I said 'Goto Jericho!' I am sure I wish Linda would go. "

"But those kind of things are rather vulgar, aren't they?" saidNora. "Father wouldn't like them. We say all kinds of funny thingsat home, but not things like that. I wish you would not. "

"You wish I would not what?"

"Use words like 'Go to Jericho!' Father would not like to hear you. "

"You are a very audacious kind of girl, let me tell you, Nora, " saidMolly. She colored, and looked annoyed for a moment, then burst intoa laugh. "But I like you all the better for not being afraid of me, "she continued. "Come, let's go into the house; we can relieve ourfeelings somehow to-night; we'll have a lark somehow; you mark mywords. In the meantime mum's the word. "

CHAPTER XVI. 

A CHEEKY IRISH GIRL. 

At tea the girls were very stiff. Molly and Nora were put as far aspossible asunder. They did not have tea in the drawing room, but inthe dining room, and Mrs. Hartrick presided. There was jam on thetable, and two or three kinds of cake, and, of course, plenty ofbread and butter. 

As Molly had predicted, however, the news of her expression "Go toJericho!" had already reached Mrs. Hartrick's ears, and the fiat hadgone forth that she was only to eat bread and butter. It was handedto her, in a marked way, by her mother, and Linda's light-blue eyesflashed with pleasure. Nora felt at that moment that she almosthated Linda. She herself ate resignedly, and without much appetite. Her spirits were down to zero. It seemed far less likely than it didbefore she left O'Shanaghgan that she could help her father out ofhis scrape. It was almost impossible to break through these chainsof propriety, of neatness, of order. Would anybody in this trimhousehold care in the very least whether the old Irishman broke hisheart or not? whether he and the Irish girl had to go forth from thehome of their ancestors? whether the wild, beautiful, rack-rent sortof place was kept in the family or not?

"They none of them care, " thought Nora. "I don't believe UncleGeorge will do anything; but all the same I have got to ask him. Hewas nice about my letter, I will own that; but will he really, really help?"

"A penny for your thoughts, Nora, my dear, " said Mrs. Hartrick atthis moment. 

Nora glanced up with a guilty flush. 

"Oh, I was only thinking, " she began. 

"Yes, dear, what about?"

"About father. " Nora colored as she spoke, and Linda fixed her eyeson her face. 

"Very pretty indeed of you, my dear, to think so much of yourfather, " said Mrs. Hartrick; "but I cannot help giving you a hint. It is not considered good manners for a girl to be absent-mindedwhile she is in public. You are more or less in public now; I amhere, and your cousins, and it is our bounden duty each to try andmake the others pleasant, to add to the enjoyment of the meal by alittle graceful conversation. Absent-mindedness is very dull forothers, my dear Nora; so in future try not to look quite soabstracted. "

Nora colored again. Molly, at the other end of the table, bit her lipfuriously, and stretched out her hand to help herself to another thickpiece of bread and butter. In doing so she upset a small milk-jug; astream of milk flowed down the tablecloth, and Mrs. Hartrick rose inindignation. 

"This is the fourth evening running you have spilt something on thetablecloth, Molly. Go to your room immediately. "

Molly rose, dropped a mocking courtesy to her mother, and left theroom. 

"Linda dear, run after your sister, and tell her that, for herimpertinence to me, she is to remain in her room until dinner-time. "

"Oh! please forgive her this time; she didn't mean it really, " burstfrom Nora's lips. 

"Nora!" said Mrs. Hartrick. 

"Oh! I am sorry for her; please forgive her. "

"Nora!" repeated her aunt again. 

"It is because you do not understand her that she goes on like that;she is such a fine girl, twice--twice as fine as Linda. Oh, I dowish you would forgive her!"

"Thank you, " said Linda in a mocking voice. She had got as far asthe door, and had overheard Nora's words. She now glanced at hermother, as much as to say, "I told you so, " and left the room. 

Nora had jumped to her feet. She had forgotten prudence; she hadforgotten politeness; her eyes were bright with suppressed fire, andher glib Irish tongue was eager to enter into the fray. 

"I must speak out, " she said. "Molly is more like me than anybodyelse in this house, and I must take her part. She would be a very, very good girl if she were understood. "

"What are your ideas with regard to understanding Molly?" said Mrs. Hartrick in that very calm and icy voice which irritated poor Noraalmost past endurance. She was speechless for a moment, strugglingwith fresh emotion. 

"Oh! I wish----" she began. 

"And I wish, my dear Nora, that you would remember the politenessdue to your hostess. I also wish that you would consider how verysilly you are when you speak as you are now doing. I do not knowwhat your Irish habits are; but if it is considered in Irelandrather a virtue than otherwise to spill a milk jug, and allow thecontents to deface the tablecloth, I am sorry for you, that is all. "

"You cannot understand. I--I am sorry I came, " said Nora. 

She burst into sudden tears, and ran out of the room. In a fewmoments Linda came back. 

"Molly is storming, " she said; "she is in an awful rage. "

"Sit down, Linda, and don't tell tales of your sister, " answeredMrs. Hartrick in an annoyed voice. 

"Dear me, mother!" said Linda; "and where is Nora?"

"Nora is a very impertinent little girl. She is wild, however, andunbroken. We must all have patience with her. Poor child! it isterrible to think that she is your father's niece. What a contrastto dear Terence! He is a very nice, polite boy. I am sorry for Nora. Of course, as to Molly, she is quite different. She has always hadthe advantage of my bringing-up; whereas poor Nora--well, I must sayI am surprised at my sister-in-law. I did not think your father'ssister would have been so remiss. "

"There is one thing I ought to say, " said Linda. 

"What is that, dear? Linda, do sit up straight, and don't poke yourhead. "

Linda drew herself up, and looked prettily toward her mother. 

"What do you wish to say?"

"It is this. I think Nora will be a very bad companion for Molly. Molly will be worse than ever that Nora is in the house. "

"Well, my dear Linda, it is your duty to be a good deal with yourcousin. You are too fond of poking holes in others; you are a littlehard upon your sister Molly. I do not wish to excuse Molly; but itis not your place as her younger sister to, as it were, rejoice inher many faults. "

"Oh, I don't, mother, " said Linda, coloring. 

"Linda dear, I am afraid you do. You must try and break yourself ofthat very unchristian habit. But, on the whole, my dear, I ampleased with you. You are careful to do what I wish; you learn yourlessons correctly; I have good reports of you from yourschoolmistresses; and if you are careful, my dear, you will correctthose little habits which mar the perfect whole. "

"Thank you, dear mother, " said Linda. "I will try to do what youwish. "

"What I particularly want you to do just now is to be gentle andpatient with your cousin; you must remember that she has never hadyour advantages. Be with her a good deal; talk to her as nicely asyou can; hint to her what I wish. Of course, if she becomes quiteincorrigible, it will be impossible for me to have her long with youand Molly; but the child is much to be pitied; she is a very prettycreature, and with a little care could be made most presentable. Iby no means give her up. "

"Dear mother, how sweetly Christian-like and forgiving you are!"said Linda. 

"Oh, hush, my dear; hush! I only do my duty; I hope I shall neverfail in that. "

Mrs. Hartrick rose from the tea-table, and Linda soon afterwardfollowed her. Mr. Hartrick was seen coming down the avenue. Hegenerally walked from the station. He came in now. 

"What a hot day it is!" he said. "Pour me out a cup of tea, Linda. Iam very thirsty. "

He flung himself into an easy chair, and Linda waited on him. 

"Well, " he said, "where are the others? Where is the little Irishwitch, and where is Molly?"

"I am sorry to say that Molly is in disgrace, as usual, " said Mrs. Hartrick. 

"Oh, dear, dear!" said Mr. Hartrick; "we ought to send her toschool, poor child! I am sorry for her. "

"And I intended to give her quite a pleasant evening, " said Mrs. Hartrick, "in honor of her cousin's arrival. She was in disgraceyesterday when Nora arrived; and I had thought of giving the girls adelightful evening. I had it all planned, and was going to ask theChalloners over; but really Molly is so incorrigible. She was verypert to me, although she did bring a better report from school; sheused some of her objectionable language to Linda, and was moreawkward even than usual. "

"Look at the tablecloth, father, " said Linda. 

"I think, Linda, you had better run out of the room, " said Mr. Hartrick. He spoke in an annoyed voice. 

"Certainly, father, I will go; but don't you want another cup of teafirst?"

"Your mother shall pour it out for me. Go, my dear--go. "

"Only, mother, is it necessary that we should not ask the Challonersbecause Molly is naughty? The rest of us would like to have them. "

"I will let you know presently, Linda, " said her mother; and Lindawas obliged, to her disgust, to leave the room. 

"Now, then, my dear, " said Mr. Hartrick, "I don't at all like tocall you over the coals; but I think it is a pity to speak againstMolly so much as you do in her sister's presence. Linda is gettingeaten up with conceit; she will be an intolerable woman by and by, so self-opinionated, and so pleased with herself. After all, poorMolly may have the best of it in the future; she is a fine child, notwithstanding her naughtiness. "

"I thought it likely you would take her part, George; and I amsorry, " answered Mrs. Hartrick in a melancholy tone; "but I amgrieved to tell you that there is something else to follow. Thatlittle Irish girl is quite as cheeky, even more cheeky than Molly. Ifear I must ask you to say a word to her; I shall require her to berespectful to me while she is here. She spoke very rudely to me justnow, simply because I found it my duty to correct Molly. "

"Oh, that won't do at all, " said Mr. Hartrick. "I must speak toNora. "

"I wish you would do so. "

"I will. By the way, Grace, what a pretty creature she is!"

"She is a beautiful little wildflower, " said Mrs. Hartrick. "I havetaken a great fancy to her, notwithstanding her rudeness. She hasnever had the smallest care; she has simply been allowed to grow upwild. "

"Well, Nature has taken care of her, " said Mr. Hartrick. 

"Yes, dear, of course; but you yourself know the advantage ofbringing up a girl nicely. "

"And no one is more capable of doing that than you are, " said Mr. Hartrick, giving his wife an admiring glance. 

"Thank you, dear, for the compliment; but I should be glad if youwould speak to Nora. Now that she is here, I have no doubt that weshall soon discipline her; and I should like her to pay quite a longvisit--that is, of course, if she becomes conformable to my ways. "

"She will be sure to do that, Grace, " replied the husband. "I amglad you mean to be good to her, and to take her in hand, poorlittle lass!"

"I thought she might have some good masters and get some valuablelessons while she is here, " said Mrs. Hartrick. "Would you believeit, George?--that little girl of sixteen calmly informed me that hereducation was finished. At the same time, she said she knew nolanguage but her own, and just a smattering of that dead tongue, Irish. She cannot play; in short, she has no accomplishmentswhatever, and yet her education is finished. I must say I do notunderstand your sister. I should have thought that she was a littlemore like you. "

"There never was a more particular girl than Ellen used to be, " saidMr. Hartrick; "but I must have a long talk with Nora. I'll see herthis evening. I know she has a good deal she wants to talk to meabout. "

"A good deal she wants to talk to you about, George?"

"Oh, yes, my dear; but I will explain presently. She is a proudlittle witch, and must not be coerced; we must remember that herspirit has never been broken. But I'll talk to her, I'll talk toher; leave the matter in my hands, Grace. "

"Certainly, dear; she is your niece, remember. "

CHAPTER XVII. 

TWO DESCRIPTIONS. 

Some of Nora's words must have sunk into Mrs. Hartrick's heart, for, rather to Molly's own astonishment, she was allowed to dress nicelyfor dinner, and to come down. Her somewhat heavy, dark face did notlook to the best advantage. She wore a dress which did not suit her;her hair was awkwardly arranged; there was a scowl on her brow. Shefelt so sore and cross, after what she considered her brave effortsto be good during the morning, that she would almost rather havestayed up in her room. But Nora would not hear of that. Nora hadrushed into Molly's room, and had begged her, for her sake, to comedownstairs. Nora was looking quite charming in that pretty whitefrock which Mrs. O'Shanaghgan had purchased for her in Dublin. Hersoftly rounded figure, her dazzlingly fair complexion, were seen nowfor the first time to the best advantage. Her thick black hair wascoiled up becomingly on her graceful little head, and, with a bunchof sweet peas at her belt, there could scarcely have been seen aprettier maiden. When she appeared in the drawing room, even Terencewas forced to admit that he had seldom seen a more lovely girl thanhis sister. He went up to her and began to take notice of her. 

"I am sorry I was obliged to be out all day. I am studying thedifferent museums very exhaustively, " said Terence in that measuredtone of his which drove poor Nora nearly wild. She replied to himsomewhat pertly, and he retired once more into his shell. 

"Pretty as my sister is, " he soliloquized, "she really is such anignorant girl that few fellows would care to speak to her. It is asad pity. "

Terence, the last hope of the house of O'Shanaghgan, was heard tosigh profoundly. His aunt, Mrs. Hartrick, and his cousin Lindawould, doubtless, sympathize with him. 

"Dinner was announced, and the meal went off very well. Molly wasabsolutely silent; Nora, taking her cue from her, hardly spoke; andLinda, Terence, and Mrs. Hartrick had it all their own way. But justas dessert was placed on the table, Mr. Hartrick looked at Nora andmotioned to her to change seats and to come to one close to him. 

"Come now, " he said, "we should like to hear your account of CastleO'Shanaghgan. Terence has told us all about it; but we should liketo hear your version. "

"And a most lovely place it must be, " said Mrs. Hartrick from theother end of the table. "Your description, Terence, makes me quitelong to see it; and if it were not that I am honestly very muchafraid of the Irish peasantry, I should be glad to go there duringthe summer. But those terrible creatures, with their shillalahs, andtheir natural aptitude for firing on you from behind a hedge, arequite too fearful to contemplate. I could not run the risk ofassassination from any of them. They seem to have a natural hatredfor the English and--why, what is the matter, Nora?"

"Only it's not true, " said Nora, her eyes flashing. "They are not abit like that; they are the most warmhearted people in the wholeworld. Terence, have you been telling lies about your country? Ifyou have, I am downright ashamed of you. "

"But I have not. I don't know what you mean, " answered Terence. 

"Oh, come, come, Nora!" said her uncle, patting her arm gently; butNora's eyes blazed with fire. 

"It's not a bit true, " she continued. "How can Aunt Grace think of that?The poor things have been driven to desperation, because--because theirhearts have been trampled on. "

"For instance, " said Terence in a mocking voice, which fell like iceupon poor Nora's hot, indignant nature--"for instance, Andy Neil--he'sa nice specimen, is he not?"

"Oh, " said Nora, "he--he is the exception. Don't talk of him, please. "

"That's just it, " said Terence, laughing. "Nora wants to give us allthe sweets, and to conceal all the bitters. Now, I am honest, whatever I am. "

"Oh, are you?" said Nora, in indignation. "I should like to know, "she continued, "what kind of place you have represented CastleO'Shanaghgan to be. "

"I don't know why I should be obliged to answer to you for what Isay, Nora, " cried her brother. 

"You describe it now, Nora. We will hear your description, " said heruncle. 

Nora sat quite still for a moment; then she raised her very dark-blueeyes. 

"Do you really want me to tell you about O'Shanaghgan?" she saidslowly. 

"Certainly, my dear. "

"Certainly, Nora. I am sure you can describe things very well, " saidher aunt, in an encouraging voice, from the other end of the table. 

"Then I will tell you, " said Nora. She paused for a moment, then, tothe astonishment and disgust of Mrs. Hartrick, rose to her feet. 

"I cannot talk about it sitting down, " she said. "There's the sea, youknow--the wild, wild Atlantic. In the winter the breakers are--oh! Ihave sometimes seen them forty feet high. "

"Come, come, Nora!" said Terence, "It is true, Terry; the times when you don't like to go out. "

Terence retired into his shell. 

"I have seen the waves like that; but, oh! in the summer they can beso sweet and conoodling. "

"What in the world is that?" said Mrs. Hartrick. 

"Oh, it is one of our Irish words; there's no other way to expressit. And then there are the cliffs, and the great caves, and theyellow, yellow sands, and the shells, and the seaweeds, and thefish, and the boating, and--and--"

"Go on, Nora; you describe the sea just like any other sea. "

"Oh, but it is like no other sea, " said Nora. "And then there arethe mountains, their feet washed by the waves. "

"Quite poetical, " said Mrs. Hartrick. 

"It is; it is all poetry, " said Nora. "You are not laughing at me, are you, Aunt Grace? I wish you could see those mountains and thatsea, and then the home--O'Shanaghgan itself. "

"Yes, Nora; tell us, " said her uncle, who did not laugh, and wasmuch interested in the girl's description. 

"The home, " cried Nora; "the great big, darling, empty house. "

"Empty! What a very peculiar description!" said Mrs. Hartrick. 

"Oh, it is so nice, " said Nora. "You don't knock over furniture whenyou walk about; and the dining-room table is so big that, even ifyou did spill a jug of milk, father would not be angry. "

Mrs. Hartrick uttered a sigh. 

"Oh, we are wild over there, " continued Nora; "we have noconventionalities. We share and share alike; we don't mind whetherwe are rich or poor. We are poor--oh! frightfully poor; and we keepvery few servants; and--and the place is bare; because it can benothing but bare; but there's no place like O'Shanaghgan. "

"But what do you mean by bare?" said Mrs. Hartrick. 

"Bare?" said Nora. "I mean bare; very few carpets and very littlefurniture, and--and----But, oh! it's the hearts that are warm, andthat is the only thing that matters. "

"It must be a right-down jolly place; and, by Jehoshaphat! I wish Iwas there, " interrupted Molly. 

"Molly!" said her mother. 

"Oh, leave her alone for the present, " said Mr. Hartrick. "But do youmean, " he continued, looking at Nora in a distressed way, "that--thatmy sister lives in a house of that sort?"

"Mother?" said Nora. "Of course; she is father's wife, and mymother; she is the lady of O'Shanaghgan. It is a very proudposition. We don't want grand furniture nor carpets to make it aproud position. She is father's wife, and he is O'Shanaghgan ofCastle O'Shanaghgan. He is a sort of king, and he is descended fromkings. "

"Well, Terence, I must say this does not at all coincide with yourdescription, " said his uncle, turning and looking his nephew full inthe face. 

"I didn't wish to make things too bad, sir. Of course, we are notvery rich over there; but still, Nora does exaggerate. "

"Look here, Nora, " said her uncle, suddenly turning and pulling herdown to sit beside him, "you and I must have a little chat. We willjust go and have it right away. You shall tell me your version ofthe story quite by ourselves. " He then rose and drew her out of theroom. 

"Where shall we go?" he said when they stood for a moment in theconservatory, into which the big dining room opened. 

"Do you really mean it?" said Nora. 

"Mean what, dear?"

"To talk to me about--about my letter? Do you mean it?"

"Certainly I do, and there is no time like the present. Come--whereshall we go?"

"Where we can be alone; where none of the prim English caninterrupt. "

"Nora, you must not be so prejudiced. We are not so bad as allthat. "

"Oh, I know it. I wish you were bad; it's because you are so awfullygood that I hate--I mean, that I cannot get on with any of you. "

"Poor child! you are a little wild creature. Come into my study; weshall be quite safe from interruption there. "

CHAPTER XVIII. 

A COMPACT. 

Mr. Hartrick, still holding Nora's hand, took her down a corridor, and the next moment they found themselves in a large room, with oakbookcases and lined with oak throughout; but it was a stately sortof apartment, and it oppressed the girl as much as the rest of thehouse had done. 

"I had thought, " she murmured inwardly, "that his study would be alittle bare. I cannot think how he can stand such closeness, so muchfurniture. " She sighed as the thought came to her. 

"More and more sighs, my little Irish girl, " said Mr. Hartrick. "Why, what is the matter with you?"

"I cannot breathe; but I'll soon get accustomed to it, " said Nora. 

"Cannot breathe? Are you subject to asthma, my dear?"

"Oh, no, no; but there is so much furniture, and I am accustomed toso little. "

"All right, Nora; but now you must pull yourself together, and tryto be broad-minded enough to take us English folk as we are. We arenot wild; we are civilized. Our houses are not bare; but I presumeyou must consider them comfortable. "

"Oh, yes, " said Nora; "yes. "

"Do you dislike comfortable houses?"

"Hate them!" said Nora. 

"My dear, dear child!"

"You would if you were me--wouldn't you, Uncle George?"

"I suppose if I were you I should feel as you do, Nora. I musthonestly say I am very thankful I am not you. "

Nora did not reply at all to that. 

"Ah, at home now, " she said, "the moon is getting up, and it ismaking a path of silver on the waves, and it is touching the head ofSlieve Nagorna. The dear old Slieve generally keeps his snownightcap on, and I dare say he has it by now. In very hot weather, sometimes, it melts and disappears; but probably he has got hisfirst coat of snow by now, just on his very top, you know. Then, when the moon shines on it and then on the water--why, don't youthink, Uncle George, you would rather look at Slieve Nagorna, withthe snow on him and the moon touching his forehead, and the path ofsilver on the water, than--than be just comfortable?"

"I don't see why I should not have both, " said Mr. Hartrick after apause; "the silver path on the water and the grand look of SlieveNagorna (I can quite fancy what he is like from your description, Nora), and also have a house nicely furnished, and good things toeat, and----. But I see we are at daggers drawn, my dear niece. Now, please tell me what your letter means. "

"Do you really want me to tell you now?"

"Yes. "

"Do you know why I have really come here?"

"You said something in your letter; but you did not explain yourselfvery clearly. "

"I came here, " said Nora, "for a short visit. I want to go backagain soon. Time is flying. Already a month of the three months isover. In two months' time the blow will fall unless--unless you, Uncle George, avert it. "

"The blow, dear? What blow?"

"They are going, " said Nora--she held out both her hands--"theplace, the sea, the mountains, the home of our ancestors, they aregoing unless--unless you help us, Uncle George. "

"My dear Nora, you are very melodramatic; you must try and talkplain English. Do you mean to say that Castle O'Shanaghgan--"

"Yes, that's it, " said Nora; "it is mortgaged. I don't quite knowwhat mortgaged means, but it is something very bad; and unlessfather can get a great deal of money--I don't know how much, but agood deal--before two months are up, the man to whom CastleO'Shanaghgan is mortgaged will take possession of it. He is a horridEnglishman; but he will go there, and he will turn father out, andmother out, and me--oh, Terence doesn't matter. Terence never was anIrishman--never, never; but he will turn us out. We will go away. Oh, it does not greatly matter for me, because I am young; and itdoes not greatly matter for mother, because she is an English woman. Oh, yes, Uncle George, she is just like you--she likes comfort; shelikes richly furnished rooms; but she is my mother, and of course Ilove her; she will stand it, for she will think perhaps we will comehere to this country. But it is father I am thinking of, the oldlion, the old king, the dear, grand old father. He won't understand, he'll be so puzzled. No other place will suit him; he won't say aword; it's not the way of the O'Shanaghgans to grumble. He won'tutter a word; he will go away, and he will--die. His heart will bebroken; he will die. "

"Nora, my dear child!"

"It is true, " said Nora. Her face was ghastly white; her words cameout in broken sobs. "I see him, Uncle George; every night I see him, with his bowed head, and his broken heart, and his steps gettingslower and slower. He'll be so puzzled, for he is such a trueIrishman, Uncle George. You don't know what we are--happy one day, miserable the next. He thinks somehow, somehow, that the money willbe paid. But, oh, Uncle George!--I suppose I have got a little bitof the English in me after all--I know it will not be paid, that noone will lend it to him, not any of his old friends and cronies; andhe will have to go, and it will break his heart, unless, unless youhelp him. I thought of you; I guessed you must be rich. I see nowthat you are very rich. Oh, how rich!--rich enough for carriages, and thick carpets, and easy-chairs, and tables, and grand dresses, and--and all those sort of things; and you will help--won't you?Please, do! please, do! You'll be so glad some day that you helpedthe old king, and saved him from dying of a broken heart. Please, help him, Uncle George. "

"My dear little girl!" said Mr. Hartrick. He was really affected byNora's speech; it was wild; it was unconventional; there was a greatdeal of false sentiment about it; but the child herself was true, and her eyes were beautiful, and she looked graceful, and young, andfull of passion, almost primeval passion, as she stood there beforehim. Then she believed in him. If she did not believe in anyone elsein the house, she believed in him. She thought that if she asked himhe would help. 

"Now, tell me, " he said after a pause, "does your mother know whatyou have come here for?"

"Mother? Certainly not; I told you in my letter that you must notbreathe a word of it to mother; and father does not know. No oneknows but I--Nora, I myself. "

"This has been completely your own idea?"

"Completely. "

"You are a brave girl. "

"Oh, I don't know about being brave. I had to do something. If youbelonged to Patrick O'Shanaghgan you would do something for him too. Have you ever seen him, Uncle George?"

"Yes, at the time of my sister's wedding, but not since. "

"And then?"

"He was as handsome a fellow as I ever laid eyes on, and Irishthrough and through. "

"Of course. What else would he be?"

"I have not seen him since. My sister, poor Ellen, she was abeautiful girl when she was young, Nora. "

"She is stately, like a queen, " said Nora. "We all admire her very, very much. "

"And love her, my dear?"

"Oh yes, of course I love mother. "

"But not as well as your father?"

"You could not, Uncle George, if you knew father. "

"Well, I shall not ask any more. You really do want me to help?"

"If you can; if it will not cost you too much money. "

"And you mean that your father is absolutely, downright poor?"

"Oh, I suppose so. I don't think that matters a bit. We wouldn'tlike to be rich, neither father nor I; but we do want to keepO'Shanaghgan. "

"Even without carpets and chairs and tables?" said Mr. Hartrick. 

"We don't care about carpets and chairs and tables, " said Nora. "Wewant to keep O'Shanaghgan, the place where father was born and I wasborn. "

"Well, look here, Nora. I can make you no promises just now; but Irespect you, my dear, and I will certainly do something--what Icannot possibly tell you, for I must look into this matter formyself. But I will do this: I will go to O'Shanaghgan this week andsee my sister, and find out from the Squire what really is wrong. "

"You will?" said Nora. She thought quickly. Her father would hateit; but, after all, it was the only chance. Even she had sufficientcommon sense to know that Mr. Hartrick could not help unless he wentto the old place. 

"Oh, you will do it when you see it, " she said, with sudden rapture. "And you'll take me home with you?"

"Well, I think not, Nora. Now that you are here you must stay. I amfond of you, my little girl, although I know very little about you;but I do think that you have very mistaken ideas. I want you to loveyour English cousins for your mother's sake, and to love their homefor your mother's sake also; and I should like you to have a fewlessons, and to take some hints from your Aunt Grace, for you arewild, and need training. If I go to O'Shanaghgan for you, will youstay at The Laurels for me?"

"I will do anything, anything for you, if you save father, " saidNora. She fell on her knees before her uncle could prevent her, tookhis hand, and kissed it. 

"Then it is a compact, " said Mr. Hartrick; "but remember I onlypromise to go. I cannot make any promises to help your father untilI have seen him. "

CHAPTER XIX. 

SHE WILL SOON TAME DOWN. 

"I am going to Ireland to-morrow, Grace, " said Mr. Hartrick to hiswife that evening. 

"To Ireland!" she cried. "What for?"

"I want to see my sister Ellen. I feel that I have neglected her toolong. I shall run over to O'Shanaghgan, and stay there for two orthree nights. "

"Why are you doing this, George?" said Mrs. Hartrick very slowly. 

Mr. Hartrick was silent for a moment; then he said gravely:

"I have heard bad news from that child. "

"From Nora?"

"Yes, from Nora. "

"But Terence has never given us bad news. "

"Terence is not a patch upon Nora, my dear Grace. "

"There I cannot agree with you. I infinitely prefer Terence toNora, " was Mrs. Hartrick's calm reply. 

"But I thought you admired the child. "

"Oh, I admire what the child may become, " was the cautious answer. "Icannot admire a perfectly wild girl, who has no idea of self-disciplineor self-restraint. And remember one thing, George: whatever she saysto you, you must take, to use a vulgarism, with a grain of salt. AnIrish girl cannot help exaggerating. She has doubtless exaggerated thecondition of things. "

"I only pray God she has, " was Mr. Hartrick's reply. 

"If things are even half as bad as she represents them, it is hightime that I should pay my sister a visit. "

"Why? What does she say?"

"She has given me a picture of the state of affairs at that housewhich wrings my heart, Grace. To think that my beautiful sisterEllen should be subjected to such discomforts, to such miseries, isintolerable. I intend to go to O'Shanaghgan to-morrow, and will seehow matters are for myself. "

Mrs. Hartrick was again silent for a moment or two; then she saidgravely:

"Doubtless you are right to do this; but I hope, while you are away, you will do nothing rash. "

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that, from the little I have seen of Nora, she is a veryimpetuous creature, and has tried perhaps to wring a promise fromyou. "

"I will tell you quite simply what she has said, Grace, and then youwill understand. She says her father has mortgaged the Castleevidently up to the hilt. The mortgagees will foreclose in a coupleof months, unless money can be found to buy them off. Now, it hasjust occurred to me that I might buy Castle O'Shanaghgan forourselves as a sort of summer residence, put it in order, and allowPatrick O'Shanaghgan to live there, and my sister. By and by theplace can go to Terence, as we have no son of our own. I have plentyof money. What do you think of this suggestion, Grace?"

"It might not be a bad one, " said Mrs. Hartrick; "but I could notpossibly go to a place of that sort unless it were put into properrepair. "

"It is, I believe, in reality a fine old place, and the grounds arebeautiful, " said Mr. Hartrick. "A few thousand pounds would put itinto order, and we could furnish it from Dublin. You could have agreat many guests there, and--"

"But what about the O'Shanaghgans themselves?"

"Well, perhaps they would go somewhere else for the couple of monthswe should need to occupy the house during the summer. Anyhow, I feelthat I must do something for Ellen's sake; but I will let you knowmore after I have been there. "

Mrs. Hartrick asked a few more questions. After a time she said:

"Is Nora to remain here?"

"Yes. I was going to speak to you about that. It is a sad pity thatso pretty a girl should grow up wild. We had better keep her with usfor the next two or three years. She will soon tame down and learnour English habits; then, with her undeniable Irish charm and greatbeauty, she will be able to do something with her life. "

"I shall be quite pleased to have her, " said Mrs. Hartrick in acordial tone. "I like training young girls, and Nora is the sort whowould do me credit if she really were willing to take pains. "

"I am sure she will be; she is an honest little soul. "

"Oh, I see you are bewitched by her. "

"No, not bewitched; but I admire honesty and candor, and the childhas got both. "

"Well, well!" said Mrs. Hartrick, "if it is arranged that Nora is tostay here, I will go and see Miss Flowers at Linda's and Molly'sschool to-morrow, and ask if Nora can be admitted as a pupil. Thereis no use in losing time, and she may as well start her lessons nextweek. By all means, George, go and do your best for the poor things. Of course your sister ought not to be allowed to be in moneydifficulties. "

"I should think not, " said Mr. Hartrick. 

The next day Mr, Hartrick bade Nora and his own family good-by, andstarted on his expedition to Ireland. Nora was quivering withimpatience. When she had seen the last of him she turned back intothe house, and was there met by her brother Terence. 

"Come here, Nora. I want to speak to you, " he said. 

She followed him into the nearest room. He closed the door behindthem. 

"May I ask what you have been saying to Uncle George?"

"You may ask, of course, Terry; but I don't mean to tell you, "answered Nora. 

"It is because of you he is going to Ireland?"

"It is because of something I have said. "

"How do you think our mother will like it? You know how proud sheis; how all these years she has determined to put a good face onthings, and not to allow her relations in England to know the truth. I have followed her cue, and have been careful to make the very bestof things at Castle O'Shanaghgan. "

"Oh, it is easy to tell lies, " said Nora, with scorn. 

"Nora, you talk in a very silly way, and I often have no patiencewith you, " answered her brother. "If I have regard to my mother'sfeelings, why should you despise me? You are supposed to considerour father's feelings. "

"That is very different; the whole thing is different, " said Nora. She flushed, bit her lip, and then turned away. 

"You must hear me, " said Terence, looking at her with someimpatience; "you must, you shall. You are quite intolerable withyour conceit and your silly, silly Irish ways. "

"Well, go on. What have you to say to me?"

"That I think you were guilty of dishonor in talking as you did atdinner last night. You spoke of the place and the poverty in a waywhich quite put me to the blush. I hope in future, while you arehere, you will cease to run the O'Shanaghgans down. It is not worthyof you, Nora, and I am ashamed of you. "

"Run them down--I?" said poor Nora in astonishment. 

"Yes, you. "

She was silent for a moment; she was making a great effort torecover her equanimity. Was Terence right? Had she done wrong tospeak before her aunt and cousins as she had done? Of course heruncle was different; it was absolutely necessary that he at leastshould know the truth. A distressful sense of dismay at her ownimpetuosity came over her. Terence watched her narrowly. He was fondof Nora in his heart of hearts, and also proud of her; and now thathe saw she was really sorry he went up to her, put his arm round herneck, and kissed her. 

"Never mind, little girl, " he said, "you are young. Try to be guidedby me in future, and do not give yourself away. We Irish wear ourhearts on our sleeves, and that sort of thing does not go down inEngland. "

"Oh, how I hate this cold England!" said the Irish girl, withpassion. 

"There you are again, all your feelings expressed too broadly. Youwill never endure life if you go on as you have begun, Nora. "

"Terence, " said Nora, looking up at him, "when are you going home?"

"When am I going home? Thank you, I am very comfortable here. "

"Don't you think that just at present, when father is in trouble, his only son, the heir of O'Shanaghgan, ought to be with him?"

"Poor old O'Shanaghgan, " said the lad, with impatience; "you thinkthat it comprises the whole of the world. I tell you what it is, Nora, I am made differently, and I infinitely prefer England. Myuncle has been kind enough to offer me a small post in his business. Did I not tell you?"

"No, no; I never knew what my uncle's business was. "

"He is a merchant prince, Nora; an enormously rich man. He ownswarehouses upon warehouses. He has offered me a post in one--a verygood post, and a certain income. "

"And you mean to accept?" said Nora, her eyes flashing fire. 

"Well, I am writing to mother on the subject. I think it would bewell to do so. "

"You, an O'Shanaghgan, will descend to trade?" replied the girl. 

"Oh, folly! folly! Nora, your ideas are really too antiquated. "

Nora did not speak at all for a moment; then she walked toward thedoor. 

"I cannot understand you, " she said. "I am awfully sorry. I was borndifferent; I was made different. I cannot understand why you shouldbring dishonor to the old place. "

"By earning a little money to keep us all from beggary, " retortedthe lad in a bitter tone; but Nora did not hear him; she had leftthe room. Her eyes were smarting with unshed tears. She went outinto the shrubbery in search of Molly. 

"But for Molly I should break my heart, " she thought. 

CHAPTER XX. 

STEPHANOTIE. 

Mrs. Hartrick made all necessary arrangements, and on the followingMonday Nora accompanied her cousin to school. Molly was muchdelighted. 

"Now I shall be able to work, " she said, "and I won't be guilty ofslang when you are by. Don't whisper it to Linda. She would be inthe seventh heaven of bliss, and I detest pleasing her; but I woulddo anything in the world for you, Nora creena. "

Nora gave her cousin's arm an affectionate squeeze. 

"I have never been to school, " said Nora; "you must instruct me whatI am to do. "

"Oh, dear, dear!" said Molly, "you won't need instruction; you areas sharp and smart as any girl could be. You'll be a little puzzledat first about the different classes, and I'll give you hints abouthow to take notes and all that sort of thing. But you will quicklyget into the way of it, and then you'll learn like a house on fire. "

"I wish you two wouldn't whisper together so much, " said Linda in anannoyed voice. "I am going over my French parsing to myself, and youdo interrupt me so. "

"Then walk a little farther away from us, " said Molly rudely. 

She turned once more to her cousin. 

"I will introduce you to the very nicest girls in my form, " shesaid. "I do hope you'll be put into my form, for then in theevenings you and I can do our work together. I expect you know aboutas much as I do. "

"But that's just it--I don't, " said Nora. "I have not learned a bitin the school way. I had a governess for a time, but she did notknow a great deal. Of course mother taught me too; but I have nothad advantages. I should not be surprised if I were put into thelowest form. "

They now arrived at the school, and a few minutes later Nora foundherself in a huge classroom in which about sixty other girls wereassembled. Miss Flowers presently sent a pupil-teacher to ask MissO'Shanaghgan to have an interview with her in her private room. 

Miss Flowers was about fifty years of age. She had white hair, calm, large, well-opened blue eyes, a steadfast mouth, and a gracious andat the same time dignified manner. She was not exactly beautiful;but she had the sort of face which most girls respected and whichmany loved. Nora looked earnestly at her, and in her wild, impulsiveIrish fashion, gave her heart on the spot. 

"What is your name, my dear?" said the head-mistress kindly. 

Nora told it. 

"You are Irish, Mrs. Hartrick tells me. "

"Yes, Miss Flowers, I have lived all my life in Ireland. "

"I must find out what sort of instruction you have had. Have youever been at school before?"

"Never. "

"How old are you?"

"Sixteen, Miss Flowers. "

"What things have you been taught?"

"English subjects of different sorts, " replied Nora. "A littlemusic--oh, I love music, I do love music!--and a little French; andI can speak Irish, " she added, raising her beautiful, dark-blueeyes, and fixing them on the face of the head-mistress. That winsomeface touched Miss Flowers' heart. 

"I will do what I can for you, " she said. "For the present you hadbetter study alone. At the end of a week or so I shall be able todetermine what form to put you in. Now, go back to the schoolroomand ask Miss Goring to come to me. "

Miss Goring was the English mistress. Miss Flowers saw her alone fora minute or two. 

"Do what you can for the Irish girl, " she said. "She is a verypretty creature; she is evidently ignorant; but I think she hasplenty of talent. "

Miss Goring went back, and during the rest of the morning devotedherself to Nora. Nora had varied and strange acquirements at herfinger's ends. She was up in all sorts of folk lore; she couldclothe her speech in picturesque and striking language. She couldrepeat poetry from Sir Walter Scott, from Shakspere, from the oldIrish bards themselves; but her grammar was defective, although herreading aloud was very pretty and sweet. Her knowledge of historywas vague, and might be best described by the expression, up anddown. She knew all about the Waldenses; she had a vivid picture inher mind's eye of St. Bartholomew's Eve. The French Revolutionappalled and, at the same time, attracted her. The death of CharlesI. Drew tears from her eyes; but she knew nothing whatever of thechronological arrangements of history; and the youngest girl in theschool could have put her to shame with regard to the Magna Charta. It was just the same with every branch of knowledge which Nora hadeven a smattering of. 

At last the great test of all came--could she play or could she not?She had spoken often of her passionate love for music. Miss Goringtook her into the drawing room, away from the other girls. 

"I am not supposed to be musical, " she said, "but I think I knowmusic when I hear it. If you have talent, you shall have plenty ofadvantages here. Now, sit down and play something for me. "

"What! At that piano?" said Nora, her eyes sparkling. Miss Goringhad opened a magnificent Broadwood grand. 

"Yes, " she said. "It is rather daring of me to bring you here; but Iwant you to have fair play. "

"I never played on a really good piano in my life, " said Nora. "MayI venture?"

"Yes. I do not believe you will injure it. "

"May I play as loud as I like, and as soft as I like?"

"Certainly. You may play exactly as you please; only play with allyour heart. You will be taught scientific music doubtless; but Iwant to know what you can do without education, at present. "

Nora sat down. At first she felt a little shy, and all hersurroundings were so strange, the piano was so big; she touched itwith her small, taper fingers, and it seemed to her that the deep, soft notes were going to overpower her. Then she looked at MissGoring and felt uncomfortable; but she touched the notes again, andshe began to forget the room, and Miss Goring, and the grand piano;and the soul of music stood in her eyes and touched the tips of herfingers. The music was quite unclassical, quite unconventional; butit was music--a wild kind of wailing chant--the notes of the Bansheeitself. Nora played on, and the tears filled her eyes and streameddown her cheeks. 

"Oh, it hurts so!" she said at last, and she looked full up at MissGoring. Behold, the cold, gray eyes of the English teacher were alsofull of tears. 

"You terrify me, " she said. "Where did you hear anything like that?"

"That is the wail of the Banshee. Shall I play any more?"

"Nothing more so eerie. "

"Then may I sing for you?"

"Can you sing?"

"I was never taught; but I think I can sing. " Nora struck a fewchords again. She sang the pathetic words, "She is Far from theLand, " and Miss Goring felt the tears filling her eyes once more. 

"Upon my word!" she said, as she led her pupil back to theschoolroom, "you can play and you can sing; you have music in you. It would be worth while to give you good lessons. "

Nora's musical education was now taken up with vigor. Miss Goringspoke to Miss Flowers about it, and Miss Flowers communicated withMrs. Hartrick; and Mrs. Hartrick was extremely pleased to find thatshe had a musical genius in her midst, and determined to give thatsame musical genius every chance. Accordingly, the very best masterin the school arranged to give Nora lessons, and a mistress ofstriking ability took her also in hand. Nora's wild music, the musicthat came from her heart, and the song that bubbled from her lips, were absolutely silenced. She must not sing at will; she must on noaccount play at will. The dullest of exercises were given to her forthe purpose of molding her fingers, and the dullest of voiceexercises were also given to her for the purpose of molding hervoice. She struggled against the discipline, and hated it. She wasessentially a child of nature, and this first putting on of thechains of education was the reverse of pleasant. 

"Oh, Molly, " she said, "what is the good of singing those hateful, screaming exercises, and those scales? They are too detestable, andthose little twists and turns. My fingers absolutely feel quitenervous. What is the use? What is the use?"

Molly also sighed and said, "What is the use?" But then the musicalmistress and the great master looked at Nora all over when she madesimilar remarks, and would not even vouchsafe to answer. 

"Father would never be soothed with that sort of music, " she said. "I think he would be very glad we had not a good piano. Oh, Molly, what does it all mean?"

"I don't know, " said Molly. "It's like all other education, nothingbut grind, grind; but I suppose something will come of it in thelong run. "

"What are you talking about, girls?" said Mrs. Hartrick, who justthen appeared upon the scene. "Nora, I am pleased; to get very goodreports of your music. "

"Oh!" said Nora, "I am glad you have come, Aunt Grace; and I shallbe able to speak to you. Must I learn what takes all the music outof me?"

"Silly child. There is only one road to a sound musical education, and that is the road of toil. At present you play by ear, and singby ear. You have talent; but it must be cultivated. Just believethat your elders know what they are about. "

Nora did not say anything. Mrs. Hartrick, after looking at hergravely for a moment, continued her gentle walk round the shrubbery. Molly uttered a sigh. 

"There's no good, Nora, " she said. "You'll have to go through withit. I suppose it is the only way; but it's hard to believe it. "

"Well, at any rate, I enjoy other things in my school life, " saidNora. "Miss Goring is so nice, and I quite love Miss Flowers; and, after all, I am in your form, Molly, and we do like doing ourlessons together. "

"To be sure we do; life is quite a different thing for me since youhave come here, " was Molly's retort. 

"And you have been very good indeed about your naughty words, youknow, " said Nora, nestling up to her cousin. 

"Have I? Well, it's owing to you. You see, now, I have someone tohelp me--someone to understand me. "

"Ah!" said Nora; "but I won't be here very long. "

"Not here very long! Why, you must. What is the use of beginningschool and then stopping it?"

"School or no school, my place is by father's side. It is a long, long time since we heard from Uncle George. As soon as ever he comesback I go. "

"Father has been a whole month in Ireland now, " said Molly. "Icannot imagine what he is doing. I think mother fidgets rather. Shehas very long letters from him, and----"

"And, do you know, " said Nora, "that father has not written to meonce--no, not once since Uncle George went over? I am absolutely inthe dark. "

"I wonder you stand it, " said Molly. "You are so impetuous. I cannotimagine why you don't fly back. "

"I could not, " said Nora. 

"Could not? What is there to hinder you?"

"I have given my word. "

"Your word? To whom?"

"To your father. He went to Ireland to please me. "

"Oh, did he? That's exciting, " said Molly. "Father went to Irelandto please a little chit like you. Now, what does this mean?"

"It means exactly what I have said. He went because I begged him to;because I explained things to him, and he said he would go. But hemade a condition, and I am bound to stick to my part of it. "

"And that was----How your eyes shine, Nora!"

"That was, that I am to stay patiently here, and get as English asever I can. Oh! I must stick to my part of the bargain. "

"Well, I cannot say you look very happy, " said Molly, "although youare such a favorite at the school. If I was not very fond of youmyself I should be jealous. If I had a friend whom I reallyworshiped, before you appeared on the scene, it was StephanotieMiller, the American girl. "

"Oh, isn't she charming?" said Nora. "She makes me laugh. I am sureshe has Irish blood in her. "

"Not a bit of it; she's a Yankee of the Yankees. "

"Well, she has been sent to school to get tame, just as I havebeen, " said Nora; "but I don't want you to lose her friendship. After all, I care very little for anyone in the school but you, Molly; only Stephanotie makes me laugh. "

"We'll have her to tea tomorrow. I'll run in now and ask mother. Ishan't mind a bit if you are not going quite to take her from me. After all, she can be friends with both of us. I'll run into thehouse this moment, and ask mother if we may have Stephanotie totea. "

Molly rushed into the house. Her mother was seated in the morningroom, busily writing. 

"Well, my dear, well?" she said. "I hear you--you need not bang thedoor. What is it, Molly?"

"Oh, mother! do look up and listen. "

Mrs. Hartrick raised her head slowly. 

"Yes, dear?" she said. 

"I have behaved a great deal better lately--have I not, mother?"

"You certainly have, Molly; and I am pleased with you. If you wouldrestrain some of your impetuosity, I should be glad to tell you howpleased I am. "

"It is all owing to Nora. "

"To Nora, my dear! Nora is as wild as you are. "

"All the same, it is owing to Nora; and she is not as wild as I am. I mean that I have been downright vulgar; but if you think there isone trace of that in little Nora, it is because you do not know hera bit. "

"What is your special request, Molly? I am very busy just now, andcannot discuss your cousin's character. You have improved, and I ampleased with you. "

"Then, if you are pleased with me, mother, will you do me a favor?"

"What is that?"

"Stephanotie Miller has never been at our house. "

"Stephanotie Miller. What an outlandish name! Who is she?"

"She is a dear, jolly, sweet, handsome American girl. She came toschool last term, and she is in the same form with Nora and me; andwe both adore her, yes we do. Whatever she does, and whatever shesays, we think simply perfection; and we want to ask her here. Sheis staying with a rather tiresome aunt, in a little house in thevillage, and she has come over to be Englishized. May she have teawith us tomorrow?"

"I will inquire about her from Miss Flowers; and if she seems to bea nice girl I shall have no objection. "

"But we want her to come tomorrow, " said Molly. "It is Saturday, youknow, and a whole holiday. We thought she might come to lunch, or, if you objected to that, immediately after lunch. "

"And what about Linda? Does Linda like her?"

"Holy Moses, no!" said Molly. 

"Molly!"

"Oh, mother! do forgive me, and don't say she mustn't come because Isaid 'Holy Moses. ' It's all Linda; she excites the vulgar in mealways. But may Stephie come, mother? You are always having Linda'sfriends here. "

"I will not be reproved by you, Molly. "

"But, please, dear mother, let her come. Nora and I want her sobadly. "

"Well, dear, I will try and see Miss Flowers tomorrow morning. "

"Won't you judge of her for yourself, mother? There never was abetter judge than you are. "

This judicious flattery had its effect on Mrs. Hartrick, She satquite still for a moment, pondering. After all, to be a pupil atMrs. Flowers' school was in itself a certificate of respectability, and Molly had been very good lately--that is, for her; and if sheand Nora wanted a special friend to spend the afternoon with them, it would be possible for Mrs. Hartrick quickly to decide whether theinvitation was to be repeated. 

"Very well, " she said, looking at her daughter, "for this once youmay have her; and as you have wisely expressed it, Molly, I canjudge for myself. "

"Oh, thank you, thank you, mother!"

Molly rushed out of the room. She was flying headlong down thepassage, when she came plump up against Linda. 

"Now, what is up?" said that young person. "Really, Molly!"

"Oh, hurrah! I have won my way for once, " said Molly. "Stephanotieis coming tomorrow to spend the whole afternoon. "

"Stephanotie--that horrid Yankee?" said Linda. 

"Horrid Yankee yourself!" was Molly's vulgar retort. 

"But she cannot come. I have asked Mabel and Rose Armitage, and youknow they cannot stand Stephanotie. "

"Well, you, and your Mabel and Rose, can keep away fromStephanotie--that's all, " said Molly. "Anyhow, she is coming. Don't keep me. I must tell Nora. "

Linda made way for her sister to fly past her, as she afterwardexpressed it, like a whirlwind. She stood still for a moment in deepconsideration. Stephanotie was a daring, bright, go-ahead youngperson, and had she ever taken, in the very least, to Linda, Lindawould have worshiped her. Stephanotie was extremely rich, and thebouquets she brought to school, and the bon-bons she kept in herpocket, and the pretty trinkets she wore, and the dresses sheexhibited had fascinated Linda more than once. For, rich as theHartricks were, Mrs. Hartrick had far too good taste to allow herdaughters more pocket-money, or more trinkets, or more bon-bons thantheir companions. Linda, in her heart of hearts, had greatlyrebelled against her mother's rule in this particular, and hadenvied Stephanotie what she called her free life. But Stephanotiehad never taken to Linda, and she had taken to Molly, and still morehad she taken to Nora; and, in consequence, Linda pretended to hateher, and whenever she had an opportunity used to run her down. 

Linda and her friends, Rose and Mabel Armitage, with several othergirls, formed quite a clique in the school against Stephanotie andwhat she termed her "set"; and now to think that this veryobjectionable American girl was to spend the next day at The Laurelsbecause Molly, forsooth! wished it, was quite intolerable. 

Linda thought for a moment, then went into the room where her motherwas busy writing. Mrs. Hartrick had just finished her letter. Shelooked up when Linda approached. 

"Well, darling?" she said. Mrs. Hartrick was very fond of Linda, andpetted her a great deal more than Molly. 

"Oh, mother! I am vexed, " said Linda. "Is it quite settled?"

"Is what settled, my dear?"

"Is it quite settled that Stephanotie is to come to-morrow?"

"By the way, I was going to ask you about her, Linda. What sort ofgirl is she?"

"I do not wish to say anything against my schoolfellows, mother; butif you could only see her--"

Mrs. Hartrick raised her eyebrows in alarm. 

"Molly has taken so violently to her, " she answered, "and so hasNora; and I thought that just for once--"

"So you have given leave, mother?"

"Yes; I have. "

"And my friends are coming--those two charming girls, theArmitages. "

"Yes, dear; I greatly admire both the Armitage girls. I am glad theyare coming; but why should not Miss Miller come also?"

"Only, she is not in their 'set, ' mother--that is all. I wish--I dowish you would ask her to postpone her visit. If she must come, lether come another Saturday. "

"I will think about it, " said Mrs. Hartrick. "I have certainlypromised and----But I will think about it. "

Linda saw that she could not press her mother any further. She wentaway in great disquietude. 

"What is to be done?" she thought. "If only mother would speak toMolly at once; but Molly is so impetuous; and once Stephanotie isasked, there will be no getting out of it. She is just the sort ofgirl to tell that unpleasant story about me, too. If mother knewthat, why, I should at last be in her black books. Well, whateverhappens, Stephanotie must not be asked to spend the afternoon hereto-morrow. I must somehow contrive to put some obstacle in the way. "

CHAPTER XXI. 

THE ROSE-COLORED DRESS. 

Meanwhile Molly rushed off to Nora. "Linda means mischief, and Imust put my foot down immediately, " she said. 

"Why, Molly, what is up?"

"Put on your hat, darling, and come with me as fast as ever youcan. "

"Where to?"

"Mother has given in about Stephanotie. Linda will put her finger inthe pie if she possibly can. I mean Stephanotie to get herinvitation within the next five minutes. Now, then, come along, Nora. Do be quick. "

Mrs. Hartrick never allowed the girls to go out except very neatlydressed; but on this occasion they were seen tearing down the roadwith their garden hats on and minus their gloves. Had anyone fromThe Laurels observed them, good-by to Molly's liberty for many along day. No one did, however. Linda during the critical moment wascloseted with her mother. When she reappeared the girls were halfwayto the village. They reached it in good time, and arrived at thehouse of Miss Truefitt, Stephanotie's aunt. 

Miss Truefitt was an old-fashioned and precise little lady. She hadgone through a great deal of trouble since the arrival of her niece, and often, as she expressed it, did not know whether she stood onher head or her heels; but she was fond of Stephanotie, who, notwithstanding her wild ways, was very affectionate and verytaking. And now, when she saw Molly and Nora appearing, she herselfentered the hall and opened the door for them. 

"Well, my dears, " she said, "Stephie is in her bedroom; she has aheadache, and wanted to lie down for a little. "

"Oh, just let me run up to her. I won't keep her a minute, " saidMolly. 

"Come in here with me, " said Miss Truefitt to Nora. She opened thedoor of her neat little parlor. Nora entered. The room was full ofgay pictures and gay books, and scattered here and there were verylarge boxes of bon-bons. 

"How she can eat them all is what puzzles me, " said Miss Truefitt;"she seems to live on them. The quantity she demolishes would wreckthe health of any English girl. Ah, here comes Molly. "

But Molly did not come downstairs alone; the American girl was withher. Stephanotie rushed into the room. 

"I am going to The Laurels to-morrow, auntie. I am going quiteearly; this dear old Molly has asked me. You guess I'll have a goodtime. There will be a box of bon-bons for Nora, sweet little IrishNora; and a box for dear little Molly, a true native of England, anda fine specimen to boot. Oh, we shall have a nice time; and I am soglad I am asked!"

"It is very kind of Mrs. Hartrick to send you an invitation, Stephie, " said her aunt. 

"Oh, bother that, Aunt Violet! You know perfectly well she would notask me if Molly and Nora had not got it out of her. "

"Well, we did try our best and most conoodling ways, " said Nora in asoft voice. 

"Ah, didn't you, you little Irish witch; and I guess you won, too. Well, I'm going; we'll have a jolly lark with Linda. If for no otherreason, I should be glad to go to upset her apple cart. "

"Dear me, Stephie! you are very coarse and vulgar, " said MissTruefitt. 

"Not a bit of it, auntie. Have a bon-bon, do. " Stephanotie rushedacross the room, opened a big box of bon-bons, and presented one, asif it were a pistol, full in Miss Truefitt's face. 

"Oh, no, thank you, my dear!" said that lady, backing; "theindigestion I have already got owing to the way you have forced yourbon-bons upon me has almost wrecked my health. I have lost allappetite. Dear me, Stephie! I wish you would not be so dreadfullyAmerican. "

"The process of Englishizing me is a slow one, " said Stephanotie. She turned, walked up to the glass, and surveyed herself. She wasdressed in rich brown velveteen, made to fit her lissome figure. Herhair was of an almost fiery red, and surrounded her face like ahalo; her eyes were very bright china-blue, and she had a dazzlinglyfair complexion. There were people who thought Stephanotie pretty;there were others who did not admire her at all. She had a go-ahead, very independent manner, and was the sort of girl who would beidolized by the weaker members of the school. Molly, however, was byno means a weak member of the school, nor, for that matter, wasNora, and they both took great pleasure out of Stephanotie. 

"My bark is worse than my bite, " said that young person. "I amsomething like you, Molly. I am a bit of a scorcher; but there, whenI am trained in properly I'll be one of the best of good creatures. "

"Well, you are booked for to-morrow now, " said Molly; "andJehoshaphat! if you don't come in time--"

"Oh, Molly!" whispered Nora. 

"There, I won't say it again. "

Poor Miss Truefitt looked much shocked. Molly and Nora bade hergood-by, and nodded to Stephanotie, who stood upon the doorstep andwatched them down the street; then she returned to her aunt. 

"I did think, " said Miss Truefitt slowly, "that the girls belongingto your school were ladylike; but to come here without gloves, andthat eldest girl, Miss Hartrick, to use such a shocking expression. "

"Oh, bless you, Aunt Vi! it's nothing to the expressions she uses atschool. She's a perfect horror of a girl, and I like her for thatvery reason. It is that horrid little Linda would please you; and Imust say I am sorry for your taste. "

Stephanotie went upstairs to arrange her wardrobe for the next day. She had long wished to visit Molly's home. The Laurels was one ofthe prettiest places in the neighborhood, and Molly and Linda wereconsidered as among the smartest girls at the school. Stephanotiewished to be hand-and-glove with Molly, not because she was supposedto be rich, or respectable, or anything else, but simply because hernature fitted to that of the wild, enthusiastic American girl. But, all the same, now that she had got the _entrée_, as she expressedit, of the Hartricks' home, she intended to make a sensation. 

 "When I do the thing I may as well do it properly, " she said toherself. "I will make them open their eyes. I have watched Mrs. Hartrick in church; and, oh dear me! have not I longed to give her apoke in the back. And as to Linda, she thinks a great deal of herdress. She does not know what mine will be when I take out my verybest and most fascinating gown. "

Accordingly Stephanotie rifled her trunk, and from its depths sheproduced a robe which would, as she said, make the members of TheLaurels sit up. It was made of rose-colored silk, and trimmed withquantities of cream lace. The skirt had many little flounces on it, and each was edged with lace. The bodice was cut rather low in theneck, and the sleeves did not come down anything like as far as thewrists. The rose-colored silk with its cream lace trimmings wasaltogether the sort of dress which might be worn in the evening; butdaring Stephanotie intended to appear in it in the morning. Shewould encircle her waist with a cream-colored sash, very broad, andwith much lace upon it; and would wear many-colored beads round herneck, and many bracelets on her arms. 

"The whole will have a stylish effect, and will at any ratedistinguish me from everyone else, " was her inward comment. Sheshook out the dress, and then rang the bell. One of the servantsappeared. 

"I want to have this robe ironed and made as presentable aspossible, " said Stephanotie; "see you have it all done and put in mywardrobe ready for wear tonight. I guess it will fetch 'em, " sheadded, and then she rushed like a whirlwind into the presence ofMiss Truefitt. 

"Auntie, " she said, "would you like to see me done up in style?"

"I don't know, I am sure, my dear, " said Miss Truefitt, looking ather with nervous eyes. 

"Oh, dear, Aunt Vi! if you were to see mother now you wouldn't knowher; she is wonderfully addicted to the pleasures of the toilet. There is nothing so fascinating as the pleasures of the toilet whenonce you yield to its charms. She rigged me up pretty smart before Ileft New York, and I am going to wear my rose-colored silk with thecream lace to-morrow. "

"But you are not going to an evening party, my dear. "

"No; but I shall stay all the evening, and I know I'll look killing. The dress suits me down to the ground. It is one of my fads alwaysto be in something red; it seems to harmonize with my hair. "

Miss Truefitt uttered a deep sigh. 

"What are you sighing for, Aunt Vi?"

"Nothing, dear; only please don't offer me a bon-bon. The mere sightof those boxes gives me a feeling of nausea. "

"But you have not tried the crystallized figs, " cried Stephanotie;"they are wonderfully good; and if you feel nausea a peppermint-dropwill set you right. I have a kind of peppermint chocolate in thisbox which is extremely stimulating to the digestive organs. "

"No, no, Stephie. I beg--I really do beg that you will take all theobnoxious boxes out of the room. "

"Very well, auntie; but you'll come up to-morrow to see me in mydress?"

The next day was Saturday, a holiday of course. Stephanotie had puther hair into Hinde's curlers the night before, and, in consequence, it was a perfect mass of frizzle and fluff the next morning. MissTruefitt, who wore her own neat gray locks plainly banded round herhead, gave a shudder when she first caught sight of Stephanotie. 

"I was thinking, dear, during the night, " she said, "of your pinksilk dress, and I should very much prefer you to wear the graycashmere trimmed with the neat velvet at the cuffs and collar. Itwould tone down your--"

"Oh, don't say it, " said Stephanotie; "my hair is a perfect glorythis morning. Come yourself and look at it--here; stand just here;the sun is shining full on me. Everyone will have to look twice atme with a head like this. "

"Indeed, that is true, " said Miss Truefitt; "and perhaps threetimes; and not approve of you then. "

"Oh, come, auntie, you don't know how bewitching I look when I amgot up in all my finery. "

"She is hopelessly vulgar, " thought poor Miss Truefitt to herself;"and I always supposed Agnes would have such a nice, proper girl, such as she was herself in the old days; but that last photograph ofAgnes shows a decided falling off. How truly glad I am that I wasnever induced to marry an American! I would rather have my neat, precise little house and a small income than go about like a figureof fun. That poor child will never be made English; it is a hopelesstask. The sooner she goes back to America the better. "

Meanwhile Stephanotie wandered about the house, thinking over andover of the happy moment when she would appear at The Laurels. Shethought it best to put on her rose-colored dress in time for earlydinner. It fitted her well, but was scarcely the best accompanimentto her fiery-red hair. 

"Oh, lor', miss!" said Maria, the servant, when she first caughtsight of Stephanotie. 

"You may well say, 'Oh, lor'!' Maria, " replied Stephanotie, "although it is not a very pretty expression. But have a bon-bon; Idon't mean to be cross. "

She whirled across the room, snatched hold of one of her boxes ofbon-bons, and presented it to Maria. Maria was not averse to achocolate peppermint, and popped one into her mouth. The nextinstant Miss Truefitt appeared. "Now, Stephanotie, " she said, "doyou think for a single moment--Oh, my dear child, you really are tooawful! You don't mean to say you are going to The Laurels likethat?"

"Have a bon-bon?" was Stephanotie's response. 

"You are downright rude. I will not allow you to offer me bon-bonsagain. "

"But a fresh box of them has just arrived. I got them by the eleveno'clock post to-day, " was Stephanotie's reckless answer; "and, oh, such beauties! And I had a letter from mother to say that I mightorder as many as ever I liked from Fuller's. I mean to write to themto ask them to send me ten shillings' worth. I'll ask for the newestvarieties. There surely must be bon-bons which would not give youindigestion, Aunt Vi. "

"I must ask you to take off that dress, Stephanotie. I forbid you togo to The Laurels in such unsuitable attire. "

"Oh, lor'! and it's lovely!" said Maria, _sotto voce_, as shewas leaving the room. 

"What an unpleasant smell of peppermint!" said Miss Truefitt, sniffing at that moment. "You know, Stephanotie, how I have beggedof you not to eat those unpleasant sweets in the dining room. "

"I didn't, " said Stephanotie; "it was only Maria. "

Maria backed out of the room with another violent "Oh, lor'!" andran down to the kitchen. 

"I'll have to give notice, " she said. "It's Miss Stephanotie; she'sthe most dazzlingly brilliant young lady I ever set eyes on; butmistress will never forgive me for eating that peppermint in herpresence. "

"Rinse the mouth out, and take no notice, " was the cook's somewhatheartless rejoinder. "How do you say she was dressed, Maria?"

"Pink, the color of a rose, and that ravishing with lace. I neversee'd such a dress, " said Maria. "She's the most beautiful younglady and the queerest I ever set eyes on. "

Stephanotie and her aunt were having a battle upstairs, and in theend the elder lady won. Stephanotie was obliged to take off theunsuitable dress and put on the gray cashmere. As subsequent eventsproved, it was lucky for her that she did do so. 

CHAPTER XXII. 

LETTERS. 

By the post on the following morning there came two letters forNora. She hailed them with a cry of delight. 

"At last!" she said. 

Mrs. Hartrick was not in the room; she had a headache, and did notget up to breakfast. Terence had already started for town. He hadsecured the post he desired in his uncle's office, and thoughthimself a very great man of business. Linda did not count foranything. 

Nora flung herself into an easy-chair, and opened the first of herletters. It was from her mother. She was soon lost in its contents. 

"MY DEAR NORA [wrote Mrs. O'Shanaghgan]: Be prepared for very great, startling, and at the same time gratifying, news. Your dear UncleGeorge, who has been spending the last three weeks with us, has madean arrangement which lifts us, my dear daughter, out of allpecuniary embarrassments. I will tell you as briefly as possiblewhat has taken place. He had a consultation with your father, andinduced him, at my suggestion, to unburden his mind to him. You knowthe Squire's ways. He pooh-poohed the subject and fought shy of it;but at last I myself brought him to task, and the whole terrible anddisgraceful state of things was revealed. My dear Nora, my dearlittle girl, we were, it appears, on the brink of bankruptcy. In acouple of months O'Shanaghgan would no longer have been ours. 

I cannot say that I should ever have regretted leaving thisramshackle and much-dilapidated place, but of course I should haveshrunk from the disgrace, the exposure, the feeling that I was thecynosure of all eyes. That, indeed, would have cut me to the quick. Had your father consented to sell O'Shanaghgan and live in England, it would have been a moment of great rejoicing for me; but the placeto be sold up over his head was quite a different matter. This, mydear Nora, seems to have been the position of affairs when your dearuncle, like a good providence or a guardian angel, appeared on thescene. Your uncle, my dearest Nora, is a very rich man. My dearbrother has been careful with regard to money matters all his life, and is now in possession of a very large supply of this world'sgoods. Your dear uncle was good enough to come to the rescue, andhas bought O'Shanaghgan from the man to whom your father owed themortgage. O'Shanaghgan now belongs to your Uncle George. "

"Never!" cried Nora, springing to her feet. 

"What is the matter, Nora?" said Linda. 

"Don't talk to me for the present, or I'll say something you won'tlike to hear, " replied Nora. 

"Really, I must say you are copying Molly in your manner. "

"Don't speak to me, " said Nora. Her face was crimson; she had neverfelt such a wild, surging sense of passion in the whole of herexistence. Linda's calm gray eyes were upon her, however. Shemanaged to suppress any more emotion, saw that her cousin wasburning with curiosity, and continued the letter. 

"Although, my dearest Nora, Castle O'Shanaghgan now belongs to yourUncle George, don't suppose for a single moment that he is going tobe unkind to us. Far from it. To all appearance the place is stillours; but with, oh! such a difference. Your father is still, in theeyes of the tenants and of the country round, the owner of CastleO'Shanaghgan; but, after consulting with me, your Uncle George feltthat he must not have the reins. His Irish nature, my dear--But Ineed not discuss that. You know as well as I do how reckless andimprovident he is. "

"Oh, mother!" gasped Nora. She clenched her little white teeth, andhad great difficulty in proceeding with her letter. Linda'scuriosity, however, acted as a restorative, and she went on with hermother's lengthy epistle. 

"All things are now changed, and I may as well say that a gloriousera has begun. Castle O'Shanaghgan is now your uncle's property, andit will soon be a place to be proud of. He is having it refurnishedfrom attic to cellar; carpets, curtains, mirrors, furniture of allsorts have already begun to arrive from one of the most fashionableshops in Dublin. Gardeners have been got to put the gardens torights, the weeds have been removed from the avenue, the grass hasbeen cut, the lawns have been mown; the whole place looks already asif it had undergone a resurrection. My bedroom, dear Nora, is now aplace suitable for your mother to sleep in; the bare boards arecovered with a thick Brussels carpet. The Axminster stair carpetsarrived yesterday. In the dining room is one of the most magnificentTurkey carpets I have ever seen; and your uncle has insisted onhaving the edge of the floor laid with parquetry. Will you believeme, Nora?--your father has objected to the sound of the hammeringwhich the workmen make in putting in the different pieces of wood. You can scarcely believe it possible; but I state a fact. Thestables are being filled with suitable horses; and with regard tothat I am glad to say your father does take some interest. Avictoria has arrived for me, and a pony-trap for you, dear; for itseems your Uncle George has taken a great fancy to you, my littleNora. Well, dear, all this resurrection, this wonderful restorationof Castle O'Shanaghgan has occurred during your absence. You willcome back to a sort of fairyland; but it is one of your uncle'sstipulations that you do not come back at present; and, of course, for such a fairy godfather, such a magician, no promise is too greatto give. So I have told him, dear Nora, that you will live with yourkind and noble Aunt Grace, and with your charming cousin Linda, andyour cousin Molly--about whom I do not hear so much--as long as hewishes you to do so. You will receive the best of educations, andcome back at Christmas to a suitable home. You must have patienceuntil then. It is your uncle's proposal that at Christmas-time youand your cousins also come to O'Shanaghgan, and that we shall have aright good old-fashioned Christmas in this place, which at last isbeautiful and worthy of your ancient house. You must submitpatiently, therefore, dear Nora, to remaining in England. You willprobably spend the greater portion of your time there for the nextfew years, until you are really accomplished. But the holidays you, with your dear cousins and your uncle and aunt, will always spend atO'Shanaghgan. You must understand, dear, that the house reallybelongs to your uncle; the place is his, and we are simply histenants, from whom he nobly asks no rent. How proud I am of my dearbrother, and how I rejoice in this glorious change!--Youraffectionate mother, "ELLEN O'SHANAGHGAN. ". 

The letter dropped from Nora's fingers. 

"And was it I who effected all this?" she said to herself. "And Ithought I was doing good. "

The other letter lay unopened on her lap. She took it up withtrembling hands, and broke the seal. It was a short letter comparedto her mother's, but it was in the handwriting she loved best onearth. 

"LIGHT O' THE MORNING [it began]: Why, then, my darling, it's done--itis all over. The place is mine no longer; it belongs to the English. To think I, O'Shanaghgan of Castle O'Shanaghgan, should live to writethe words. Your mother put it to me, and I could not refuse her; but, oh, Nora asthore, heart of my life, I can scarcely bear to live herenow. What with the carpets and the curtains, and the fuss and themisery, and the whole place being turned into a sort of furniture-shop, it is past bearing. I keep out most of my time in the woods, and Iwon't deny to you, my dearest child, that I have shed some bittertears over the change in O'Shanaghgan; for the place isn't what itwas, and it's heart-breaking to behold it. But your mother is pleased, and that's one comfort. I always did all I could for her; and whenshe smiles at me and looks like the sun--she is a remarkably handsomewoman, Nora--I try to take a bit of comfort. But I stumble over thecarpets and the mats, and your mother is always saying, 'Patrick, take care where you are going, and don't let the dogs come in tospoil the new carpets. ' And the English servants that we have nowtaken are past bearing; and it's just as if I were in chains, and Iwould almost as lief the place had been sold right away from me assee it in its changed condition. I can add no more now, my child, except to say that, as I am under great and bitter obligations toyour Uncle George, I must agree to his request that you stay in England for thepresent; but Christmas is coming, and then I'll clasp you in myarms, and I'll have a grain of comfort again. --Your sorrowful oldfather, "PATRICK O'SHANAGHGAN. "

Nora's cheeks flushed brighter than ever as she read these twoletters. The first had cut her to the heart; the second had causedthat desire for weeping which unless it is yielded to amounts totorture. 

Oh! if Linda would not stay in the room. Oh! if she might crouch awaywhere she, too, could shed tears over the changed Castle O'Shanaghgan. For what did she and her father want with a furniture-shop? Must she, for all the rest of her days, live in a sort of feather-bed house?Must the bareness, the space, the sense of expansion, be hers no more?She was half a savage, and her silken fetters were tortures to her. 

"It will kill him, " she murmured. She said the words aloud. 

"What will kill him? What is wrong? Do, please, tell me, " saidLinda. 

Nora looked at her with flashing eyes. 

"How bright your cheeks are, Nora, and how your eyes shine! But youlook very, very angry. What can be the matter?"

"Matter? There is plenty the matter. I cannot tell you now, " saidNora. 

"Then I'll go up and ask mother; perhaps she will tell me. It hassomething to do with that old place of yours, I have not theslightest doubt. Mother has got a very long letter from Ireland; shewill tell me perhaps. "

"Yes, go; and don't come back again, " said Nora, almost rudely. 

"She gets worse and worse, " thought Linda as she slowly mounted thestairs. "Nora is anything but a pleasure in the house. At first whenshe came she was not quite so bad; she had a pretty face, and hermanners had not been coarsened from contamination with Molly. Nowshe is much changed. Yes, I'll go to mother and talk to her. What anawful afternoon we are likely to have with that American girl hereand Nora changing for the worse hour by hour. "

Linda knocked at her mother's door. Mrs. Hartrick was not well, andwas sitting up in bed reading her letters. 

"My head is better, Linda, " she said. "I shall get up presently. What is it, darling?"

"It is only the usual thing, " said Linda, with a deep sigh. "I amalways being rubbed the wrong way, and I don't like it. "

"So it seems, my pet. But how nicely you have done your hair thismorning! How very neat and ladylike you are becoming, Linda! You area great comfort to me, dear. "

"Thank you, mother; I try to please you, " said Linda. She seatedherself on her mother's bed, suppressed a sigh, then said eagerly:

"Nora is awfully put out. Is there bad news from that wild place, Castle O'Shanaghgan?"

"Bad news?" cried Mrs. Hartrick. "Has the child had letters?"

"Yes, two; she had been reading them instead of eating herbreakfast, and the sighs and the groans, and the flashing eyes andthe clenched teeth, and the jumping to her feet and the floppingherself down again have been past bearing. She won't let outanything except that she is downright miserable, and that it is aburning shame. "

What can she mean, mother? Is the old place sold? I always expectedthey were terribly poor. "

"The best, most splendid news, " said Mrs. Hartrick. "My dear Linda, you must be mistaken. Your father says that he has given your auntand uncle leave to tell Nora everything. I thought the child wouldbe in the seventh heaven of bliss; in fact, I was almost dreadingher arrival on the scene, she is so impetuous. "

"Well, mother, she is not in any seventh heaven of bliss, " repliedLinda; "so perhaps they have not told her. But what is it, motherdear? Do tell me. "

"It is this, darling--your father has bought Castle O'Shanaghgan. "

"Oh! and given it to the O'Shanaghgans. Why did he do that?"

"He has bought it, but he has not given it to the O'Shanaghgans. Some day, if Terence turns out worthy, the old place will doubtlessbe his, as we have no son of our own; but at present it is yourfather's property; he has bought it. "

"Then no wonder poor Nora is sad, " said Linda. "I can understandher; she is fond of the old place. "

"But why should she be sad? They are not going; they are to staythere, practically owners of all they possess; for, although theproperty is really your father's, he will only exercise sufficientcontrol to prevent that poor, wild, eccentric uncle of yours fromthrowing good money after bad. To all intents and purposes theO'Shanaghgans still hold possession; only now, my dear Linda, theywill have a beautiful house, magnificently furnished. The groundsare carefully attended to, good gardeners provided, English servantssent for, and the whole place made suitable for your father'ssister. "

"But does Nora know of this?"

"I suppose so. I know your father said she was to be told. "

"She is very miserable about something. I cannot understand her, "said Linda. "I tell you what, I'll just go down and tell her. Perhaps those two letters were nothing but grumbles; and theO'Shanaghgans did not know then the happiness that was in store forthem. "

"You can tell her if you like, dear. "

"I will, I will, " said Linda. She jumped off her mother's bed andran downstairs. 

Nora was standing in the conservatory. She was gazing straightbefore her, not at the great, tall, flowering cactus nor theorchids, nor the mass of geraniums and pelargoniums of every shadeand hue--she was seeing a picture of a wild, wild lonely place, of abare old house, of a seashore that was like no other seashore in theworld. She was looking at this picture with all the heart of whichshe was capable shining in her eyes; and she knew that she waslooking at it in imagination only, and that she would never see thereal picture again, for the wild old place was wild no longer, andin Nora's opinion the glory had departed. She turned when Linda'ssomewhat mincing voice fell upon her ears. 

"How you startled me!" she said. "What is it?"

"Oh, good news, " said Linda. "I am not quite so bad as you think me, Nora, and I am delighted. Mother has told me everything. CastleO'Shanaghgan is yours to live in as long as ever you care to do so. Of course it belongs to us; but that does not matter, and it isfurnished from attic to cellar most splendidly, and there areEnglish servants, and there are--"

"Everything abominable and odious and horrible!" burst from Nora'slips. "Oh, don't keep me; don't keep me! I am smothered at thethought--O'Shanaghgan is ruined--ruined!"

She ran away from her cousin out into the air. At headlong speed didshe go, until at last she found herself in the most remote and leastcultivated part of the plantation. 

Oh, to be alone! Now she could cry, and cry she did right bitterly. 

CHAPTER XXIII. 

THE BOX OF BON-BONS. 

It occurred to Stephanotie that, as she could not wear therose-colored dress, as she must go perforce to the Hartricks' inher dove-colored cashmere, with its very neat velvet collar andcuffs, she would at least make her entrance a little striking. 

"Why not take a box of bon-bons to Mrs. Hartrick?" she said toherself. "There's that great big new box which I have not opened yetIt contains dozens of every kind of sweetmeat. I'll present it toher; she'll be pleased with the attention. "

The box was a very large one; on its lid was painted a picture oftwo or three cupids hovering in the air, some of them touching theshoulders of a pretty girl who was supposed to be opening a box ofchocolates. There was a good deal of color and embossed writing alsoon the cover, and altogether it was as showy and, in Stephanotie'sopinion, as handsome a thing as anybody could desire. 

She walked through the village, holding the box, tied with greatbunches of red ribbon, in her hand. She scorned to put a brown-papercover over it; she would take it in all its naked glory into themidst of the Hartrick household. 

On her way she met the other two girls who were also going to spendan afternoon at The Laurels. Rose and Mabel Armitage were thedaughters of a neighbouring squire. They were nice girls, butconventional. 

There was nothing original about either of them; but they were verymuch respected in the school, not only on account of their father'sposition--he represented the county in the House--but also because theywere good, industrious, and so-called clever. The Armitages took prizesat every examination. Their French was considered very nearly Parisianin accent; their drawings were all in absolutely perfect proportions. It is true the trees in Rose's landscapes looked a little stiff; buthow carefully she laid on her water-colors; how honestly she endeavoredto copy her master's smallest requirements! Then Mabel played withgreat correctness, never for a single moment allowing a wrong note toappear; and they both sang, very prettily, simple little ballads; andthey were dressed with exquisite neatness and propriety in very quietcolors--dark blues, very dark reds, pretty, neat blouses, suitableskirts. Their hair was shiny, and sat in little tight tendrils andpretty curls round their heads. They were as like as two peas--eachgirl had a prim little mouth with rosy lips; each girl possessed animmaculate set of white teeth; each girl had a little, straight noseand pretty, clear gray-blue eyes; their foreheads were low, theireyebrows penciled and delicately marked. They had neat little figures;they were neat in every way, neat in soul too; admirable little people, but commonplace. And, just because they were commonplace, they didnot like fiery-red-haired Stephanotie; they thought Molly theessence of vulgarity; they secretly admired beautiful Nora, butthought her manners and style of conversation deplorable; and theyadored Linda as a kindred spirit. 

Seeing them walking on in advance, like a little pair of doves, Stephanotie quickened her steps until she came up to them. 

"Hallo!" she said; "you guess where I'm off to?"

"I am sure I cannot say, " answered Rose, turning gently round. 

Mabel was always Rose's echo. 

"I cannot say, " she repeated. 

"Well, I can guess where you're going. You're going to have a rightdown good time at The Laurels--guess I'm right?"

"We are going to spend an afternoon at The Laurels, " said Rose. 

"An afternoon at The Laurels, " echoed Mabel. 

"And so am I--that's the best of the fun, " said Stephanotie; "and Imean to give her something to remember me by. "

"Whom do you mean?" said Rose. 

"Why, my good, respected hostess, Mrs. Hartrick. "

"What do you mean to give her?" asked Rose. 

"This. How do you like it? It's full of bon-bons. "

Rose, notwithstanding her virtuous and commonplace mind, had asecret leaning toward bon-bons. She did not dare to confess it evento Mabel; for Mabel also had a secret leaning, and did not dare toconfess it to Rose. It was not _comme il faut_ in their familyfor the girls of the house to indulge in bon-bons; but still, theywould have liked some of those delicious sweets, and had oftenenvied Stephanotie when she was showing them to her companions. 

Of course, not for worlds would they have been friendly with theterrible American girl; but they did envy her her boxes of sweets. 

"How gay!" said Rose, looking at the startling cover, with itscupids and its greedy-looking maiden. 

"How jolly, " said the American girl--"how luscious when you'reeating them! Would you like to see them inside?"

"Oh, I think not, " said Rose. 

"Better not, " said Mabel. 

"But why better not?" continued Stephanotie. "It's natural thatgirls like us should like sweetmeats, bon-bons, or anything of thatsort. Here, there's a nice little bit of shelter under this tree, and there's no one looking. I'll untie the ribbons; just hold thebox, Rose. "

Rose held it. Stephanotie hastily pulled off the red ribbons andlifted the cover. Oh, how delicious the inside did look!--rows uponrows of every imaginable sweet--cream-colored sweets, rose-colored, green, white; plums, apples, pears, figs, chocolates; every sortthat the heart of girl could desire lay before them in rows on rows. 

"They are, every one of them, for Mrs. Hartrick, " said Stephanotie, "and you mustn't touch them. But I have got two boxes in my pocket;they make it bulge out; I should be glad to get rid of them. We'lltie this up, but you'll each have one of my boxes. "

In a jiffy the big box was tied up again with its huge crimson bows, and each of the Armitage girls possessed one of the American girl'sboxes of bon-bons. 

"Aren't they pretty? Do have some; you don't know how long you maybe kept waiting for your tea, " said Stephanotie as she danced besideher companions up the avenue. 

In this fashion, therefore, did the three enter the house, for bothof the Armitages had yielded to temptation, and each girl was justfinishing a large bon-bon when they appeared on the scene. 

Mrs. Hartrick was standing in the great square central hall, waitingfor her guests. 

Stephanotie ran up to her. 

"It's very good of you indeed to ask me, " she said; "and pleaseaccept this--won't you? It's from an American girl, a trophy toremember her by. "

"Indeed?" said Mrs. Hartrick, flushing very brightly. She steppedback a little; the huge box of bon-bons was forced into her hands. 

"Jehoshaphat!" exclaimed Molly. 

"Molly!" said her mother. 

Linda uttered a little sigh. Rose and Mabel immediately became asdiscreet and commonplace and proper as they could be; butStephanotie knew that the boxes of bon-bons were reposing in each oftheir pockets and her spirits rose higher than ever. 

"Where is Irish Nora?" she said. "It's she that is fond of a goodsweet such as they make for us in the States. But have the box--won'tyou, Mrs. Hartrick? I have brought it to you as a token of my regard. "

"Indeed? Thank you very much, Miss Miller, " said Mrs. Hartrick in achilly voice. She laid the box on a side-table. 

CHAPTER XXIV. 

THE TELEGRAM, The girls went out into the grounds. The afternoon happened to be aperfect one; the air was balmy, with a touch of the Indian summerabout it. The last roses were blooming on their respective bushes;the geraniums were making a good show in the carefully laid outbeds. There were clumps of asters and dahlias to be seen in everydirection; some late poppies and some sweet-peas and mignonette madethe borders still look very attractive, and the chrysanthemums werebeginning to appear. 

"In a week's time they will be splendid, " said Linda, piloting hertwo friends through the largest of the greenhouses. 

"Do come away, " said Molly; "when Linda speaks in that prim voiceshe's intolerable. Come, Nora; come, Stephie--we'll just have a runby ourselves. "

Nora was still looking rather pale. The shock of the morning hadcaused the color to fade from her cheeks; she could not get theutterly changed O'Shanaghgan out of her head. She longed to write toher father, and yet she did not dare. 

Stephanotie looked at her with the curious, keen glance which anAmerican girl possesses. 

"What is it? Do say, " she said, linking her hand inside Nora's. "Isit anything that a bon-bon will soothe, or is it past that?"

"It is quite past that; but don't ask me now, Stephie. I cannot tellyou, really. "

"Don't bother her, " said Molly; "she has partly confided in me, butnot wholly. We'll have a good time by ourselves. What game do youthink we had best play, Stephie?"

"I'm not one for games at all, " answered Stephanotie. "Girls of myage don't play games. They are thinking seriously of the business oflife--the flirtations and the jolly time they are going to havebefore they settle down to their staid married life. You English areso very childish. "

"And we Irish are childish too, " said Nora. "It's lovely to bechildish, " she added. "I hate to put away childish things. "

"Oh, dear! so that is the Irish and English way, " said Stephanotie. "But there, don't let us talk nationalities; let's be cozy andcheerful. I can tell you I did feel annoyed at coming here such adowd; it was not my fault. I meant to make an impression; I did, really and truly. It was very good of you, Molly, to ask me; and Iknow that proud lady, your mother, didn't want to have me a bit. Iam nothing but Stephanotie Miller, and she doesn't know the style welive in at home. If she did, maybe she would open her eyes a little;but she doesn't, and that's flat; and I am vulgar, or supposed tobe, just because I am frank and open, and I have no concealmentabout me. I call a spade a spade. "

"Oh, hurrah! so do I, " said Molly, the irrepressible. 

"Well, my dear, I don't use your words; they wouldn't suit me at all, "said the American girl. "I never call out Jehoshaphat the way you do, whoever Jehoshaphat _is_; but I have my little eccentricities, and they run to pretty and gay dresses--dresses with bright colorsand quantities of lace on them--and bon-bons at all hours, in seasonand out of season. It's easy to content me, and I don't see why mylittle innocent wishes should not be gratified. "

"But you are very nicely dressed now, " said Nora, looking withapproval at the gray cashmere. 

"Me nicely dressed!" screamed Stephanotie. "Do you call this dressnice? Why, I do declare it's a perfect shame that I should be madesuch a spectacle. It don't suit my hair. When I am ordering a dressI choose shades of red; they tone me down. I am fiery to-day--am Inot, Molly?"

"Well, you certainly are, " said Molly. "But what--what did you do toit?"

"To my locks, do you mean?"

"Yes. They do stick out so funnily. I know mother was shocked; shelikes our heads to be perfectly smooth. '

"Like the Armitages', for instance, " said Stephanotie. 

"Well, yes; something like theirs. They are pretty girls, are theynot?"

"Yes, " said Stephanotie; "but don't they give you the quivers? Don'tyou feel as if you were rubbed the wrong way the moment you speak tothem?"

"I don't take to them, " said Molly; "but I think they're pretty. "

"They're just like what O'Shanaghgan is now, " thought Nora, who didnot speak. "They are all prim and proper; there's not a singlewildness allowed to come out anywhere. "

"But they're for all the world like anybody else, " said Stephanotie. "Don't they love sweeties just! If you' had seen them--the greedyway they took the bon-bons out of the little boxes I gave them. Oh, they're just like anybody else, only they are playing parts; theyare little actors; they're always acting. I'd like to catch themwhen they were not. I'd like to have them for one wild week, withyou, Molly, and you, Nora. I tell you there would be a fine changein them both. "

"There's a telegraph-boy coming down the avenue, " cried Mollysuddenly. "I'll run and see what is the matter?"

Nora did not know why her heart beat. Telegrams arrived every day atThe Laurels. Nevertheless she felt sure that this was no ordinarymessage; she stood now and stared at that boy as though her eyeswould start from their sockets. 

"What is the matter?" said Stephanotie. 

"Nothing--nothing. "

"You're vexed about something. Why should you be so distant withme?"

"I am not, Stephie. I am a little anxious; it is difficult always tobe just the same, " said Nora. 

"Oh, don't I know it, my darling; and if you had as much to do withAunt Vi Truefitt as I have, you would realize how often _my_spirits turn topsy-turvy. I often hope that I'll be Englishizedquickly, so that I may get back to my dear parents. But there, Mollyis coming back. "

"The telegram was for mother, " she said. "Do let us play. "

Nora looked at Molly. Her face was red; it was usually pale. Norawondered what had brought that high color into her cheeks. Mollyseemed excited, and did not want to meet her cousin's eyes. 

"Come, let us have a race, " she said. "I don't want to put awaychildish things. I want to have a good game while I am in the humor. Let us see who will get first to the top of that hill. I likerunning uphill. I'm off; catch me who may!"

Molly started. Her figure was stout, and she ran in a somewhatawkward way. Nora flew after her. She soon reached her side. 

"There, stop running, " she said. "What is up?"

"What is up?" echoed Molly. 

"Yes; what was in that telegram?"

"The telegram was for mother. "

"But you know what was in it. I know you do. "

"Nothing--nothing, Nora. Come, our race isn't over yet. I'm offagain; you cannot catch me this time. "

Molly ran, panting as she did so. 

"I cannot tell her; I won't, " she said to herself. "I wish her eyeswere not so sharp. She is sure to find out; but I have begged andprayed of mother not to tell her, at least until after Stephanotieand the others have gone. Then, I suppose, she must know. "

Molly reached the top of the hill. She was so blown that she had tofling herself on the grass. Nora again reached her side. 

"Tell me, Molly, " she said; "there is something the matter?"

"There is a telegram for mother, and I cannot tell you anythingwhatever about it, " said Molly in a cross voice. "There, I'm offonce more. I promised Linda that I would help her to look after theArmitage girls. Prim and proper as they are, they are sometimes alittle bit too much for my dainty sister Linda. You take care ofStephie; she's right good fun. Let me go, Nora; let me go. "

Molly pulled her hand almost roughly out of her cousin's grip, andthe next moment was rushing downhill as fast as she could in thedirection of the summer-house. There she knew she would find Lindaand her two friends. 

CHAPTER XXV. 

THE BLOW. 

Notwithstanding all the efforts of at least five merry girls, therewas a cloud over the remainder of that afternoon. Nora's face wasanxious; her gay laugh was wanting; her eyes wore an abstracted, far-away look. The depression which the letters of the morning hadcaused was now increased tenfold. If she joined in the games it waswithout spirit; when she spoke there was no animation in her words. Gone was the Irish wit, the pleasant Irish humor; the sparkle in theeyes was missing; the gay laughter never rose upon the breeze. Attea things were just as bad. Even at supper matters had not mended. 

Molly now persistently avoided her cousin. Stephanotie and she werehaving a wild time. Molly, to cover Nora's gloom, was going on in amore extravagant way than usual. She constantly asked Jehoshaphat tocome to her aid; she talked of Holy Moses more than once; in short, she exceeded herself in her wildness. Linda was so shocked that shetook the Armitage girls to a distant corner, and there discoursedwith them in low whispers. Now and then she cast a horrified glanceround at where her sister and the Yankee, as she termed Stephanotie, were going on together. To her relief, toward the end of the evening, Mrs. Hartrick came into the room. But even her presence could notsuppress Molly now. She was beside herself; the look of Nora sittinggloomily apart from the rest, pretending to be interested in one ofSir Walter Scott's novels, was too much for her. She knew that a badtime was coming for Nora, and her misery made her reckless. Mrs. Hartrick, hearing some of her naughtiest words, said in an icy tonethat Miss Truefitt had sent a maid for Stephanotie; and a few momentsafterward the little party broke up. 

As soon as the strange girls had departed, Mrs. Hartrick turnedimmediately to Molly. 

"I am shocked at your conduct, " she said. "In order to give youpleasure I allowed Miss Miller to come here; but I should have beena wiser and happier woman if I had taken dear Linda's advice. She isnot the sort of girl I wish either you or Nora ever to associatewith again. Now, go straight to your room, and don't leave it untilI send for you. "

Molly stalked off with a defiant tread and eyes flashing fire; shewould not even glance at Nora. Linda began to talk in her primvoice. Before she could utter a single word Nora had sprung forward, caught both her aunt's hands, and looked her in the face. 

"Now, " she said, "I must know. What did that telegram say?"

"What telegram, Nora? My dear child, you forget yourself. "

"I do not forget myself, Aunt Grace. If I am not to go quite off myhead, I must know the truth. "

"Sit down, Nora. "

"I cannot sit; please put me out of suspense. Please tell me theworst at once. "

"I am sorry for you, dear; I really am. "

"Oh, please, please speak! Is anything--anything wrong with father?"

"I hope nothing serious. "

"Ah! I knew it, " said Nora; "there is something wrong. "

"He has had an accident. "

"An accident? An accident? Oh, what? Oh! it's Andy; it must be Andy. Oh, Aunt Grace, I shall go mad; I shall go mad!"

Mrs. Hartrick did not speak. Then she looked at Linda. She motionedto Linda to leave the room. Linda, however, had no idea of stirring. She was too much interested; she looked at Nora as if she thoughther really mad. 

"Tell me--tell me; is father killed?"

"No, no, my poor child; no, no. Do calm yourself, Nora. I will letyou see the telegram; then you will know all that I know. "

"Oh, please, please!"

Mrs. Hartrick took it out of her pocket. Nora clutched it very hard, but her trembling fingers could scarcely take the little flimsy pinksheet out of its envelope. At last she had managed it. She spread itbefore her; then she found that her dazed eyes could not see thewords. What was the misery of the morning to the agony of thismoment?

"Read it for me, " she said in a piteous voice. "I--I cannot see. "

"Sit down, my dear; you will faint if you don't. "

"Oh! everything is going round. Is he--is he dead?"

"No, dear; nothing very wrong. "

"Read--read!" said Nora. 

Mrs. Hartrick did read. The following words fell upon the Irishgirl's ears:

"O'Shanaghgan was shot at from behind a hedge this, morning. Seriously injured. Break it to Nora. "

"I must go to him, " said Nora, jumping up. "When is the next train?Why didn't you tell me before? I must go--I must go at once. "

Now that the worst of the news was broken, she had recovered hercourage and some calmness. 

"I must go to him, " she repeated. 

"I have telegraphed. I have been mindful of you. I knew the momentyou heard this news you would wish to be off to Ireland, so I havetelegraphed to know if there is danger. If there is danger you shallgo, my dear child; indeed, I myself will take you. "

"Oh! I must go in any case, " repeated Nora. "Danger or no danger, heis hurt, and he will want me. I must go; you cannot keep me here. "

Just then there came a loud ring at the hall-door. 

"Doubtless that is the telegram, " said Mrs. Hartrick. "Run, Linda, and bring it. "

Linda raced into the hall. In a few moments she came back with atelegram. 

"The messenger is waiting, mother, " she said. 

Mrs. Hartrick tore it open, read the contents, uttered a sigh ofrelief, and then handed the paper on to Nora to read. 

"There, " she said; "you can read for yourself. "

Nora read:

"Better. Doctor anticipates no danger. Tell Nora I do not wish herto come. Writing. 

"HARTRICK. "

"There, my dear, this is a great relief, " said Mrs. Hartrick. 

"Oh! I am going all the same, " said Nora. 

"No; that I cannot possibly allow. "

"But he wants me, even if he is not in danger. It was bad enough tobe away from him when he was well; but now that he is ill----Youdon't understand, Aunt Grace--there is no one can do anything forfather as I can. I am his Light o' the Morning. "

"His what?" said Mrs. Hartrick. 

"Oh, that is what he calls me; but I have no time to explain now. Imust go; I don't care. "

"You are an ungrateful girl, Nora. If you had lived through themisery I have lived through the last few hours this telegram wouldfill you with thankfulness. It is your duty to stay here. You areunder a promise to your kind uncle. He has rescued your father andmother from a most terrible position, and your promise to him sayingthat you would stay quietly here you cannot in all honor break. Ifyour father were in danger it would be a different matter. As it is, it is your duty to stay quietly here, and show by your patience howtruly you love him. "

Nora sat silent. Mrs. Hartrick's words were absolute. The good ladyfelt that she was strictly following the path of duty. 

"I can understand the shock you have had, " she continued, looking atthe girl, who now sat with her head slightly drooping, her handsclasped tightly together, her attitude one of absolute despair. 

"Linda, " she said, turning to her daughter, "fetch Nora a glass ofwine. I noticed, my dear, that you ate scarcely any supper. "

Nora did not speak. 

Linda returned with a glass of claret. 

"Now drink this off, Nora, " said her aunt; "I insist. "

Nora was about to refuse, but she suddenly changed her mind. 

"I shall go whether she gives me leave or not, " was her inwardthought. "I shall want strength. " She drank off the wine, andreturned the empty glass to her cousin. 

"There now, that is better, " said Mrs. Hartrick; "and as you areunaccustomed to wine you will doubtless sleep soundly after it. Goup to your bedroom, dear. I will telegraph the first thing in themorning to O'Shanaghgan, and if there is the slightest cause foralarm will promise to take you there immediately. Be content with mypromise; be patient, be brave, I beg of you, Nora. But, believe me, your uncle knows best when he says you are not to go. "

"Thank you, Aunt Grace, " said Nora in a low voice. She did notglance at Linda. She turned and left the room. 

CHAPTER XXVI. 

TEN POUNDS. 

Molly was standing by the open window of her room when Nora came in. Sheentered quite quietly. Every vestige of color had left her face; her eyes, dark and intensely blue, were shining; some of her jet-black hair had gotloosened and fell about her neck and shoulders. Molly sprang toward her. 

"Oh, Nora!" she said. 

"Hush!" said Nora. "I have heard; father is hurt--very badly hurt, and I am going to him. "

"Are you indeed? Is mother going to take you?" said Molly. 

"No; she has refused. A telegram has come from my uncle; he says Iam not to go--as if a thousand telegrams would keep me. Molly, I amgoing. "

"But you cannot go alone. "

"I am going. "

"When?" said Molly. 

"Now--this very minute. "

"What nonsense! There are no trains. "

"I shall leave the house and stay at the station. I shall take thevery next train to town. I am going. "

"But, Nora, have you money?"

"Money?" said Nora. "I never thought of that. "

"Mother won't give you money if she does not wish you to go. "

"I'll go to my room and see. " Nora rushed away. She came back in afew moments with her purse; she flung the contents on Molly's bed. Molly took up the silver coins as they rattled out of Nora's purse. Alack and alas! all she possessed was eight shillings and a fewcoppers. 

"You cannot go with that, " said Molly; "and I have nothing to lendyou, or I would; indeed, I would give you all I possess, but motheronly gives me sixpence a week. Nothing would induce her to give mean allowance. I have sixpence a week just as if I were a baby, andyou can quite understand I don't save out of that. What is to bedone?"

Nora looked nonplused. For the first time the vigorous intention, the fierce resolve which was bearing her onward, was checked, andchecked by so mighty a reason that she could not quite see her wayout of the present difficulty. To ask her Aunt Grace for money wouldbe worse than useless. Nora was a sufficient reader of character tobe quite certain that Mrs. Hartrick when she said a thing meant it. She would be kind to Nora up to a certain point. Were her father inwhat they called danger she herself would be the first to help Norato go to him. 

"How little they know how badly he wants me!" thought the girl; "howall this time he is pining for me--he who never knew illness in hislife--pining, pining for me! Nothing shall keep me from him. I wouldsteal to go to him; there is nothing I would not do. "

"Nora, how queer you look!" said Molly. 

"I am thinking, " said Nora. "I wonder how I am to get that money?Oh, I have it. I'll ask Stephanotie to lend it to me. Do you thinkshe would?"

"I don't know. I think it very likely. She is generous, and she hasheaps of money. "

"Then I'll go to her, " said Nora. 

"Stay, Nora; if you really want to run away----"

"Run away?" said Nora. "If you like to call it so, you may; but I'mgoing. My own father is ill; my uncle and aunt don't hold the sameposition to me that my father holds. I will go to him--I will. "

"Then I tell you what it is, " said Molly, "you must do this thingcarefully or you'll be locked up in your bedroom. Mother would thinknothing of locking the door of your bedroom and keeping you there. You don't know mother when once her back is up. She can be immenselykind up to a certain point, and then--oh! I know it--immenselycruel. "

"What is to be done?" said Nora. "I hate doing a thing in this kindof way--in the dark, as it were. "

"You must listen to me, " said Molly; "you must be very careful. Ihave had some little scampers in my time, and I know how to managematters. There is only one way for you to go. "

"What is that?"

"You and I must go off and see Stephanotie; but we cannot do sountil everyone is in bed. "

"How can we go then?"

"We can easily climb down from this window. You see this pear-tree;it almost touches the window. I have climbed down by it more thanonce; we can get in again the same way. "

"Oh, yes. If we must sneak out of the house like thieves, " saidNora, "it's as good as any other way. "

"I tell you it's the only way, " said Molly. "We must be off on ourway to London before mother gets up tomorrow morning. You don't knowanything whatever about trains. "

"But I can look them out, " said Nora. 

"Well, go back to your room. Mother will not be going to bed forquite an hour. We cannot help it; we can do nothing until she issafe in bed. Go away at once, Nora; for if she finds you heretalking to me she will suspect something. I cannot tell you whatmother is when once her suspicions are aroused; and she has had goodcause to suspect me before now. "

"But do you really mean to say you'll come with me?"

"I certainly mean to say I won't let you go alone. Now then, goaway; just pack a few things, and slip back to me when I knock onthe wall. I know when mother has gone to bed; it is necessary thatshe should be asleep, and that Linda should be asleep also; that isall we require. Leave the rest to me. "

"And you are certain Stephanotie can lend us the money?"

"We can but ask her. If she refuses we must only come back again andmake the best of things. "

"I will never come back, " said Nora. "I will go to the firstpawnbroker's and pawn everything of value I possess; but go to myfather I will. "

"I admire your courage, " said Molly. "Now then, go back to your roomand wait for my signal. "

Nora returned to her room. She began to open and shut her drawers. She did not care about being quiet. It seemed to her that no onecould keep her from her father against her will. She did notrecognize the all-potent fact that she had no money herself for thejourney. Still, the money must be obtained. Of course Stephanotiehad it, and of course Stephanotie would lend it; it would only be aloan for a few days. When once Nora got to Ireland she would returnthe money immediately. 

She opened her drawers and filled a little black bag which she hadbrought with her from home. She put in the trifles she might need onher journey; the rest of her things could stay; she could not bebothered with them one way or the other. Then she sat quite still onthe edge of her bed. How earnestly she wished that her aunt wouldretire for the night, that Linda would be quiet! Linda's roomadjoined Nora's--it opened into Nora's--and Linda, when occasionsroused her suspicions, could be intensely watchful. She did not seemto be going to bed; she kept moving about in her room. Poor Noracould scarcely restrain herself from calling out, "Oh, do be quick, Linda! What are you staying up for?" but she refrained from sayingthe fatal words. Presently she heard the creak of Linda's bed as shegot into it. This was followed by silence. 

Nora breathed a sigh of relief, but still the dangers were not past. Her little black bag lay quite ready on the chair, and she herselfsat on the edge of her bed. Mrs. Hartrick's steps were heard comingup the stairs, and the next moment the door of Nora's room wasopened and the good lady looked in. 

"Not in bed, Nora, " she said; "but this is very wrong. "

"Oh, I could not sleep, " said Nora. 

Mrs. Hartrick went up to her. 

"Now, my dear child, " she said, "I cannot rest until I see you safein bed. Come, I must undress you myself. What a wan little face! Mydear girl, you must trust in God. Your uncle's telegram assures usthat there is no danger; and if there is the smallest occasion Iwill take you myself to your father tomorrow. "

"Oh! if you would only promise to take me, " said poor Nora, suddenlyrising to her feet, twining her arms round her aunt's neck, andlooking full into her face. "Oh! don't say you will take me to myfather if there is danger; say you'll take me in any case. It wouldbreak my heart to stay away. I cannot--cannot stay away from him. "

"Now, you are talking in an unreasonable way, Nora--in a way Icannot for a moment listen to. Your uncle wishes you to stay whereyou are. He would not wish that if there was the least occasion foryou to go to Ireland. "

"Then you will not take me tomorrow?"

"Not unless your father is worse. Come, I must help you to get yourthings off. "

Nora felt herself powerless in Mrs. Hartrick's hands. The good ladyquickly began to divest her of her clothes, soon her night-dress waspopped on, and she was lying down in bed. 

"What is that black bag doing here?" said Mrs. Hartrick, glancing atthe bag as she spoke. 

"I was packing my things together to go to father. "

"Well, dear, we must only trust there will be no necessity. Now, goodnight. Sleep well, my little girl. Believe me, I am not sounsympathetic as I look. "

Nora made no reply. She covered her face with the bedclothes; a sobcame from her throat. Mrs. Hartrick hesitated for a moment whethershe would say anything further; but then, hoping that the tired-outgirl would sleep, she went gently from the room. In the passage shethought for a moment. 

"Why did Nora pack that little bag?" she said to herself. "Can it bepossible--but no, the child would not do it. Besides, she has nomoney. "

Mrs. Hartrick entered her own room at the other end of the corridorand shut the door. Then stillness reigned over the house--stillnessabsolute and complete. 

No light had been burning under Molly's door when Mrs. Hartrick hadpassed. Molly, indeed, wiser than Nora, had got into bed and laythere, dressed, it is true, but absolutely in the dark. Nora alsolay in her bed; every nerve was beating frantically; her body seemedto be all one great pulse. At last, in desperation, she sprang outof bed--there came the welcome signal from Molly's room. Nora strucka light and began to dress feverishly. In ten minutes she was oncemore in her clothes. She now put on the dark-gray traveling dressshe had worn when coming to The Laurels. Her hat and jacket werequickly put on, and, carrying the little black bag, she enteredMolly's room. 

"What hour is it?" said Nora. "It must be long past midnight. "

"Oh, no; nothing of the kind. It is not more than eleven o'clock. "

"Oh! I thought it was one or two. Do you know that your mother cameto see me and insisted on my getting into bed?"

"You were a great goose, Nora. You should have lain down as I did, in your clothes; that would have saved a little time. But come, mother has been quite quiet for half an hour and more; she must besound asleep. We had better go. "

"Yes, we had better go, " said Nora. "I packed a few things in this bag;it is quite light, and I can carry it. My money is in it, too--eightshillings and fivepence. I do trust Stephanotie will be able to lendus the rest. "

Molly had not been idle while Nora was in her room. She had takencare to oil the hasp of the window; and now, with extreme caution, she lifted it up, taking care that it did not make the slightestsound as she did so. The next moment both girls were seated on thewindow-ledge. Molly sprang on to the pear-tree, which creaked andcrackled under her weight; but Mrs. Hartrick was already in the landof dreams. Molly dropped on to the ground beneath, and then it wasNora's turn. 

"Shall I shut the window before I get on to the pear-tree?"whispered Nora. 

"No, no; leave it open. Come just as you are. "

Nora reached out her arms, grasped the pear tree, and slipped downto the ground. 

"Now then, we must be off, " said Molly. "I hope Pilot won't bark. "She was alluding to the big watchdog. "But there, I'll speak to him;he is very fond of me. "

The girls stole across the grass. The dew lay heavy on it; theirfootsteps made no sound. Presently they reached the front of thehouse, and Pilot, with a deep bay, flew to meet them. 

"Pilot! Pilot! quiet; good dog!" said Molly. She went on her knees, flung her arms round the dog, and began to whisper in his ear. 

"He understands, " she said, looking up at Nora. The great creatureseemed to do so; he wagged his feathery tail from side to side andaccompanied the girls as far as the gate. 

"Now, go home, go home, " said Molly. She then took Nora's hand, andthey ran down the road in the direction of the village. 

"If it were not that you are so miserable I should enjoy thisawfully, " said Molly. 

"But how do you mean to wake Stephie?" asked Nora at last. 

"Well, luckily for us, her aunt, Miss Truefitt, is rather deaf. MissTruefitt has a bedroom at the back of the house, and Stephanotiesleeps in front. I shall fling gravel at the window. There is not asoul, as you see, in the streets. It's well that it is such a quietplace; it will serve our purpose all the better. "

They now found themselves outside Miss Truefitt's house. Molly tookup a handful of gravel and flung it in a great shower atStephanotie's window. Both girls then waited eagerly for a response. At first there was none; once again Molly threw the gravel. 

"I do hope she will wake soon, " she said, turning to Nora; "thatgravel makes a great noise, and some of the neighbors may pop outtheir heads to see what is the matter. There! I saw a flicker oflight in the room. She is thinking it is thieves; she won't for asingle moment imagine that we are here. I do hope Miss Truefittwon't awaken; it will be all up with us if she does. "

"No, no, it won't, " said Nora; "there's not a person in this place Icould not get to help me in a cause like this. The one who isabsolutely invulnerable, who cannot be moved, because she imaginesherself to be right, is your mother. "

"There's Stephie at the window now, " said Molly. A little figure ina night-dress was seen peeping out. 

"It's us, Stephie. Let us in; it's most awfully important, "whispered Molly's voice in deep sepulchral tones from below. 

"But say, what's the matter?" called Stephanotie, opening her windowand popping out her curly head. 

"I can't talk to you in the street. Slip down and open the hall-doorand let us in, " said Molly. "It's most vital. "

"It's life or death, " whispered Nora. There was something in Nora'stremulous tones which touched Stephanotie, and at the same timestimulated her curiosity to such an extent that she flew into herclothes, dashing about perfectly reckless of the fact that she wasmaking a loud noise; but, luckily for her, Miss Truefitt was deafand the servants slept in a remote part of the old house. SoonStephanotie was tumbling downstairs, the chain was taken off thedoor, and the two girls were admitted. 

"Where shall I take you?" said Stephanotie. "It's all as dark aspitch. You know Aunt Vi won't hear of gas in the house. But stay, wecan go into the dining room. I suppose you can tell me by the lightof a solitary glim. " As she spoke she pointed to the candle whichshe was holding high above her head. 

"Yes, yes, or with no light at all, " said Nora. 

Stephanotie now opened the door of the dining room, and the threegirls entered. Stephanotie placed the candle on the table and turnedand faced them. 

"Well, " she said, "what's up? What do you want me to do?"

"I want you to lend me all the money you have, " said Nora. 

"All the money I have--good gracious!"

"Oh, Jehoshaphat! be quick about it, " said Molly. "We cannot standhere talking; we want to catch the very next train to town. "

"But why should I lend you all the money I have?"

"Oh, I'll tell her, Nora; don't you speak, " said Molly. "Nora'sfather has been awfully hurt; he was shot at from behind a hedge bysome scoundrel in Ireland. A telegram came to-day about him tomother, and mother won't take Nora to Ireland unless her father isin danger, and Nora is determined to go. "

"I guess I'd about do the same, " said Stephanotie, nodding her head. "If poppa was shot at from behind a hedge, I guess there's nothingwould keep me away from him. But is it for that you want the money?"

"Yes, " said Nora, plunging her hands into the depths of her blackbag; "there's only eight shillings and five-pence here, and I can'tget to Ireland with that. "

"Haul out the spoil, " said Molly; "make no bones about it. I'm goingwith Nora, because the child isn't fit to travel alone. "

"You coming with me?" said Nora. "I didn't know that. "

"I don't mean to leave you, my dear, until I see you safe in themidst of your family; besides, I have a bit of curiosity with regardto that wonderful old place of yours. "

"Oh, it's lost, the place is quite lost, " said Nora, remembering forthe first time since the blow had fallen the feather-bed conditionof Castle O'Shanaghgan. 

"Well, lost or found, I'd like to have a peep at it, " said Molly;"so fork out the spoil, Stephie, and be quick. "

"I will, of course, " said Stephanotie. "But how much do you want?"

"All you possess, my dear; you cannot give us more than all youpossess. "

"And when am I likely to have it back?"

"Oh, as if that mattered, " said Molly; "the thing is to get Norahome. You won't be any the worse for this, if that is what youmean. "

"Oh, I am not really thinking of that; but my school fees have to bepaid, and the money only came from America two days ago for thepurpose. You know Aunt Vi is very poor. "

"Poor or rich, don't keep us waiting now, " said Molly. "Look atNora. Do you think for a single moment that your school bills matterwhen her heart is breaking?"

"And you shall have the money back, Stephie, every farthing, if Idie to get it for you, " said Nora with sudden passion. 

"I don't doubt you, darling, " said the generous-hearted Americangirl. "Well, I'll go up to my room and see what I can do. " She leftthe room, ran upstairs, and quickly returned with a fat purse. Itcontained gold and notes; and very soon Molly found, to her infinitedelight, that it would be by no means necessary for her and Nora totake all Stephie's wealth. 

"Ten pounds will be sufficient, " said Molly. "I have not theslightest idea what the fares to Ireland are, but I have no doubt weshall do nicely with this sum. May we have these two five-poundsnotes, Stephie?"

"You may and welcome, " said Stephanotie. "I have nearly thirty poundshere; but it's on account of the school bills. As a rule, poppa is notquite so generous. He says it is better for young girls like me not tohave too much money. I guess I'd eat too many bon-bons if I had a lotof money at my disposal. But had you not better take it in gold? It ismuch easier to change. "

"To be sure, " said Molly. "Holy Moses! it's you that have got thesense, Stephie. "

"Thank you for the compliment, " replied Stephanotie. "Well, then, here you are--ten sovereigns. Good luck to you both. What do youmean to do?"

"Go to the station and find out about the trains, and start the veryfirst moment possible, " said Molly. 

"I do wish I was going with you. It would be no end of a lark. "

"Why don't you come?" asked Molly. 

"I wish I might; but there, I suppose I had better not. I must lookperfectly innocent to-morrow, or I may get into an awful scrape forthis. You must both go now, or Aunt Vi when she turns in her sleepmay wake. She turns in her sleep about three times during the night;and whenever she turns she wakes, so she tells me. I guess it'sabout time for her first turn now, so the sooner you are off thebetter. "

"Oh, thank you, Stephie! I shall never, never forget your kindness, "said Nora. She flung her arms impulsively round Stephanotie's neck, and the next moment the girls left the house. 

CHAPTER XXVII. 

ADVENTURES--AND HOME AGAIN. 

The girls now went straight to the railway station; the hour was aquarter to twelve. They entered and asked at once if there was a trainup to town. Yes; the last train would be due in ten minutes. Mollynow took the management of affairs; she purchased a third-classticket for herself and another for Nora. 

"If we go third-class we shall not be specially remarked, " she said. "People always notice girls who travel first-class. "

The tickets being bought, the girls stood side by side on theplatform. Molly had put on her shabbiest hat and oldest jacket; hergloves had some holes in them; her umbrella was rolled up in such athick, ungainly fashion that it looked like a gamp. Nora, however, exquisitely neat and trim, stood by her companion's side, betrayingas she did so traces of her good birth and breeding. 

"You must untidy yourself a bit when we get into the train, " saidMolly. "I'll manage it. "

"Oh, never mind about my looks; the thing is to get off, " said Nora. "I'm not a scrap afraid, " she added; "if Aunt Grace came to me nowshe could not induce me to turn back; nothing but force would makeme. I have got the money, and to Ireland I will go. "

"I admire you for your determination, " said Molly. "I never knewthat an Irish girl could have so much spunk in her. "

"And why not? Aren't we about the finest race on God's earth?"

"Oh, come, come, " said Molly; "you mustn't overdo it. Even yousometimes carry things a trifle too far. "

Just then the train came in. There was the usual bustle ofpassengers alighting and others getting in; the next moment thegirls had taken their seats in a crowded compartment and were off totown. They arrived in London between twelve and one o'clock, andfound themselves landed at Waterloo. Now, Waterloo is not the niceststation in the world for two very young girls to arrive at midnight, particularly when they have not the faintest idea where to go. 

"Let us go straight to the waiting room and ask the woman there whatwe had best do, " said Molly, who still immensely enjoyed taking thelead. 

Nora followed her companion quite willingly. Her worst fears abouther father were held in abeyance, now that she was really on her wayto him. The girls entered the waiting room. A tired-looking womanwas busy putting out the gas, and reducing the room to darkness forthe night. She turned round as the girls came in. 

"I'm shutting up, ladies, " she said. 

"Oh, but please advise us, " said Molly. 

"How so, miss? What am I to do?"

"You'll be paid well, " said Molly, "so you need not look so angry. Can you take us home to your place until the morning?"

"What does this mean?" said the woman. 

"Oh, I'll explain, " said Molly. "We're two runaways. I don't mindtelling you that we are, because it's a fact. It is important thatwe should leave home. We don't want to be traced. Will you give uslodging?--any sort. We don't mind how small the room is. We want tobe at Euston at an early hour in the morning; we are going toHolyhead. "

"Dear, dear!" said the woman; "and does this really mean money?"

"It means five shillings, " said Molly. 

"Ten" was on Nora's lips; but Molly silenced her with a look. 

"There's no use in overpaying her; she won't be half as civil, "whispered Molly to Nora. 

"It's five shillings you'll get, " she repeated in a firm voice. "Here, I have got the change; you can look in my purse. "

"Molly opened her purse as she spoke. The woman, a Mrs. Terry by name, did look in. She saw the shine of gold and several half-crowns. 

"Well, to be sure!" she said. "But you'll promise not to get me intoa scrape?"

"We won't even ask you your name. You can let us out of the house intime for us to catch the first train from Euston. We shall be offand away before we are discovered. "

"And we'll remember you all our lives if you'll help us, " said Nora. Then she added, tears filling her pretty eyes, "It's my father, please, kind woman; he has been shot at and is very ill. "

"And who wants to keep you from your father, you poor thing?" saidthe woman. "Oh, if it's that, and there's no lovers in the question, I don't mind helping you both. It don't do for young girls to bewandering about the streets alone at night. You come with me, honeys. I can't take you for nothing, but I'll give you supper andbreakfast, and the best bed I can, for five shillings. "

Accordingly, in Mrs. Terry's company, the two girls left WaterlooStation. She walked down a somewhat narrow side-street, crossed another, and they presently found themselves in a little, old-fashioned square. The square was very old indeed, belonging to quite a dead-and-goneperiod of the world. The woman stopped at a house which once had beenlarge and stately; doubtless in days gone by it had sheltered goodlypersonages and had listened to the laughter of the rich and well-to-do;but in its old age the house was let out in tenements, and Mrs. Terryowned a couple of rooms at the very top. 

She took the girls up the dirty stairs, opened the door of a notuncomfortable sitting room, and ushered them in. 

"There now, honeys, " she said; "the best I can do for you both isthe sofa for one and my bed for the other. "

"No, no, " said Nora, "we would not dream of taking your bed; and, for that matter, I could not sleep, " she added. "If you will let mehave a couple of chairs I shall lie down on them and wait as best Ican until the morning. Oh, I have often done it at home and thoughtit great fun. "

"Well, you must each have a bit of supper first; it don't do foryoung girls to go to bed hungry, more particularly when they have ajourney before them. I'll get you some bread and cheese and a glassof milk each--unless, indeed, you would prefer beer?"

"Oh, no, we would much rather have milk, " said Molly. 

The woman bustled about, and soon came in with a jug of milk, acouple of glasses, some bread, and some indifferent butter. 

"You can have the cheese if you really want it, " she said. 

"No; this will do beautifully, " answered Nora. 

"Well then, my dears, I'll leave you now for the night. The lampwill burn all night. It will be lonely for young girls to be in thedark; and I'll promise to call you at five o'clock. There's a trainleaves Euston between six and seven that you had better catch, unless you want them as is hindering you from flight to stop you. Iam interested in this poor young lady who wants to see her father. "

"Oh, thank you; you are a perfect darling!" said Nora. "I'll comeand see you some day when I am happy again, and tell you all aboutit. "

"Bless your kind heart, honey! I'm glad to be able to do somethingfor those who are in trouble. Now then, lie down and have a bit ofsleep. I'll wake you sure and certain, and you shan't stir, the twoof you, until you have had a hot cup of tea each. "

Mrs. Terry was as good as her word. She called the girls in goodtime, and gave them quite a comfortable breakfast before theystarted. The tea was hot; the bread was good--what else did theywant?

Nora awoke from a very short and broken slumber. 

"Soon I shall be back again, " she thought. "No matter how changedand ruined the place is, I shall be with him once more. Oh, mydarling, my heart's darling, I shall kiss you again! Oh! I am happyat the thought. "

Mrs. Terry herself accompanied them to Euston. It was too early toget a cab; she asked them if they were good walkers. They said theywere. She took them by the shortest routes; and, somewhat tired, butstill full of a strange exultation, they found themselves at thegreat station. Mrs. Terry saw them into their train, and with manyloudly uttered blessings started them on their journey. She wouldnot touch anything more than the five shillings, and tears were inher eyes as she looked her last at them. 

"God bless them, and particularly that little Irish girl. Haven'tshe just got the cunningest, sweetest way in all the world?" thoughtthe good woman. "I do hope her father will be better when she getsto him. Don't she love him just!"

Yes, it had been the most daring scheme, the wildest sort ofadventure, for two girls to undertake, and yet it was crowned withsuccess. They were too far on their journey for Mrs. Hartrick, however much she might wish it, to rescue them. She might be asangry as she pleased; but nothing now could get them back. Sheaccordingly did the very best thing she could do--telegraphed to Mr. Hartrick to say that they had absolutely run away, but begged of himto meet them in Dublin. This the good man did. He met them both onthe pier, received them quietly, without much demonstration; butthen, looking into Nora's anxious face, his own softened. 

"You have come, Nora, and against my will, " he said. "Are yousorry?"

"Not a bit, Uncle George, " she answered. "I would have come againstthe wills of a thousand uncles if father were ill. "

"Then I have nothing to say, " he answered, with a smile, "at leastto you; but, Molly, I shall have something to talk to you aboutpresently. "

"It was very good of you to meet us, father. Was mother terriblyangry?"

"What could you expect her to be? You have behaved very badly. "

"I don't think so. I did the only possible thing to save Nora'sheart from breaking. "

"It seems to me, " said Mr. Hartrick slowly, "that you all think ofnothing but the heart of Nora. I am almost sorry now that I everasked her to come to us in England. "

"Oh, it's home again; it's home again!" cried the Irish girl as shepaced up and down the platform. "Molly, do listen to the brogue. Isn't it just delicious? Come along, and let's talk to this poor oldIrish beggar. "

"Oh, but he doesn't look at all pleasant, " said Molly, backing alittle. 

"Bless the crayther, but he is pleasant, " said Nora. "I must go andhave a chat with him. " She caught hold of Molly's hand, and draggedher to the edge of the pavement, where an old man, with almost blindeyes, was seated in front of a large basket of rosy apples. 

"And how are you this morning, father?" said Nora. 

"Oh, then, it's the top of the morning to yez, honey, " was theinstant reply. "And how is yourself?"

"Very well indeed, " said Nora. 

"Then it's I that am delighted to see yez, though see yez I can't. Oh, then, I hope that it's a long life and plenty you'll have beforeyou, my sweet, dear, illigant young lady--a good bed to lie on, andplenty to eat and drink. If you has them, what else could ail yez?Good-by to yez; good-by to yez. "

Nora slipped a couple of pence into his hand. 

"The blessings of the Vargin and all the Saints be on your head, miss. Oh! it's I that am glad to see yez. God's blessing on yez athousand times. "

Nora took the old man's hand and wrung it. He raised the whitelittle hand to his lips and kissed it. 

"There now, " he said, "I have kissed yez; and these lips shan't seewather again for many a long day--that they shan't. I wouldn't washoff the taste of your hand, honey, for a bag of yellow gold. "

"What an extraordinary man!" said Molly. "Have you known him allyour life?"

"Known him all my life!" said Nora. "Never laid eyes on him before;that's the way we always talk to one another. Oh, I can tell you welove each other here in Ireland. "

"It seems so, " answered Molly, in some astonishment. "Dear me! ifyou address a total stranger so, how will you speak to those youreally love?"

"You wait and see, " answered Nora, her dark-blue eyes shining, and amist of tears dimming their brightness; "you wait and see. Ah, it'spast words we are sometimes; but you wait and you'll soon see. "

Mr. O'Shanaghgan was pronounced better, although Mr. Hartrick had toadmit that he was weak and fretful; and, now that Nora had come, itwas extremely likely that her presence would do her father a sightof good. 

"I knew it, Uncle George, " she answered as they seated themselves inthe railway carriage preparatory to going back to O'Shanaghgan--"Iknew it, and that was why I came. You, uncle, are very wise, " sheadded; "and yours is a beautiful, neat, orderly country; and you arevery kind, and very clever; and you have been awfully good to theIrish girl--awfully good; and she is very ignorant; and you know agreat deal; but one thing she does know best, and that is, the loveand the longing in the heart of her own dear father. Oh, hurrah! I'mhome again; I'm home again! Erin go bragh! Erin go bragh!"

CHAPTER XXVIII. 

THE WILD IRISH. 

The somewhat slow Irish train jogged along its way; it never putitself out, did that special train, starting when it pleased, andarriving when it chose at its destination. Its guard, Jerry by name, was of a like mind with itself; there was no hurry about Jerry; hetook the world "aisy, " as he expressed it. 

"What's the good of fretting?" he used to say. "What can't be curedmust be endured. I hurry no man's cattle; and my train, she goeswhen she likes, and I aint going to hurry her, not I. "

On one occasion Jerry was known to remark to a somewhat belatedtraveler:

"Why, then, miss, is it hurrying ye are to meet the train? Why, then, you can take your time. "

"Oh, Jerry!" said this anxious person, fixing her eyes on his facein great excitement, "I forgot a most important parcel at a shophalf a mile away. "

"Run and fetch it, then, honey, " replied Jerry, "and I'll keep her abit longer. "

This the lady accordingly did. When she returned, the heads of allthe other angry passengers were out of the windows expostulatingwith Jerry as to the cause of the delay. 

"Hurry up, miss, " he said then. He popped her into a compartment, and she, as he called the train, moved slowly out of the station. 

At times, too, without the smallest provocation, Jerry would stopthis special train because a little "pigeen" had got off one of thetrucks and was running along the line. He and the porter shouted andraced after the animal, caught it, and brought it back to the train. On another occasion he calmly informed a rather important passenger, "Ye had best get out here, for she's bust. " "She" happened to be theengine. 

Into this train now got English Molly and Irish Nora. Mr. Hartrickpronounced it quite the vilest service he had ever traveled by. Hebegan to grumble the moment he got into the train. 

"It crawls, " he said; "and it absolutely has the cheek to callitself an express. "

But Nora, with her head out of the window, was shouting to Jerry, who came toward her full of blessings, anxious to shake her purtywhite hand, and telling her that he was as glad as a shower of gouldto have her back again in the old country. 

At last, however, the slow, very slow journey came to an end; andjust after sunset the party found themselves at the little waysidestation. Here a sight met Nora's eyes which displeased herexceedingly. Instead of the old outside car which her father used todrive, with the shabby old retainer, whose livery had long ago seenits best days, there arrived a smart groom, in the newest of livery, with a cockade in his hat. He touched his hat respectfully to Mr. Hartrick, and gave a quick glance round at Nora and Molly. 

"Is the brougham outside, Dennis?" was Mr. Hartrick's response. 

"Yes, sir; it has been waiting for half an hour; the train is a bitlate, as usual, sir. "

"You need not tell me that this train is ever in time, " said Mr. Hartrick. "Well, girls, come along; I told Dennis to meet us, andhere we are. "

Molly thought nothing at all of the neat brougham, with its pair ofspirited grays; she was accustomed to driving in the better-class ofcarriage all her life; but Nora turned first pale and then crimson. She got into the carriage, and sat back in a corner; tears werebrimming to her eyes. 

"This is the first. How am I to bear all the rest?" she said toherself. 

Mr. Hartrick, who had hoped that Nora would be pleased with thebrougham, with Dennis himself, with the whole very stylish get-up, was mortified at her silence, and, taking her hand, tried to drawher out. 

"Well, little girl, " he said, "I hope you will like the improvementsI have made in the Castle. I have done it all at your instigation, remember. "

"At my instigation?" cried Nora. "Oh, no, Uncle George, that youhave not. "

He looked at her in some amazement, then closed his lips, and saidnothing more. Molly longed to get her father alone, in order toexplain Nora's peculiar conduct. 

"It is difficult for an Englishman to understand her, " thoughtMolly. "I do, and I think her altogether charming; but father, whohas gone to this enormous expense and trouble, will be put out ifshe does not show a little gratitude. I will tell her that she must;I will take the very first opportunity. "

And now they were turning in at the well-known gates. These gateswere painted white, whereas they had been almost reduced to theirnative wood. The avenue was quite tidy, no weeds anywhere; but Noraalmost refused to look out. One by one the familiar trees seemed topass by her as she was bowled rapidly along in the new brougham, asif they were so many ghosts saying good-by. But then there was theroar--the real, real, grand roar--of the Atlantic in her ears. Noamount of tidiness, nothing could ever alter that sound. 

"Oh, hurrah for the sea!" she said. She flung down the window andpopped out her head. 

Mr. Hartrick nodded to Molly. "She will see a great deal more todelight her than just the old ocean, " he said. 

Molly was silent. They arrived at the house; the butler was standingon the steps, a nice, stylish-looking Englishman, in neat livery. Hecame down, opened the carriage door, let down the steps, and offeredhis arm to Nora to alight; but she pushed past him, bounded up thesteps, and the next moment found herself in her mother's arms. 

"How do you do, my dear Nora?" said Mrs. O'Shanaghgan. "I am glad tosee you, dear, but also surprised. You acted in your usualheadstrong fashion. "

"Oh, another time, mother. Mummy, how are you? I am glad to see youagain; but don't scold me now; just wait. I'll bear it all patientlyanother time. How is the dad, mummy?--how is the dad?"

"Your father is doing nicely, Nora; there was not the slightestoccasion for you to hurry off and give such trouble and annoyance. "

"I don't suppose I have given annoyance to father, " said Nora. "Where is he--in his old room?"

"No; we moved him upstairs to the best bedroom. We thought it thewisest thing to do; he was in considerable pain. "

"The best bedroom? Which is the best bedroom?" said Nora. "Yourroom, mummy?"

"The room next to mine, darling. And just come and have a look atthe drawing room, Nora. "

"I will go to father first, " said Nora. "Don't keep me; I can'tstay. "

She forgot Molly; she forgot her uncle; she even forgot her mother. In a moment she was bounding upstairs over those thick Axminstercarpets--those awful carpets, into which her feet sank--down acorridor, also heavily lined with Axminster, past great velvetcurtains, which seemed to stifle her as she pushed them aside, andthe next instant she had burst open a door. 

In the old days this room had been absolutely destitute offurniture. In the older days again it had been the spare room ofCastle O'Shanaghgan. Here hospitality had reigned; here guests ofevery degree had found a hearty welcome, an invitation to stay aslong as they pleased, and the best that the Castle could afford fortheir accommodation. When Nora had left O'Shanaghgan, the only thingthat had remained in the old room was a huge four-poster. Even themattress from this old bed had been removed; the curtains had beentaken from the windows; the three great windows were bare of bothblinds and curtains. Now a soft carpet covered the entire floor; aneat modern Albert bed stood in a recess; there were heavy curtainsto the windows, and Venetian blinds, which were so arranged as totemper the light. But the light of the sunset had already faded, andit was twilight when Nora popped her wild, excited little face roundthe door. 

In the bed lay a gaunt figure, unshaven, with a beard of a week'sgrowth. Two great eyes looked out of caverns, then two arms werestretched out, and Nora was clasped to her father's breast. 

"Ah, then, I have you again; may God be praised for all His mercies, "said the Squire in a great, deep hoarse voice. 

Nora lay absolutely motionless for nearly half a minute in his arms, then she raised herself. 

"Ah, " she said, "that was good. I hungered for it. "

"And I also hungered for it, my darling, " said the Squire. "Let melook at you, Light o' the Morning; get a light somehow, and let mesee your bonny, bonny, sweet, sweet face. "

"Ah, there's a fire in the grate, " said Nora. "Are there anymatches?"

"Matches, bedad!" said the Squire; "there's everything that'swanted. It's perfectly horrible. They are in a silver box, too, bedad! What do we want with it? Twist up a bit of paper, do, Nora, like a good girl, and light the glim the old way. "

Nora caught at her father's humor at once. She had already flung offher hat and jacket. 

"To be sure I will, " she said, "and with all the heart in theworld. " She tore a long strip from the local paper, which was lyingon a chair near by, twisted it, lit it in the fire, and then appliedit to a candle. 

"Only light one candle, for the love of heaven, child, " said theSquire. "I don't want to see too many of the fal-lals. Now then, that's better; bring the light up to the bed. Oh, what I havesuffered with curtains, and carpets, and---"

"It's too awful, father, " said Nora. 

"That's it, child. That's the first cheery word I have heard for thelast six weeks--too awful I should think it is. They are smotheringme between them, Nora. I shall never get up and breathe the free airagain; but when you came in you brought a breath of air with you. "

"Let's open the window. There's a gale coming up, We'll have someair, " said Nora. 

"Why, then, Light o' the Morning, they say I'll get bronchitis ifthe window is opened. "

"They! Who are they?" said Nora, with scorn. 

"Why, you wouldn't believe it, but they had a doctor down fromDublin to see me. I don't believe he had a scrap of real Irish bloodin him, for he said I was to be nursed and messed over, and gruelsand all kinds of things brought to my bedside--I who would haveliked a fine potato with a pinch of salt better than anything underthe sun. "

"You'll have your potato and your pinch of salt now that I am back, "said Nora. "I mean to be mistress of this room. "

The Squire gave a laugh. 

"Isn't it lovely to hear her?" he said. "Don't it do me a sight ofgood? There, open the window wide, Nora, before your mother comesin. Oh, your mother is as pleased as Punch, and for her sake I'dbear a good deal; but I am a changed man. The old times are gone, never to return. Call this place Castle O'Shanaghgan. It may besuitable for an English nobleman to live in, but it's not my style;it's not fit for an Irish squire. We are free over here, and wedon't go in for luxuries and smotherations. "

"Ah, father, I had to go through a great deal of that in England, "said Nora. "It's awful to think that sort of life has come here; butthere--there's the window wide open. Do you feel a bit of a breeze, dad?"

"To be sure I do; let me breathe it in. Prop me up in bed, Nora. They said I was to lie flat on my back, but, bedad! I won't now thatyou have come back. "

Nora pushed some pillows under her father, and sat behind him tosupport him, and at last she got him to sit up in bed with his faceturned to the wide-open window. 

The blinds were rattling, the curtains were being blown into theroom, and the soft, wild sound of the sea fell on his ears. 

"Ah, I'm better now, " he said; "my lungs are cleared at bit. You hadbest shut the window before your lady-mother comes in. And put thecandle so that I can't see the fal-lals too much, " he continued;"but place it so that I can gaze at your bonny face. "

"You must tell me how you were hurt, father, and where. "

"Bedad! then, I won't--not to-night. I want to have everything ascheerful as possible to-night. My little girl has come back--the joyof my heart, the light of my eyes, the top of the morning, and I'mnot going to fret about anything else. "

"You needn't--you needn't, " said Nora. "Oh! it is good to see youagain. There never was anybody like you in all the world. And youwere longing for Nora?"

"Now, don't you be fishing. "

"But you were--wern't you?"

"To be sure--to be sure. Here, then, let me grip hold of your littlehand. I never saw such a tiny little paw. And so they haven't made afine English lady of you?"

"No, not they, " said Nora. 

"And you ran away to see your old dad? Why, then, you have thespirit of the old O'Shanaghgans in you. "

"Horses would not have kept me from you, " said Nora. 

"I might have known as much. How I laughed when your mother broughtin the telegram from your Aunt Grace this morning! And weren't theyin a fuss, and wasn't your Uncle George as cross as he could be, andyour mother rampaging up and down the room until I said, 'If youwant to bring on the fever, you'll go on like that, Ellen; and thenshe went out, and I heard her talking to your uncle in the passage. Clap, clap went their tongues. I never knew anything like Englishpeople; they never talk a grain of anything amusing; that's theworst of it. Why, it's the truth I'm telling you, darling; I haven'thad a hearty laugh since you left home. I'll do fine now. When theywere out of the room didn't I give way! I gave two loud guffaws, that I did, when I thought of the trick you had played them. Ah, you're a true daughter of the old race!"

Nora nestled up to her father, squeezing his hand now and then, andlooking into his face. 

"We'll have a fine time to-morrow, and the next day, and the nextday, and the next, " she said. "Oh! I am determined to be near you. But isn't there one little place in the house left bare, father, where we can go and have a happy moment?"

"Never a square inch, " said the Squire, looking at her solemnly. "It's too awful; even the attics have been cleared out and put inorder, for the servants, forsooth! says your Uncle George. "

"What do we want so many retainers for? I am sure, now, if theywould take a good houseful of some of the poor villagers and plantthem up in those attics, there would be some sense in it. "

"Oh, Nora, couldn't we get a bit of a place just like the old place, all to ourselves?"

"I'll think it over, " said Nora; "we'll manage somehow. We can'tstand feather-beds for ever and ever, father. "

"Hark to her, " said the Squire; "you're a girl after my own heart, Light o' the Morning, and it's glad I am to see you, and to have youback again. "

CHAPTER XXIX. 

ALTERATIONS. 

While Nora and her father were talking together there came a soundof a ponderous gong through the house. 

"What's that?" said Nora, starting. 

"You may well ask 'What's that?'" replied the Squire. "It's thedinner-gong. There's dinner now in the evening, bedad! and up toseven courses, by the same token. I sat out one or two of them; but, bless my soul! I couldn't stand too much of that sort of thing. Youhad best go and put on something fine. Your mother dresses in velvetand silk and jewels for dinner. She looks wonderful; she is a veryfine woman indeed, is your mother. I am as proud as Punch of her;but, all the same, it is too much to endure every day. She isdressed for all the world as though she were going to a ball at theLord-Lieutenant's in Dublin. It's past standing; but you had best godown and join 'em, Norrie. "

"Not I. I am going to stay here, " said Nora. 

"No, no, darling pet; you had best go down, enjoy your dinner, andcome back and tell me about it. It will be fun to hear yourdescription. You mimic 'em as much as you like, Norrie; take 'emoff. Now, none of your coaxing and canoodling ways; off you go. Youshall come back later on, and tell me all about it. Oh, they arestiff and stately, and they'll never know you and I are laughing at'em up our sleeves. Now, be off with you. "

So, unwillingly, Nora went. In the corridor outside she met hercousin Molly. 

"Why, you haven't begun to dress yet, " said Molly; "and I'm goingdown to dinner. "

"Bother dress!" said Nora. "I am home again. Mother can't expect meto dress. " She rushed past her cousin. She was too excited to haveany sympathy then with English Molly. She ran up to her own room, and stood with a sense of dismay on the threshold. It had alwaysbeen a beautiful room, with its noble proportions and its splendidview; and it was now furnished exquisitely as well. 

Mrs. O'Shanaghgan had great taste. She had taken immense painswith Nora's room; had thought it all out, and got it papered andpainted after a scheme of color of her own. The furniture was oflight wood--the room was fit to be the bower of a gracious andlovely maiden; there were new books in the little bookcase hangingup by the bedside. Everything was new and everything was beautiful. There was no sense of bad taste about the room; it was furnishedharmoniously. 

Nora stood and gazed at it, and her heart sank. 

"Oh! it is kind of mother; it is beautiful, " she said to herself;"but am I never, never, never to lie down in the little old bedagain? Am I never to pour water out of the cracked old jug? Am Inever to look at myself in the distorted glass? Oh, dear! oh, dear!how I did love looking at myself in the old glass, which made onecheek much more swollen than the other, and one eyebrow went up aquarter of an inch above the other, and my mouth was a littlecrooked! It is perfectly horrid to know one's self all one's lifelong with a swollen cheek and a crooked mouth, and then seeclassical features without a scrap of fun in them. Oh, dear! But Isuppose I had best get ready. "

So Nora washed her face and hands, and ran downstairs. The diningroom looked heavy and massive, and the footman and the butlerattended noiselessly; and Mr. Hartrick at the foot of the table andMrs. O'Shanaghgan at the head looked as stately a pair as could befound in the length and breadth of the land. 

Molly, nicely dressed in her dinner-frock, was quite in keeping withthe elder pair; but wild Nora, still wearing her gray traveling-dress, felt herself out of place. Her cheeks were flushed with the excitementof seeing her father; her hair was wild and disarranged. Mrs. O'Shanaghgan looked at her all over with marked disapproval. 

"Why, she looks scarcely pretty, " thought the mother to herself. "How tired and fagged she appears! Dear, dear! if after all thetrouble I have gone to, Nora disappoints me in this way, life willreally not be worth living. "

But Mrs. O'Shanaghgan could scarcely suppress the joy which was nowfilling her life. She was the mistress of a noble home; she was atthe head of quite the finest establishment in the county. Alreadyall the best county folk had called upon her several times. 

It is sad to state that these great and rich people had ratherneglected the lady of the Castle during the last few years; but nowthat she drove about behind a pair of horses, that her house wasrefurnished, that wealth seemed to have filled all her coffers, shewas certainly worth attending to. 

"Now that you have come back, Nora, " said her mother in the courseof the meal, "I wish to say that I have several invitations for you, and that Molly can accept too. " She looked with kindness at Molly, who, if only Nora had been happy, would have thoroughly enjoyedherself. 

"I must show you the drawing room after dinner, my dear, " said hermother. "It is really a magnificent room. And I must also show youmy morning room, and the library, and your father's smoking room. "

"This is a splendid house, you know, Ellen, " said Mr. Hartrick tohis sister, "and pays for doing up. Why, a house like this in anyhabitable part of England would fetch a colossal fortune. "

Nora sighed and shrugged her shoulders. Molly glanced at her, andthe word "Jehoshaphat!" was almost trembling on her lips. She keptit back, however; she was wonderfully on her good behavior to-night. At last the long and dreary meal came to an end. Nora could scarcelysuppress her yawns of utter weariness. She began to think of nothingbut lying down, shutting her eyes, and going into a long anddreamless slumber. 

Mrs. O'Shanaghgan rose from the table and sailed out of the room. Afootman flung open the door for her, and Nora and Molly followed inher wake. 

"I'll be with you presently in the drawing room, Ellen, " said Mr. Hartrick to his sister; "but first of all I'll just go up and have asmoke with O'Shanaghgan. You found your father much better to-night, did you not, Nora?"

"I thought father looked very bad indeed, " said Nora. She could notadd another word; she went out into the hall. 

Mrs. O'Shanaghgan took her hand, squeezing it up in a tightpressure. 

"You ought not to speak in that tone to your uncle, " she said; "youcan never, never know all that he has done for us. He is thenoblest, the most generous, the best man in the world. "

"Oh, I know all that, mother; I know all that, " said Nora. She didnot add, "But for me he would never have done it. It was I whoinserted the thin edge of the wedge. " Her tone was gentle; hermother looked at her with a softening of her own face. 

"Well, dear, " she said, "your Uncle George has taken a great fancyto you. Notwithstanding your eccentricities, Nora--and they areconsiderable--he says you have the making of a fine girl. But come, we must not neglect your cousin. Come here, dear Molly; you and Norawill be interested in seeing what a beautiful place CastleO'Shanaghgan is now. "

Molly took hold of Nora's other hand, and they entered the drawingroom. It was lit with soft candles in many sconces; the blinds weredown; across the windows were drawn curtains of Liberty silk of thepalest, softest shade of rose. On the floor was a carpet of manysoft colors cunningly mingled. The walls were painted a paleartistic green, large mirrors were introduced here and there, andold family portraits, all newly framed, of dead and goneO'Shanaghgans, hung on the painted walls. There were new tables, knick-knacks--all the various things which constitute the drawingroom of an English lady. 

Nora felt for one brief, passionate, angry moment that she was backagain at The Laurels; but then, seeing the light in her mother'seyes, the pink flush of happiness on her cheeks, she restrainedherself. 

"It makes you happy, mummy, " she said, "and----"

"But what do you think of it, my darling?"

"It is a very beautiful room. "

"Ah! that is right. I thought my little wildflower would appreciateall these things when she came back again. Ah, Nora! you have been anaughty, wild imp; but your father was delighted when he heard whatyou had done. Of course I am terribly angry. "

"No, you are not, mummy; you are pleased to see me again. "

"I am glad to have you back, Nora; but as to being pleased, howcould I be? However, you can stay here for a fortnight or so nowthat you have come; and then, when your dear uncle leaves us, youand Molly can go back with him. "

Nora did not say anything; but a stubborn look came into her facewhich her mother knew of old. 

From the drawing room they went to the library, which had alsoundergone complete rejuvenation. The walls were laden with standardworks of different kinds; but some of the shelves were still empty. 

"The old books, your uncle says, were of great value, " said Mrs. O'Shanaghgan, "and he sent them all to Dublin to be rebound. Theyhave not come back yet. They are to be bound in old calf, and willsuit the rest of the room. Is it not a magnificent apartment?"

Nora said "Yes" in a somewhat dreamy voice. 

They then went to her mother's morning-room, and then on to theSquire's smoking-room. 

"They might at least have left this alone, " thought the girl. "Theymight at least have left this one room, where he could retire whenhe felt quite choked by all the furniture in the rest of the place. "

But even the Squire's smoking-room was changed into the smoking-roomof an English gentleman. There were deep easy-chairs covered withleather; there were racks for pipes, and great brass dogs before thefireplace; on the floor was a thick carpet. Nora felt as if shelonged to give it a savage kick. 

At last the terrible ordeal of going through the--to her, utterlyruined--house was over, and she and Molly found themselves alone. 

"I will go up to your father for a few minutes, " said Mrs. O'Shanaghgan, nodding to Nora. "You and your cousin will like tohave a chat; and then, my dears, I should recommend you both to goto bed as early as possible. "

When they were back again in the big drawing room Nora gave Molly awild look. 

"Come out, " she said; "at least out of doors the air is the same asof old. "

Molly caught up a shawl and wrapped it round her head; but Nora wentout just as she was. 

"You'll catch cold, " said English Molly. 

"I catch cold in my native land!" replied Irish Nora. "How littleyou know me! Oh, come, Molly, I am going to be wild; I am going togive way. "

They both stepped outside on the broad gravel sweep. The moon wasup, and it was shining over everything. In the moonlight CastleO'Shanaghgan looked very much as it had done before. The moon hadalways glorified the old place, and it glorified it still. Norastood and gazed around her; up to the tops of the mountains, withtheir dark summits clearly defined against the evening sky; acrossthe wide breadth of the Atlantic; over the thick plantations, thefields, and the huge trees in the background. 

"It's all the same, " she said, with a glad laugh; "thank God it isall the same. Even your father, Molly, cannot destroy the placeoutside, at least. "

"Oh Nora, it is such a lovely, lovely place!" said Molly. "Cannotyou be happy in it with its modern dress?"

"Happy, " said Nora, suddenly brought back to her sense of misery bythe word. "I am thankful that my father is not so ill; but--but youmust help, Molly. Promise that you will. "

"I am sure I'd do anything in the world, " said Molly. "I think Ihave been very good to-day. I have kept in my naughty words, Jehoshaphat and Moses and Elephants, and all the rest. What do youwant me to do, Nora?"

"We must get him out of that room, " said Nora. 

"Him? You mean your father?"

"Yes; he will never recover there. I have been thinking andthinking, and I'll have my plan ready by the morning; only you musthelp me. I'll get Hannah Croneen to come in, and we'll do it betweenus if you can help me. "

"But what is it?" said Molly. 

"I'll tell you in the morning; you wait and see. "

CHAPTER XXX. 

THE LION IN HIS CAGE. 

The Squire was better, and not better. He had received a very nastyflesh-wound in the thigh; but the bullet had been extracted. Therewas not the slightest clew to the identity of his would-be murderer. The Squire himself had said nothing. He had been found almostbleeding to death by the roadside; the alarm had been given, and interror and consternation his own tenants had brought him home. 

The Squire could have said a good deal, but he said nothing. Thepolice came and asked him questions, but he kept his lips closed. 

"I didn't see the man, " he said after a pause. "Somebody fired, ofcourse; but I can't tell who, for I saw no one; it was from behindthe hedge. Why the scoundrel who wanted to do for me didn't shoot alittle higher up puzzles me. But there, let it rest--let it rest. "

And the neighbors and the country had to let it rest, for there wasno evidence against anyone. Amongst those who came to inquire afterthe Squire was Andy Neil. He came often, and was full ofcommiseration, and loudly cursed the brute who had very nearly donefor his old landlord. But the neighbors had suspicions with regardto Andy, for he had been turned out of his cot in the mountains, andwas living in the village now. They scowled at him when he passed, and turned aside; and his own face looked more miserable than ever. Still, he came daily up to the big kitchen to inquire for theSquire. 

The doctor said there was no reason whatever why Mr. O'Shanaghganshould not get quite well. He was by no means old--not more thanfifty; there was not the slightest occasion for a break-down, andyet, to all appearance, a break-down there was. The Squire gotmorose; he hardly ever smiled; even Nora's presence scarcely drew ahearty guffaw from his lips. The doctors were puzzled. 

"What can be wrong?" they said. But Nora herself knew very well whatwas wrong. She and her father were the only ones who did know. Sheknew that the old lion was dying in captivity; that he wasabsolutely succumbing to the close and smothered life which he wasnow leading. He wanted the free air of his native mountains; hewanted the old life, now gone for ever, back again. 

"It is true the place is saved, Norrie, " he said once to hisdaughter, "and I haven't a word to say. I would be the mostungrateful dog in existence if I breathed a single word ofcomplaint. The place is saved; and though it nominally belongs nowto your Uncle George, to all intents and purposes it is my place, and he gives me to understand that at my death it goes to my boy. Yes, he has done a noble deed, and of course I admire himimmensely. "

"And so do I, father, " said Nora; but she looked thoughtful andtroubled; and one day, after she had been in her father's room forsome time, when she met her uncle in the avenue she spoke to him. 

"Well, my dear girl, " he said, "what about coming back with me toEngland when I go next week?"

"It is not to be thought of, Uncle George. How can I leave my fatherwhile he is ill?"

"That is true. I have been thinking about him. The doctors are alittle distressed at his growing weakness. They cannot quiteunderstand it. Tonics have been given to him and every imaginablething has been done. He wants for nothing; his nourishment is of thebest; still he makes no way. It is puzzling. "

"I don't think so, " said Nora. 

"What do you mean, my dear girl?"

"You might do all that sort of thing for an eagle, you know, " saidNora, raising her clear eyes and fixing them on her uncle's face. "You might give him everything in his prison, much more than he hadwhen he was free; but, all the same, he would pine and--and he woulddie. " Tears rose to the girl's eyes; she dashed them away. 

"My dear little Nora, I don't in the least see the resemblance, "said Mr. Hartrick, who felt, and perhaps justly, rather nettled. "You seem to imply by your words that I have done your father aninjury when I secured the home of his ancestors for him. "

"Oh, forgive me, Uncle George, " said Nora. "I don't really mean tosay anything against you, for you are just splendid. "

Mr. Hartrick did not reply; he looked puzzled and thoughtful. Nora, after a moment's silence, spoke again. 

"I am most grateful to you. I believe you have done what is best--atleast what you think best. You have made my mother very happy, andTerence will be so pleased; and the tenants--oh! they will get theirrights now, their cabins will be repaired, the roofs mended, thewindows put in fresh, the little gardens stocked for them. Oh, yes, you are behaving most generously. Anyone would suppose the placebelonged to you. "

"Which it does, " muttered Mr. Hartrick under his breath. 

"You have made a great many people happy, only somehow--somehow itis not quite the way to make my father happy, and it is not the wayto make me happy. But I have nothing more to say, except that Icannot leave my father now. "

"You must come to us after Christmas, then, " said Mr. Hartrick. "Imust go back next week, and I shall probably take Molly with me. "

"Oh! leave her with me here, " said Nora suddenly. "I do wish youwould; the air here is so healthy. Do let her stay, and then perhapsafter Christmas, when things are different, we might both go back. "

"Of course things will be different, " said Mr. Hartrick. "A newdoctor is coming to see your father next week, and he will probablychange the _régime_; he may order him fresh air, and beforelong we shall have him strong and well amongst us again. He hasabsolutely nothing wrong except----"

"Except that he has everything wrong, " said Nora. 

"Well, well, my dear child, I will think over your suggestion thatMolly should stay with you; and in the meantime remember that we areall coming to O'Shanaghgan for Christmas. "

"All of you!" said Nora in dismay. 

"Yes, all of us. Your aunt has never spent a real old-fashionedChristmas in her life, and I mean her to have it this year. I shallbring over some of our English habits to this place. We will roastan ox whole, and have huge bonfires, and all kinds of things, andthe tenantry shall have a right good time. There, Nora, you smile;that pleases you. "

"You are so kind, " she said. She clasped his hands in both of hers, and then turned away. 

"There never was anyone kinder, " thought the girl to herself; "butall the same he does not understand. " She re-entered the house andwent up to her father's room. 

The Squire was lying on his back. The days were now getting short, for November had begun. There was a big fire in the grate; theSquire panted in the hot room. 

"Just come in here, " he said to Nora. "Don't make much noise; lockthe door--will you, pet?"

Nora obeyed. 

"Now fling the window wide open; let me get a breath of air. "

Nora did open the window, but the air was moist and damp from theAtlantic, and even she, fearless as she was, hesitated when sheheard her father's cough. 

"There, child, there, " he said; "it's the lungs beginning to workproperly again. Now then, you can shut it up; I hear a step. ForHeaven's sake, Nora, be quick, or your mother may come in, and won'tshe be making a fuss! There, unlock the door. "

"But you are worse, father; you are worse. "

"What else can you expect? They don't chain up wild animals andexpect them to get well. I never lived through anything of this sortbefore, and it's just smothering me. "

Mrs. O'Shanaghgan entered the room. 

"Patrick, " she said, "would you like some sweetbread and a bit ofpheasant for your dinner?"

"Do you know what I'd like?" roared the Squire. "A great big mealypotato, with a pinch of salt. "

Mrs. O'Shanaghgan uttered a sigh, and the color rushed into her palecheeks. 

"Upon my word, " she said, "you are downright vulgar. "

The Squire gave a feeble guffaw. Nora's heart beat as she noticedhow feeble it was. She left the room, because she could not staythere another moment. The time had come to act. She had hesitatedlong, but she would hesitate no longer. She ran downstairs. Thefirst person she saw was Molly. 

"Well, " said Molly, "how is he?"

"Very bad indeed, " said Nora; "there's not a moment to lose. Something must be done, and quickly. "

"What can be done?"

"Come out with me; I have a thought in my head. "

Nora and Molly went outside. They crossed the avenue, went along theplantation at the back, and soon found themselves in the huge yardwhich flanked the back of the house. In a distant part of the yardwas a barn, and this barn Nora now entered. It was untidy; the doorsfitted badly; the floor was of clay. It was quite empty. 

Nora gave a sigh of relief. 

"I dreamed of this barn last night, " she said. "I think it is thevery place, "

"For what, Nora; for what?"

"I am going to have father moved here to-day. "

"Nora, what nonsense you are talking! You will kill him. "

"Save his life, you mean, " said Nora. "I am going to get a bedstead, a straw paillasse, and an old hard mattress, and I am going to havethem put here; and we'll get a bit of tarpaulin to put on the floor, to prevent the damp coming up; and I'll put a curtain across thiswindow so that he needn't have too much draught, the darling; andthere shall be nothing else in the room except a wooden table. Heshall have his potatoes and salt, and his bit of salt bacon, if hewishes, and he shall have his great big bare room. I tell you whatit is, Molly, he'll never get well unless he is brought here. "

"What a girl you are! But how will you do it?"

"Leave it to me. Do you mind driving with me on the outside car asfar as Cronane?"

"The outside car? I have never been on it yet. "

"Oh, come along; I'll introduce you to the sweetest conveyance inthe world. "

Nora's spirits rose at the thought of immediate action. 

"Won't it surprise and delight him?" she said. She went up to one ofthe grooms. He was an English groom, and was somewhat surprised atthe appearance of the young lady in the yard. 

"What can I do for you, miss?" he said. 

"I want Angus, " answered Nora. "Where is he?"

Angus was one of the few old Irish servants who were still left atCastle O'Shanaghgan. He now came forward in a sheepish kind of way;but when he saw Nora his face lit up. 

"Put one of the horses to the outside car at once--Black Bess if youcan, " said Nora. 

"Yes, miss, " said the man, "with all the pleasure in life. "

"Don't take it round to the front door. Miss Molly and I want todrive to Cronane. You needn't come with us, Angus; just put thehorse to, and I'll drive myself. "

Accordingly, in less than ten minutes' time the two girls weredriving in the direction of Cronane. Molly, brave as she was, hadsome difficulty in keeping on. She clung to the sides of the car andpanted. 

"Nora, as sure as Jehoshaphat and Elephants, I'll be flung out on tothe highroad!" cried Molly. 

"Sit easy and nothing will happen, " said Nora, who was seatedcomfortably herself at the other side and was driving with vigor. 

Presently they reached Cronane, which looked just as dilapidated asever. 

"Oh, the darling place! Isn't it a relief to see it?" said Nora. "Don'tI love that gate off its hinges! It's a sight for sore eyes--that itis. "

They dashed up the avenue and stopped before the hall door. 

Standing on the steps--where, indeed, he spent most of his time--andindulging in the luxury of an old church-warden pipe, was SquireMurphy. He raised a shout when he saw Nora, and ran down the stepsas fast as he could. 

"Why, my bit of a girl, it's good to see you!" he cried. "And who isthis young lady?"

"This is my cousin, Molly Hartrick. Molly, may I introduce you toSquire Murphy?"

"Have a grip of the paw, miss, " said Squire Murphy, holding out hisgreat hand and clasping Molly's. 

"And now, what can I do for you, Nora alannah? 'Tis I that am gladto see you. There's Biddy in the house, and the wife; they'll giveyou a hearty welcome, and no mistake. You come along right in, thepair of yez; come right in. "

"But I cannot, " said Nora. "I want to speak to you alone and atonce. Can you get one of the boys to hold the horse?"

"To be sure. Dan, you spalpeen! come forward this minute. Now then, hold Black Bess, and look alive, lad. Well, Nora, what is it?"

Molly stood on the gravel sweep, Nora and the Squire walked a fewpaces away. 

"It's this, " said Nora; "you haven't asked yet how father is. "

"But he is doing fine, they tell me. I see I'm not wanted atO'Shanaghgan; and I'm the last man in the world to go there when thecold shoulder is shown to me. "

"Oh! they would never mean that, " said Nora, in distress. 

"Oh, don't they mean it, my dear? Haven't I been up to the Castleday after day, and asking for the Squire with my heart in my mouth, and ready to sit by his side and to colleague with him about oldtimes, and raise a laugh in him, and smoke with him; and haven't Ibeen repelled?--the Squire not well enough to see me; madam herselfnot at home. Oh, I know their ways. When you were poor atO'Shanaghgan, then Squire Murphy was wanted; but now that you'rerich, Squire Murphy can go his own way for aught you care. "

"It is not true, Mr. Murphy, " said the girl, her bright blue eyesfilling with tears. "Oh!" she added, catching his hand impulsively, "don't I know it all? But it's not my father's fault; he would givethe world to see you--he shall see you. Do you know why he is ill?"

"Why so, Nora? Upon my word, you're a very handsome girl, Nora. "

"Oh, never mind about my looks now. My father is ill because--becauseof all the luxury and the riches. "

"Bedad, then, I'm glad to hear it, " said the Squire of Cronane. Heslapped his thigh loudly. "It's the best bit of news I have heardthis many a day; it surprised me how he could put up with it. Andit's killing him?"

"That's about it, " said Nora. "He must be rescued. "

"I'll do what I can, " said Squire Murphy. "Will you do this? Willyou this very day get out the long cart and have an old bedstead putinto it, and an old paillasse and an old mattress; and will you seethat it is taken over this very afternoon to O'Shanaghgan? I'll bethere, and the bedstead shall be put up in the old barn, and fathershall sleep in the barn to-night, and you and I, Squire, and HannahCroneen, and Molly, will help to move him while the rest of thefamily are at tea. "

The Squire stared at Nora so long after she had made these remarksthat she really thought he had taken leave of his senses; then heburst into a great loud laugh, clapped his hand to his side, andwrung Nora's until she thought he would wring it off. Then he turnedback to the house, walking so fast that Nora had to run after him. But she knew that she had found her ally, and that her father wouldbe saved. 

CHAPTER XXXI. 

RELEASE OF THE CAPTIVE. 

All Nora's wishes were carried into effect. The long cart was gotout. An old mattress was secured, also an old bedstead. The mattresshappened to be well aired, for, indeed, it was one on which theSquire himself had slept the previous night; but, as he remarked, hewould gladly give the bed from under him for the sake of his oldfriend O'Shanaghgan. 

Molly helped, also Biddy and Nora, in all the preparations, and atlast the three girls jumped upon the outside car and returned toO'Shanaghgan. Biddy felt that she was anything but welcome. She wascertainly not looking her best. Her dress was of the shabbiest, andher turned-up nose looked more celestial than ever. Molly was gazingat her just as if she were a sort of curiosity, and finally Biddyresented this close scrutiny, and turned to Nora, grasping her bythe hand. 

"Tell her, " said Biddy, "that it is very rude to stare in that sortof stolid way. If she were an Irish girl she would give a flashingglance and then look away again; but that way of staring full andstiff puts a body out. Tell her it is not true Irish manners. "

"Oh, Jehoshaphat!" exclaimed Molly, "I hear you both whisperingtogether. What is it all about? I am nearly wild trying to keepmyself on this awful car, and I know you are saying something not inmy favor. "

"We are that, " cried Biddy; "we are just wishing you would keep yourEnglish manners to yourself. "

Molly flushed rather indignantly. 

"I did not know that I was doing anything, " she said. 

"Why, then, " cried Biddy, "is it nothing when you are bringing theblushes to my cheeks and the palpitation to my heart; and is itnothing to be, as it were, exposed to the scorn of the English? Why, then, bedad! I have got my nose from the old Irish kings, from whomI am descended, as true as true. Blue is my blood, and I am as proudof my ancestry as if I was Queen Victoria herself. I see that youhave neat, straight features; but you have not got a scrap of royalblood in you--now, have you?"

"I don't think so, " answered Molly, laughing in spite of herself. "Well, if it offends you, I will try not to look at you again. "

The drive came to an end, and Nora entered the big, splendidlyfurnished hall, accompanied by Molly and Biddy. Mrs. O'Shanaghganhappened to be standing there. She came hurriedly forward. 

"My dear Nora, " she began, but then her eyes fell upon Biddy. Herbrows went up with a satirical action; she compressed her lips andkept back a sigh of annoyance. 

"How do you do, Miss Murphy?" she said. 

"I am fine, thank you kindly, ma'am, " replied Biddy; "and it issorry I am that I had not time to change my dress and put on thepink one with the elegant little flounces that my aunt sent me fromDublin. "

"Oh, your present dress will do very well, " said Mrs. O'Shanaghgan, suppressing an internal shudder at the thought of Biddy at therenovated Castle of O'Shanaghgan in her dirty pink dress with theflounces. 

"But, Miss Murphy, " she continued, "I am sorry that I cannot ask youto stay. The Squire is too unwell to admit of our having friends atpresent. "

"Oh, glory!" cried Biddy, "and how am I to get back again? Why, itwas on your own outside car that I came across country, and I cannotwalk all the way back to Cronane. Oh, but what a truly beautifulhouse! I never saw anything like it. Why, it is a sort of palace!"

Biddy's open admiration of the glories of O'Shanaghgan absolutelymade the good mistress of the mansion smile. Mrs. O'Shanaghgan feltthat Nora did not really care for the beautiful place--the grandlyfurnished rooms had brought no enthusiasm or delight to her heart. Nora had tried very hard to keep in her real feelings; but hermother was quite sharp enough to know what they were. There waslittle pleasure in taking a girl round rooms, corridors, andgalleries when she was only forcing herself to say pretty thingswhich she did not feel. Molly, of course, had always lived in abeautiful and well-furnished house; therefore there was nothingexciting in showing her the present magnificence of O'Shanaghgan, and half Mrs. O'Shanaghgan's pleasure was showing the place in itsnow regal state to her friends. Biddy's remark, therefore, was mostfortunate. Even wild, unkempt, untaught Irish Biddy was better thanno one. 

"I tell you what it is, " said the good lady, with quite a graciousexpression stealing over her features, "if you will promise to walksoftly, and not to make any loud remarks, I will take you throughthe suite of drawing rooms and the big dining room and my morningroom; but you must promise to be very quiet if I give you this greatpleasure. "

"And it is glad I'll be, and as mum as a mouse. I'll hold my handsto my heart, and keep in everything; but, oh, Mrs. O'Shanaghgan, ifI am fit to burst now and then, you will let me run to the windowand give a big sigh? It is all I'll ask, to relieve myself; butmum's the word for everything else. "

On these terms Mrs. O'Shanaghgan conducted her unwelcome guestthrough the rooms, and after a brief tour Biddy joined hercompanions in the yard. Nora was busy sweeping out the barn herself, and, with the aid of Hannah Croneen and Molly, was already beginningto put it to rights. Biddy was now free to join the otherconspirators, and the girls quickly became friends under theseconditions. 

Hannah proved herself a most valuable ally. She whisked about, dashing here and there, raising a whirlwind of dust, but, in Nora'sopinion, effecting wonders. Angus also was drawn into the midst ofthe fray. His delight and approval of Nora's scheme was almostbeyond bounds. 

"Ah, then, " he said; "it's this will do the masther good. Oh, then, Miss Nora, it's you that has the 'cute ways. "

A tarpaulin was found and laid upon the floor. From Hannah's cottagea small deal table was fetched. A washstand was given by Angus; acracked basin and jug were further secured; and Nora gave implicitdirections with regard to the boiling of the mealy potatoes and thelittle scrap of bacon on which the Squire was to sup. 

"You will bring them in--the potatoes, I mean--in their jackets, "said the Irish girl, "and have them hot as hot can be. "

"They shall screech, that they shall, " replied Hannah; "and thebacon, it shall be done as tasty and sweet as bacon can be. I'llgive the last bit of my own little pigeen, with all the heart in theworld, for the Squire's supper. "

Accordingly, when the long cart arrived from Cronane, accompanied bythe Squire and his factotum, Mike, the barn was ready to receive thebedstead, the straw paillasse, and the mattress. Nora managed toconvey, from the depths of the Castle, sheets, blankets, pillows, and a counterpane, and everything was in apple-pie order by the timethe family was supposed to assemble for afternoon tea. This was thehour that Nora had selected for having the Squire removed from hisfeather-bed existence to the more breezy life of the barn. It wasnow the fashion at O'Shanaghgan to make quite a state occasion ofafternoon tea. The servants, in their grand livery, were all well tothe fore. Mrs. O'Shanaghgan, dressed as became the lady of sobeautiful a place, sat in her lovely drawing room to receive herguests; and the guests came up in many conveyances--some incarriages, some on outside cars, some on dog-carts, some on foot;but, come as they would, they came, day after day, to show theirrespects to the lady whom now the whole country delighted to honor. 

On these occasions Mr. Hartrick sat with his sister, and helped herto entertain her visitors. It had been one of the sore pointsbetween Nora and her mother that the former would not appear toafternoon tea. Nora had made her sick father her excuse. On thepresent occasion she took good care not even to show her face insidethe house. But Molly kept watch, just behind the plantation, andsoon rushed into the yard to say that the carriages were beginningto appear. 

"A curious party have come just now, " said Molly, "in such a drollcarriage, with yellow wheels and a glass body. It looks like a sortof a Lord Mayor's coach. "

"Why, it must be the coach of the O'Rorkes, " cried Nora. "FancyMadam coming to see mother! Why, Madam will scarcely pay a visit toroyalty itself. There is no doubt that mother is thought a lot ofnow. Oh, dear, oh, dear, what a frightfully society life we shallhave to lead here in future! But I have no time to think of motherand her friends just now. Squire, will you come upstairs with me tosee father? Hannah, please wait down here to be ready to help?Angus, you must also come upstairs, and wait in the passage outsidethe Squire's room until I send for you. "

Having given her directions, Nora entered the house. All was quietand peaceful. The well trained English servants were, some of them, in the kitchen premises, and some of them attending in the hall anddrawing rooms, where the guests were now arriving thick and fast. Nora had chosen her hour well. She entered her father's room, accompanied by Squire Murphy. 

The old Squire was lying, half-dozing, in his luxurious bed. Thefire had been recently built up. The room felt close. 

"Ah, dear!" said Squire Murphy, "it is difficult to breathe here!And how's yourself, O'Shanaghgan, my man? Why, you do look drawn andpulled down. I am right glad to see ye, that I am. "

The Squire of Cronane grasped the hand of the Squire ofO'Shanaghgan, and the Squire of O'Shanaghgan looked up at the otherman's weather-beaten face with a pathetic expression in his deep-set, hawk-like, dark eyes. 

"I am bad, Murphy--very bad, " said the Squire; "it's killing me theyare amongst them. "

"Why, then, it looks like it, " said Squire Murphy. "I never was insuch a smotheration of a place before. Faix, then, why don't youhave the window open, and have a bit of air circulating through theroom?"

"It's forbid I am, " said the Squire. "Ah, Murphy! it's killing me, it's killing me. "

"But it shall kill you no longer, father, " said Nora. "Oh, father!Squire Murphy and I have made up such a lovely, delicious plan. Whatwould you say to a big, bare room again, father; and a hard bedagain, father; and potatoes and a pinch of salt and a little bit ofbacon again, father?"

"What would I say?" cried the Squire. "I'd say, glory be to Heaven, and all the Saints be praised; but it is too good luck to be true. "

"Not a bit of it, " said Squire Murphy; "it is going to be true. Youjust do what you are bid, and you will be in the hoight ofcontentment. "

The wonder-stricken Squire now had to listen to Nora's plan. 

"We have done it, " she cried, in conclusion; "the barn is ready. Itmakes a lovely bedroom; there are no end of draughts, and you'll getwell in a jiffy. "

"Then let's be quick, " said the Squire, "or your lady-mother will beup and prevent me. Hurry, Nora, for Heaven's sake! For the life ofme, don't give me a cup of cold water to taste, and then dash itfrom my lips. If we are not quick, we'll be caught and preventedfrom going. I am ready; wrap me up in a rug, and carry me out. I amready and willing. Good-by to feather bed-dom. I don't want ever tosee these fal-lals again. "

The next few moments were ones of intense excitement; but before tenminutes had elapsed the Squire was lying in the middle of the hardbed, gazing round him with twinkling eyes and a smile on his lips. The appearance of Hannah Croneen, with a dish of steaming potatoesand a piece of boiled bacon, was the final crown to his rapture. 

CHAPTER XXXII. 

ANDY. 

Are there any words in the language to describe the scene which tookplace at O'Shanaghgan when Mrs. O'Shanaghgan discovered what Norahad done? She called her brother to her aid; and, visiting the barnin her own august person, her company dress held neatly up so as todisplay her trim ankles and pretty shoes, solemnly announced thather daughter Nora was guilty of the murder of her own father, andthat she, Mrs. O'Shanaghgan, washed her hands of her in the future. 

"Yes, Nora, " said the irate lady, "you can go your own way from thistime. I have done all that a mother could do for you; but yourwildness and insubordination are past bearing. This last and finalact crowns all. The servants shall come into the barn, and bringyour poor father back to his bedroom, and you shall see nothing ofhim again until the doctor gives leave. Pray, George, " continuedMrs. O'Shanaghgan, "send one of the grooms at once for DoctorTalbot. I doubt if my poor husband has a chance of recovery afterthis mad deed; but we must take what steps we can. "

"Now, look here, Ellen, " said the Squire; "if you can't be aisy, beas aisy as you can. There's no sort of use in your putting on thesehigh-falutin airs. I was born an Irishman. I opened my eyes on thisworld in a good, sharp draught, and, if I am to die, it's in a draughtI'll leave the world; but, once for all, no more smotherations for me. I've had too much of 'em. You say this child is likely to be the deathof me. Why, then, Ellen--God forgive yer ignorance, my poor wife--butit's the life of me she'll be, not the death. Isn't it in comfort I'mlying for the first time since that spalpeen behind the hedge triedto fell me to the earth? Isn't it a good meal I've just had?--potatoesin their jackets, and a taste of fat bacon; and if I can wash it down, as I mean to later on, with a drop of mountain-dew, why, it's wellI'll slumber to-night. You're a very fine woman, me lady, and I'mproud as Punch of you, but you don't know how to manage a wildIrishman when he is ill. Now, Nora, bless her pretty heart, saw rightthrough and through me--the way I was being killed by inches; the hotroom and the horrid carpets and curtains; and the fire, not even madeof decent turf, but those ugly black coals, and never a draughtthrough the chamber, except when I took it unbeknownst to you. Ah, Nora guessed that her father was dying, and there was no way of savinghim but doing it on the sly. Well, I'm here, the girleen has managedit, and here I'll stay. Not all the doctors in the land, nor all thefine English grooms, shall take me back again. I'll walk back whenI'm fit to walk, and I'll do my best to bear all that awful furniture;but in future this is my bedroom, and now you know the worst. "

The Squire had a great color in his face as he spoke; his eyes wereshining as they had not shone since his accident, and his voice wasquite strong. Squire Murphy, who was standing near, clapped him onthe shoulder. 

"Why, Patrick, " he said, "it's proud of you I am; you're like yourold self again--blest if you're not. "

Nora, who was kneeling by her father's bed, kept her face slightlyturned away from her mother; the tears were in her eyes, but therewas a well of thanksgiving in her heart. In spite of her mother'sangry reproaches, she knew she had done the right thing. Her fatherwould get well now. After all, his Irish daughter knew what hewanted, and she must bear her English mother's anger. 

In an incredibly short space of time two or three of the men-servantsappeared, accompanied by Dr. Talbot. They stood in the entrance tothe barn, prepared to carry out orders; but now there stole past themthe Irish groom, Angus, and Hannah Croneen. These two came and stoodnear Nora at the head of the bed. Dr. Talbot examined the patient, looked round the cheerless barn, and said, with a smile, glancingfrom Mrs. O'Shanaghgan to O'Shanaghgan's own face:

"This will never do; you must get back to your own comfortable room, my dear sir--that is, if I am to continue to attend you. "

"Then, for God's sake, leave off attending me, Talbot, " said theSquire. "You must be a rare ignoramus not to see that your treatmentis killing me out and out. It's fresh air I want, and plenty of it, and no more fal-lals. Is it in my grave you'd have me in afortnight's time? You get out of this, and leave me to Mother Natureand the nursing of my Irish colleen. "

This was the final straw. Mrs. O'Shanaghgan left the barn, lookingmore erect and more stately even than when she had entered it. Mr. Hartrick followed her, so did the enraged Dr. Talbot, and lastly theEnglish servants. Squire Murphy uttered the one word, "Routed!" andclapped his hand on his thigh. 

The Squire, however, spoke sadly. 

"I am sorry to vex your lady mother, Nora, " he said; "and upon mysoul, child, you must get me well as quick as possible. We mustprove to her that we are in the right--that we must. "

"Have a dhrop of the crayther, your honor, " said Hannah, now comingforward. "It's truth I'm telling, but this is me very last bottle ofpotheen, which I was keeping for me funeral; but there, his honor'swilcome to every drain of it. "

"Pour me out a little, " said the Squire. 

He drank off the spirit, which was absolutely pure and unadulterated, and smacked his lips. 

"It's fine I'll be to-night, " he said; "it's you that have the 'cuteways, Nora. You have saved me. But, indeed, I thank you all, myfriends, for coming to my deliverance. "

That night, in her smoke-begrimed cabin, Hannah Croneen describedwith much unction the way madam and the English doctor had been madeto know their place, as she expressed it. 

"'Twas himself that put them down, " said Hannah. "Ah, but he is agrand man, is O'Shanaghgan. "

Mrs. O'Shanaghgan spent a very unhappy night. No comfort could shederive even from Mr. Hartrick's words. Nora was an out-and-outrebel, and must be treated accordingly; and as to the Squire--well, when Nora attended his funeral her eyes might be opened. The goodlady was quite certain that the Squire would have developedpneumonia by the morning; but when the reports reached her that helooked heartier and better than he had since his illness, she couldscarcely believe her ears. This, however, was a fact, for MotherNature did step in to cure the Squire; and the draughty barn, withits lack of every ordinary comfort, was so soothing to his soul thatit began to have an equally good effect upon his body. 

Notwithstanding that it poured rain outside, and that great eddiesof wind came from under the badly-fitting doors and in at the cracksof the small windows, the Squire ate his food with appetite, andbegan once again to enjoy life. In the first place, he was no longerlonely. It was impossible for his old friends and retainers to visithim in the solitude of his grand bedroom; but it was perfectly easy, not only for Squire Murphy and Squire Fitzgerald, and half the othersquireens of the neighborhood, to slip into the barn and have a"collogue, " as they expressed it; but also the little gossoons intheir ragged trousers and bare feet, and the girleens, with theircurly hair, and roguish dark-blue eyes, to scuttle in also. Forcould they not dart under the bed like so many rabbits if madam'sstep was heard, and didn't the Squire, bless him! like to have themwith him when madam was busy with her English friends? Then Noraherself, the darling of his heart, was scarcely ever away from himnow. Didn't she sit perched like a bird on the foot of the hard bedand cause him to roar with laughter as she described the English andtheir ways? Molly, too, became a prime favorite with the Squire. Itis sad to relate that he encouraged her in her naughty words, andshe began to say "Jehoshaphat!" and "Elephants!" and "Holy Moses!"more frequently than ever. 

The grand fact of all, however, was this: the Squire was gettingwell again. 

About a week after his removal to the barn Nora was out rather lateby herself. She had been visiting her favorite haunts by theseashore, and was returning laden with seaweeds and shells, when shewas startled by hearing her name spoken in a low tone just behindher. The sound issued from a plantation of thick underwood. The girlpaused, and her heart beat a little faster. 

"Yes. What is it?" she said. 

The next moment a long and skinny hand and arm were protruded, Nora's own arm was forcibly taken possession of, and she wasdragged, against her will, into the underwood. Her first impulse wasto cry out; but being as brave a girl as ever walked, she quicklysuppressed this inclination, and turned and faced the ragged andstarved-looking man whom she expected to meet. 

"Yes, Andy, I knew it was you, " said Nora. "What do you want with menow? How dare you speak to me?"

"How dare I! What do you mane by that, Miss Nora?"

"You know what I mean, " answered the girl. "Oh, I have been patientand have not said a word; but do you think I did not know? When allthe country, Andy Neil, were looking for my father's would-bemurderer, I knew where I could put my hand on him. But I did not saya word. If my father had died I must--I must have spoken; but if herecovered, I felt that in me which I cannot describe as pity, butwhich yet prevented my giving you up to the justice you deserve. Butto meet me here, to dare to waylay me--it is too much. "

"Ah, when you speak like that you near madden me, " replied Andy. "Look at me, Miss Nora; look well; look hard. Here's the skin tighton me arums, and stretched fit to burst over me cheek-bones; andit's empty I am, Miss Nora, for not a bite nor sup have I tasted fortwenty-four hours. The neighbors, they 'as took agen me. It has gotwhispering abroad that it's meself handled the gun that laid theSquire on what might have been his deathbed, and they have turnedagen me, and not even a pitaty can I get from 'em, and I can't getwork nowhere; and the roof is took off the little bit of a cabin inwhich I was born, and two of the childers have died from cowld andhunger. That's my portion, Miss Nora; that's my bitter portion; andyet you ashk me, miss, why I spake to ye. "

"You know why I said it, " answered Nora. "There was a time when Ipitied you, but not now. You have gone too far; you have done thatwhich no daughter can overlook. Let me go--let me go; don't attemptto touch me, or I shall scream out. There are neighbors near whowill come to my help. "

"No, there are not, " said Andy. "I 'as took good care of that. Youmay scream as loud as you please, but no one will hear; and if we gofarther into the underwood no one will see. Come, my purty miss;it's my turn now. It's my turn at last. Come along. "

Nora was strong and fearless, but she had not Andy's brute strength. With a clutch, now so fierce and desperate that she wondered her armwas not broken, the man, who was half a madman, dragged her deeperinto the shade of the underwood. 

"There now, " said Andy, with a chuckle of triumph; "you has got tolisten. You're the light o' his eyes and the darlin' o' his heart. But what o' that? Didn't my childer die of the cowld and the hunger, and the want of a roof over them, and didn't I love them? Ah! that Idid. Do you remember the night I said I'd drown ye in the Banshee'spool, and didn't we make a compact that if I let ye go you'd get theSquire to lave me my bit of a cabin, and not to evict me? And howdid ye kape your word? Ah, my purty, how did ye kape your word?"

"I did my best for you, " said Nora. 

"Yer bhest. A poor bhest when I've had to go. But now, Miss Nora, Iaint waylaid you for nothin'. The masther has escaped this time, andyou has escaped; but as shure as there is a God in heav'n, if youdon't get Squire to consint to let me go back, there'll be mischief. There now, Miss Nora, I've spoken. You're purty, and you're swate, and 'tis you has got a tinder heart; but that won't do you no good, for I'm mad with misery. It's me bit of a cabin I want to die in, and nothing less will contint me. You may go back now, for I've saidwhat I come to say; but it's to-morrow night I'll be here waitingfor ye, and I warn ye to bring me the consint that I crave, for ifyou don't come, be the powers! ye'll find that you've played withfire when you neglected Andy Neil. "

Having uttered these words, the miserable man dropped Nora's arm andvanished into the depths of the plantation. Nora stood still for amoment, then returned thoughtfully and slowly to the house. 

CHAPTER XXXIII. 

THE CABIN ON THE MOUNTAIN. 

Nora slept little that night. She had a good deal to think of, andvery anxious were her thoughts. She knew the Irishman, Andy Neil, well, and she also knew his ferocious and half-savage temperament. Added to his natural fierceness of character, he now undoubtedly waspossessed by temporary insanity. This had been brought on by hunger, cold, and great misery. The man was desperate, and would thinklittle of desperate deeds. After all, his life was of small value tohim compared to his revenge. Whenever did an Irishman, at momentslike the present, consider life? Revenge came first, and there wasthat in the man's gleaming dark eyes, in his high cheek-bones, inhis wild, unkempt, starved appearance, which showed that he would, if something was not quickly done, once again attempt the Squire'slife. What was she to do? Nora wondered and wondered. Her father wasgetting better; the open air treatment, the simple food, and thecompany of his friends were effecting the cure which the luxuriouslife in the heavily furnished chamber had failed to do. The Squirewould soon be well and strong again. If he were careful, he wouldonce again stand in health and strength on his ancestral acres. 

He would get accustomed to the grandeur of the restored CastleO'Shanaghgan; he would get accustomed to his English relatives andtheir ways. He would have his barn to retire to and his friends totalk to, and he would still be the darling, the best-loved of all, to his daughter Nora; but at the present moment he was in danger. Inthe barn, too, he was in much greater danger than he had been whenin the safe seclusion of the Castle. It would be possible for anyone to creep up to the barn at night, to push open the somewhatfrail windows or equally frail door, and to accomplish that deedwhich had already been attempted. Nora knew well that she must act, she must do something--what, was the puzzle. Squire O'Shanaghgan wasone of the most generous, open-hearted, and affectionate of men. Hisgenerosity was proverbial; he was a prime favorite with his tenants;but he had, like many another Irishman of his type, a certain hardphase in his character--he could, on occasions, be almost cruel. Hehad taken a great dislike to Andy Neil and to some other tenants ofhis class; he had been roused to stronger feeling by their openresistance, and had declared that not all the Land Leagues inIreland, not all the Fenians, not all the Whiteboys, were theybanded together in one great insurrection, should frighten him fromhis purpose. 

Those tenants who defied him, who refused to pay the scanty rentwhich he asked for their humble cabins, should go out; they should, in short, be evicted. The other men had submitted to the Squire'siron dictation. They had struggled to put their pence and shillingstogether, and with some difficulty had met the question of the rent;but Andy Neil either could not or would not pay; and the Squire hadgot the law, as he expressed it, to evict the man. There had come aday when the wild tenant of the little cabin on the side of the baremountain had come home to find his household goods exposed to theairs of heaven, the roof off his cabin, the door removed from itshinges; the hearth, it is true, still warm with the ashes of thesods of turf which were burning there in the morning, but the wholehome a ruin. The Squire had not himself witnessed this scene ofdesolation, but had given his stern orders, and they had beenexecuted by his agent. When Andy saw the ruins of his home he gaveone wild howl and rushed down the side of the mountain. His sickchildren--there were two of them in the cabin at the time--had beentaken pity on by some neighbors almost as poor as himself; but theshock (or perhaps their own bad health) had caused the death of bothboys, and the man was now homeless and childless. No wonder hisbrain gave way. He vowed vengeance. Vengeance was the one last thingleft to him in life; he would revenge his wrongs or die. So, waitinghis opportunity, he had crouched behind a hedge, and, with an oldgun which he had stolen from a neighbor, had fired at the Squire. Inthe crucial moment, however, his hand shook, and the shot hadlodged, not in the Squire's body, but in his leg, causing a nastybut scarcely a dangerous wound. The only one in all the world whosuspected Andy was the Squire's daughter Nora; but it was easy forher to put two and two together. The man's words to her in the cave, when he threatened to drown her, returned to her memory. Shesuspected him; but, with an Irish girl's sympathy, she would notspeak of her suspicions--that is, if her father's life was spared. 

But now the man himself had come to her and threatened freshmischief. She hated to denounce the poor, starved creature to thepolice, and yet she _must_ protect her father. The Squire wasmuch better; but his temper could be roused to great fury at times, and Nora dreaded to mention the subject of Andy Neil. She guessedonly too well that fear would not influence the fierce old Squire togive the man back his cabin. The one thing the wretched creature nowcraved was to die under the shelter of the roof where he had firstseen the light; but this natural request, so dear to the heart ofthe Squire himself, under altered circumstances, would not weighwith him under existing conditions. The mere fact that Andy stillthreatened him would make him more determined than ever to stick tohis purpose. Nora did not dare to give her father even a hint withregard to the hand which had fired that shot; and yet, and yet--oh, God help her! she must do something, or the consequences might betoo fearful to contemplate. 

As she was dressing on the following morning she thought hard, andthe idea came to her to take the matter into her own hands, andherself give Andy leave to go back to his cabin; but, on reflection, she found that this would be no easy matter, for the cabins fromwhich the tenants were evicted were often guarded by men whosebusiness it was to prevent the wretched creatures returning to them. No doubt Andy's cabin would be now inaccessible; still, she might goand look at it, and, if all other means failed, might venture to begof her father's agent to let the man return to it; but first of allshe would see the place. Somewhat cheered as this determination cameto her, she ran downstairs. Mr. Hartrick was returning to England byan early train, and the carriage, which was to convey him to thestation, was already at the door. Mrs. O'Shanaghgan was almosttearful at the thought of parting with her beloved brother. Molly, delighted at being allowed to stay on at the Castle, was alsopresent; but Nora's entrance on the scene caused Mrs. O'Shanaghganto speak fretfully. 

"Late as usual, Nora, " said that lady, turning and facing herdaughter as she appeared. "I am glad that you condescended to appearbefore your uncle starts for England. I wonder that you have takenthe trouble. "

"Oh, do not scold her, Ellen, " said Mr. Hartrick, kindly. "I beginto understand something of the nature of my Irish niece. When theSquire is well again she will, I am sure, return to England andresume her studies; but at present we can scarcely expect her to doso. "

"I will come back some time, Uncle George, " said Nora; "and oh!" sheadded, "I do thank you for all your great and real kindness. I mayappear ungrateful, but indeed, indeed I am not so in my heart, andit is very good of you to allow Molly to stay; and I will promise totake great care of her, and not to let her get too wild. "

"Thank you. Any message for your aunt, Nora?" said Mr. Hartrickgravely. "I should like you, my dear, " he added, coming up to thegirl, and laying his hand on her shoulder and looking with his kindeyes into her face, "to send your Aunt Grace a very special message;for you did try her terribly, Nora, when you not only ran awayyourself, but induced Molly to accompany you. "

Nora hesitated for a moment, the color flamed into her face, and hereyes grew very bright. 

"Tell her, Uncle George, " she said, speaking slowly and with greatemphasis, "that I did what I did for _father_. Tell her thatfor no one else but father would I hurt her, and ask her to forgiveme just because I am an Irish girl; and I love--oh! I love my fatherso dearly. "

"I will take her your message, my dear, " said Mr. Hartrick, and thenhe stooped and kissed his niece. 

A moment later he was about to step into the carriage, when Norarushed up to him. 

"Good-by; God bless you!" she cried. "Oh, how kind you have been, and how I love you! Please, please, do not misunderstand me; I havemany cares and anxieties at present or I would say more. You havedone splendidly, only----"

"Only what, Nora?" said her uncle. 

"Only, Uncle George, " answered the girl, "you have done what youhave done to please my mother, and you have done it all in theEnglish way; and oh! the English way is very fine, and very noble, and very generous; but--but we _did_ want the old bare roomsand the lack of furniture, and the place as it always has been; butwe could not expect--I mean father and I could not expect--you andmother to remember that. "

"It was impossible, Nora, " said her uncle. "What I did I did, as youexpress it, my dear, in the English way. The retrograde movement, Nora, could not be expected from an Englishman; and by-and-by you, at least, will thank me for having brought civilization toO'Shanaghgan. "

A moment later Mr. Hartrick went away, and Nora returned to thehouse. Mrs. O'Shanaghgan had left the room, and Nora found herselfalone with her cousin Molly. 

"What is it, Nora?" said Molly. "You look quite pale and anxious. "

"I look what I feel, " said Nora. 

"But can I help you in any way, Nora?"

"Yes. Will you come for a drive with me this morning?"

"Of course I will. You know well that I should like nothing better. "

"Then, Molly dear, run round to the yard and tell Angus put BlackBess to the outside car, and to bring it round to the corner of theplantation. I do not want any one to know, and tell Angus that Iwill drive Black Bess myself. "

"All right, " replied Molly, running off on her errand. 

Nora did not stay long with her father that morning, and soon afterten o'clock she and Molly were flying through the boreens andwinding roads in the direction of Slieve Nagorna. At the foot of themountain they dismounted. Nora fastened Black Bess's reins to thetrunk of a tree which stood near, and then she and Molly began toascend the mountain. It was a glorious winter's day; the air wasmild, as it generally is in the west of Ireland, and the sun shonewith power. Nora and Molly walked quickly. Nora, who was accustomedto climbing from her earliest years, scaled the rocks, and jumpedfrom one tiny projection in the ground to another; but Molly foundher ascent more difficult. She was soon out of breath, and called inlaughing tones to Nora to wait for her. 

"Forgive me, " said Nora; "I sometimes forget that you are not anIrish girl. "

"You also forget that I am practically a London girl, " answeredMolly. "I have seldom or never climbed even a respectable hill, farless a mountain with sides like this one. "

"We will reach the spot which I am aiming for before long, " saidNora; "but if you are tired, do sit down, and I'll go on alone. "

This, however, Molly would not hear of, and presently the girlsreached a spot where once a small cabin had stood. The walls of thecabin were still there, but the thatched roof had disappeared, thedoors and windows had been removed, and the blackened earth wherethe hearth had been alone bore evidence to the fact that fires hadbeen burnt there for long generations. But there was no fire now onthe desolate hearth. 

"Oh, dear!" said Nora. "It makes me cry to look at the place. Once, long, long ago, when Terry and I were tiny children, we came uphere. Andy's wife was alive then, and she gave us a hot potato eachand a pinch of salt. We ate the potatoes just here, and how goodthey tasted! Little Mike was a baby, such a pretty little boy, anddear Kathleen was so proud of him. Oh! it was a _home_ then, whereas now it is a desolation. "

"A very poor sort of home I should say, " answered Molly. "What atruly desolate place! If anybody ever lived here, that person mustbe glad to have got away. It makes me shudder even to think of anyhuman being calling this spot a home. "

"Oh!" answered Nora, "it was a very pretty home, and the one wholived in it is broken-hearted--nay, more, he is almost crazed, alland entirely because he has been driven away. He deserved it, Iknow; but it has gone very hard with him; it has torn out his heart;it has turned him from a man into a savage. Oh! if I had only money, would not I build up these walls, and put back the roof, and lightthe fire once more, and put the man who used to have this house as ahome back again? He would die in peace then. Oh! if only, _only_ I had money. "

"How queer you look!" said Molly. "How your eyes shine! I don'tunderstand you. I love you very much, but I confess I don'tunderstand you. Why, this desolate spot would drive most peoplemad. "

"But not Irish people who were born here, " said Nora. "There! I haveseen what I wanted to see, and we had best be going back. I want todrive to the village, and I want to see John Finnigan. I hope Ishall find him at home. "

"Who is John Finnigan?" asked Molly. 

"The man who _does_ these sort of things, " said Nora, the red, angry blood rushing to her cheeks. 

She turned and quickly walked down the mountain, Molly racing andstumbling after her. Black Bess was standing motionless where hermistress had placed her. Nora unfastened the reins and sprang uponthe car, Molly followed her example, and they drove almost on thewings of the wind back to the village. There they were fortunateenough to find John Finnigan. Leaving Molly holding Black Bess'sreins, Nora went into the house. It was a very small and shabbyhouse, furnished in Irish style, and presided over by Mrs. Finnigan, a very stout, untidy, and typical Irishwoman, with all the goodnature and _savoir-faire_ of her countrywomen. 

"Aw, then, Miss Nora, " she said, "I am glad to see you. And how'sthe Squire?"

"Much better, thank you, " said Nora. "Is your husband in, Mrs. Finnigan?"

"To be sure, deary. Finnigan's abed still. He was out late lastnight. Why, listen; you can hear him snoring; the partition is thin. He snores loud enough to be heard all over the house. "

"Well, do wake him, please, Mrs. Finnigan, " said Nora. "I want tosee him on a most important matter at once. "

"Then, that being the case, honey, you just step into the parlorwhile I go and get Finnigan to rise and dress himself. "

Mrs. Finnigan threw open the door of a very untidy and small room. Several children were having breakfast by a table which bore tracesof fish-bones, potato-peelings, and bacon-rinds. The children wereuntidy, like their mother, but had the bright, very dark-blue eyesand curly hair of their country. Nora knew them all, and was soon inthe midst of a clamorous group, while Mrs. Finnigan went out to gether husband to rise. Finnigan himself appeared in about a quarter ofan hour, and Nora went with him into his little study. 

"Well, now, " said that worthy, "and what can I do for you, MissO'Shanaghgan?"

Nora looked very earnest and pleading. 

"My father is better, " she said, "but not well enough yet to betroubled with business. I understand that you are doing some of hisbusiness for him, Mr. Finnigan. "

"Some, it is true, " answered the gentleman, frowning as he spoke, "butnot all, by no means all. Since that English fine gentleman, Mr. Hartrick, came over, he has put the bulk of the property into thehands of Steward of Glen Lee. Steward is a Scotchman, and why he shouldget work which is rightly my due is hard on me, Miss Nora--very hardon me. "

"Well, " said Nora restlessly, "I know nothing about the matter. I amsorry; but I am afraid I am powerless to interfere. "

"Oh, Miss Nora!" said Finnigan, "you know very well that you havekissed the Blarney Stone, and that no one can resist you. If youwere to say a word to the Squire he would give me my due; and nowthat so much money has been put into O'Shanaghgan, it would be avery fine thing for me to have the collecting of the rents. I am apoor man, Miss Nora, and this business ought not to be given over myhead to a stranger. "

"I will speak to father by-and-by, " said Nora; "but I doubt if I cando anything. But I have come to-day to ask you to do something forme. "

"And what is that, Miss Nora? I am sure I'd be proud to help such abeautiful young lady in any way. "

"I dislike compliments, " said Nora, coloring with annoyance. "Pleaselisten. You know the man you evicted from the cabin on the side ofSlieve Nagorna--Andy Neil?"

"Perfectly well, perfectly well, " answered Finnigan, "You had my father's orders?"

"I had that, Miss Nora. "

"I want you, Mr. Finnigan, now to take my orders and to give Andyback his cabin. Put a bit of roof over it--anything, even an oldtarpaulin--anything, so that he may sleep there if he likes to-night. I want you to do this for me, and allow me to take the risk ofoffending my father. "

"What!" said Finnigan, "and risk myself all chance of getting theagency. No, no, Miss Nora. Besides, what would all the other tenantssay who have been evicted in their time? The man shall get his cabinback and a fresh roof and new windows, by the same token, when hepays his rent, and not before. "

"But he has no money to pay his rent. "

"Then he must stay out, Miss Nora. "

"I wish, I wish, " said Nora, clasping her hands and speaking withpassion, "that you would oblige me in this. Indeed, it is of theutmost importance. "

"What!" said Finnigan, going up to her and staring into her face;"has that scoundrel threatened? Is it possible?"

"No, no, no; you are mistaken, " said Nora eagerly. "I only meantthat I--I--pitied him so much. "

"That being the case, Miss Nora, I will say nothing further. But thefact is, I have before had my suspicions as to the hand which pulledthat trigger which sent the shot into the Squire's leg, and it wouldbe an extremely graceful act on my part to have that personarrested, and would doubtless insure the agency for me. But I willsay no more; only, please understand, under _no_ circumstances, except the payment of the rent, can Andy Neil get back his cabin. "

CHAPTER XXXIV. 

A DARING DEED. 

Having failed to get any help from John Finnigan, Nora returned tothe Castle. As she drove quickly home she was very silent. Evenloquacious Molly did not care to interrupt her thoughts. As soon asthey reached the Castle she turned to her cousin and spoke quickly. 

"Go to the barn and look after father, Molly. Talk as many naughtywords as ever you like; make him laugh; keep him occupied. Afterdinner I shall probably want your aid again. In the meantime youwill help me best by taking father off my hands. "

"And I desire nothing better, " answered Molly. "I love the Squire;it is the height of entertainment, as he would call it, to talk tohim. "

Molly accordingly ran off. The Squire was now well enough to sit upin a great easy-chair made of straw, which had been carted over fromCronane for his special benefit, for the padded and velvet-coveredchairs of the Castle would not at all have suited his inclinations. He sat back in the depths of his chair, which creaked at his everymovement, and laughed long and often at Molly's stories. 

"But where's Light o' the Morning herself?" he said after a pause. "Why don't she come to visit her old father? Why, it's craving for asight of her I am. "

"I think Nora is very busy to-day, " answered Molly, "May I read thepaper to you, Squire?"

"You read the paper to me?" answered Squire O'Shanaghgan. "Why, bless yer little heart, my pretty girleen, but I must decline withthanks. It is perfect torture to listen to your English accent whenyou are trying to do the rich Irish brogue. Irish papers should beread by Irish colleens, and then you get the flavor. But what didyou say my colleen was after--business, is it? She's very fond ofpoking that little finger of hers into other people's pies. What isshe after now at all, at all?"

"I cannot tell you, " answered Molly, coloring slightly as she spoke. 

The Squire looked annoyed and suspicious. 

"You go and call her to me, " he said. "Tell her to come along thisblessed minute; say it's wanting her I am. "

Molly ran out of the barn. She found Nora in earnest conversationwith Angus, while Hannah Croneen stood close by plucking now andthen at the girl's skirt, looking eagerly into her face, anduttering such ejaculations as "Oh, glory!" "Be the powers!" "Did yeever hear the like?" "Well, well, that beats all!"

"Nora, " said Molly, "will you go to your father? He wants youimmediately. "

"Have you let out anything?" said Nora, turning and lookinganxiously at Molly. 

"No; but he asked after you, and I said you were busy. The Squiresaid then, 'I hope she is not poking her little finger into otherpeople's pies. '"

"Well, I will go to him, " said Nora. "I'll manage him. You staywhere you are, Molly. "

Nora's black hair was curling in crisp waves all round her beautifulwhite forehead. Her dark-blue eyes were darker and more shining thanever, there was a richer bloom on her cheeks, and there were sweetersmiles on her lips than she had ever perhaps worn before as she nowentered the Squire's room. 

"Well, father?" she said. 

Squire O'Shanaghgan, who had been sitting wrapped in thought, rousedhimself on her entrance, gave her a smile, and motioned her to cometo his side. 

"Kneel down by me, colleen, " he said. 

Nora knelt. The Squire took his big hand and put it under her chin;he raised her blooming face and looked into her eyes, which lookedback again at him. As he did so he uttered a quick sigh. 

"You're after something, mavoureen, " he said. "What's up, littlegirl? What's fretting that tender heart of yours?"

"Something, father, " said Nora then. 

"And you won't tell your old dad?"

"I would rather not. Won't you trust me?"

"Trust her, is it?" cried the Squire. "I'd trust her with all Ipossess. I'd trust her with my hopes of heaven itself. Trust her, isit? Nora, you fret me when you talk like that. "

"Then _do_ trust me, father, and don't ask me any questions. I'lltell you by and by--yes, I faithfully promise, but I shall be busyto-day. I may have to be away from you for a great part of to-day, and I may want Molly to help me. Can you do without me?"

"Why, now, the conceit of the creature, " said the Squire. "As if Icannot do without you, you little piece of impertinence. To be sure, and to be sure I can. Why, there is your lady mother; she'll comeand sit with me for an hour or so, and let out at me all hergrumbles. Nora, my heart, it is dreadful to hear her; but it's goodpenance too, and maybe it's too comfortable you have been making me, and I ought to have a bit of what I do not like to keep me humble. You go along now, and come back when you have done that which isfilling your heart to the brim. "

Nora kissed her father very gravely; she then went out of the barn, and returned to where Angus and Hannah, and also Molly, were waitingfor her. 

"I have thought how I can manage, Miss Nora, " said Angus. "Whenthose Englishmen--bad cess to 'em!--are at dinner I'll get the longcart out of the yard, and I'll put the white pony to it, and thenit's easy to get the big tarpaulin that we have for the hayrick outof its place in the west barn. I have everything handy; and if youcould come along with me, Miss Nora, and the other young lady, andif Hannah here will lend a hand, why we'll do up the place a bit, and the poor forsaken crayther can die there at least. "

"Do not forget the basket of provisions, Hannah, " said Nora, "thepotatoes, and the bacon, and a tiny bottle of potheen; and do notforget some fagots and bits of turf to kindle up the fire again. Oh, and, Hannah, a blanket if you can manage it; and we might get a fewwisps of straw to put in the bottom of the cart. The straw wouldmake a fine bed. "

"To be sure, " said Hannah. "You lave it to me, me beautiful younglady. "

The two servants now departed, and Nora and her cousin went into thehouse. The early dinner, or rather lunch, as it was now called, wasserved soon afterwards; and almost immediately after the meal wasover Nora and Molly ran down to the bottom of the plantation, wherethey found Angus, Hannah, the long cart with the pony harnessed toit, and the tarpaulin, straw, basket of provisions, etc. , all placedin the bottom. 

"Jump in, Molly, " said Nora. 

Molly scrambled in as best she could; Nora followed her; and Hannah, climbing in over the left wheel, sat down at the bottom of the cart. Angus jumped on the driver's seat, and whipped up the pony. The ponywas stout and very strong, and well accustomed to Irish hills. Theywere off. Molly had never been so rattled and bumped and shaken inthe whole course of her life, but she enjoyed it, as she said, immensely. Only, what was Nora doing? The tarpaulin had beencarefully hidden from view by the straw which Angus had cunninglyplaced over and not under it; and it was well that this was thecase, as after the little party had left O'Shanaghgan a couple ofmiles, they were met by John Finnigan driving on his outside car. 

"Why, then, Miss Nora, what are you doing now?" he said. 

"Having a drive for my own pleasure, " replied Nora, nodding gayly. 

Finnigan looked with suspicion at the party, but as there wasnothing contraband in anybody driving in a long cart, and as hecould not possibly guess what they were doing, he drove on his ownway without saying anything further. After less than an hour'sdriving they reached the foot of Slieve Nagorna, and here the realtoil began, for it was quite impossible for the pony, willing as hewas, to lug the cart up the mountain. Where there is a will, however, there is generally a way; and although the pony could notdrag the cart up, he could go up himself, being very sure-footed andquite willing to be turned into a beast of burden for the nonce. Theheavy tarpaulin, therefore, was fastened on his back, and, withAngus leading and Hannah following with the basket of provisions, and the two girls making up the rear, the little cavalcade startedforward. Oh, how hot it seemed, and oh, how tired Molly got! Butnever mind; they were making progress. After a time they reached thesite of Andy's cabin, and then Angus and Hannah developed strengthwhich fairly took Molly's breath away, for the tarpaulin wasabsolutely lifted up and deposited as a sort of temporary roof overthe roofless walls; and when this had been done Angus managed to cuta hole in the center to make a chimney; then the fagots were placedon the hearth and the turf put on top of them, and the remainder ofthe turf laid handy near by; and the straw was ready, soft andinviting, in a corner not too far away from the fire, and theblankets were spread over it; and the basket of provisions, coldboiled potatoes, cold bacon, and the little bottle of potheen wereall left handy. It was indeed a miserable home, but, compared to thedesolate appearance it had presented, it now looked almostcomfortable. Nora laughed with pleasure. "He shall come back here. It is better than nothing. He shall stop here. I will explain thingsto my father by and by, " said the girl; and then they all turnedtheir steps homeward. 

At the appointed hour that evening Nora went down to the shore. She fully expected to find Andy Neil waiting for her. Wild andhalf-insane as he was, he kept his selfmade appointments, as arule. She wandered about, fearing that someone would notice her;for she knew that if John Finnigan thought for a single moment thatshe was secretly befriending Andy, he would not leave a single stoneunturned to circumvent her. He was very proud of his powers ofevicting tenants, and, as he had the Squire's permission to do hisworst on this occasion, would be the last man in the world to relaxhis iron grip. Nora, however, wandered about in vain; there was nosign of Andy. She even ventured to go to the borders of theplantation and softly call his name. 

"Andy--Andy Neil, " called the girl, but no Andy responded. She nowfelt really nervous. Why was Andy not there? What could possiblyhave happened? She returned slowly and thoughtfully to the house. Itwould not do to show any alarm, but she certainly felt the reverseof comfortable. What had happened to the man? She did not for amoment think that he could be dead; on the contrary, she picturedhim alive and still more insane than the night before, still moredesperate in his mind, still more darkly pursued by the grim phantomof revenge. Was Andy now so really insane that he had even forgottenhis appointment with Nora? This was probably the case. But althoughthe man was too insane to think of meeting the girl, he was probablynot at all too insane to make another attempt on the Squire's life. He was perhaps so desperate now that his one idea was to carry outhis revenge before he died. What was Nora to do? She thought andthought, and walked up to the house with more and more laggingfootsteps. Finally she made up her mind. There was nothing whateverleft for it but for her to sit up with the Squire that night; sheherself must be his guardian angel, for he must not be alarmed, andyet most certainly he must be protected. Nora carefully consideredthis idea. She had made the little cabin quite ready for Andy'sreception; he could creep into it once more, light his fire, eat hisfood, and lie down on the bed at least, as good as any other bed hehad ever slumbered on; and if death came to him, it would find himin his old house, and perhaps God would forgive him, seeing that hewas so desperate and life had been so hard. Yes, Nora felt that Godwas very merciful--far more merciful than man. But to-night--how wasto-night to be got through? She had now reached the yard, and foundherself face to face with Angus. 

"Is there nothing I can do for you, miss?" said the young man, touching his hat respectfully to the girl. 

"If you could be near somewhere, Angus, and if it were necessary, and we wanted the long cart to-night, could we get it?"

"You ask me, Miss Nora, what we could get and what we could not getat O'Shanaghgan, " answered Angus; "and I answer ye back that what yewant, Miss Nora, ye shall have, if it is the heart out of me body. The long cart, is it? To be sure, me pretty lady, and at a moment'snotice, too. Why, it's meself will slape in the bottom of the longcart this blessed night, and all you has to do is to come and pullthe front lock of me hair, and I'll be up in a jiffy. You give it asharp tug, Miss Nora, for I slapes heavy; but if you come, the longcart and the powny will be there. "

"Then that's all right, " answered Nora. 

She went into the barn. The Squire had now contrived to renew allhis old accustomed habits. On the little wooden table was a smalllamp which smoked badly; the local paper was laid on the table, andthe pipe which the Squire best loved lay near. He had been enjoyinga good smoke, and was thinking of turning in, as he expressed it, when Nora appeared. 

"Good-night, father, " she said. She went up to him, and bent downover him, to give him her accustomed kiss. 

"Why, then, it's sleepy I am, " said the Squire. "I am thinking ofturning into bed. I am getting on fine; and Angus, boy that he is, always comes and gives me a helping hand on to my bed. I cannot seeyour face with the smoke of that lamp, mavoureen; but things are allright--aren't they?"

"That they are, father, " replied the girl; "but I am a little tired;and if Angus is coming to help you, and you do not want anythingmore from me, I will go to bed myself. "

"Do that, " said the Squire. "Your voice sounds peaky; you have beendoing too much. "

Nora lingered another moment or two. How thankful she felt that thatsmoky lamp prevented her father reading the anxiety in her eyes! Shecould not keep all the tiredness out of her voice, but she could atleast keep anxiety from it; and the Squire bade her a heartygoodnight, and parted with her with one of his usual jokes. Norathen went into the house. The hour for late dinner was over; sheherself had not been present, but Molly had managed to appear asusual. Nora ran down to the kitchen premises. The cook, a verystately English woman, stared when she saw the young lady of theCastle appear in the great kitchen. 

"What is it, Miss O'Shanaghgan?" she said, gazing at Nora all over. What did this wild and eccentric girl want? How was it possible thatshe could demean herself by coming so freely into the servants'premises?

"I want to know, Mrs. Shaw, " said Nora, "if you will oblige me?"

"Of course I will, Miss O'Shanaghgan; if I can. "

"Will you pack a little basket with some cold pie, and anything elsetasty and nourishing which you have got; and will you put a tinybottle of brandy into the basket, and also a bottle of water; andcan I have it at once, for I am in a great hurry?"

"Well, there is a fresh pigeon pie in the larder, " answered thecook; "but why should you want it?"

"Oh! please, Mrs. Shaw, " answered Nora, "will you give it to mewithout asking questions? I will love you for all the rest of mylife if you will. "

"Love me, is it?" thought the cook. "A pretty creature like thatlove me!"

"Your love is cheaply purchased, miss, " she said aloud, and then wentwithout a word into the larder, and soon returned with a well-filledbasket, which she placed in Nora's hand. "And I added some fruit, alittle cup of jelly, and a knife and fork and a spoon, and some salt;but why you, Miss Nora, should need a picnic in the middle of thenight beats me. "

"Remember our compact, " said Nora. "You say nothing of this, and--Ilove you;" and then, overcome by a sudden impulse, she bent forwardand laid the lightest of kisses on the astonished Mrs. Shaw'sforehead. 

Mrs. Shaw felt slightly overawed. "Bless her! What a beautiful younglady she is!" thought the good woman. "But the ways of the Irishbeat all comprehension. "

CHAPTER XXXV. 

THE COT WHERE HE WAS BORN. 

Nora avoided Molly that night. On reflection, it occurred to her thatit would be best for Molly to know nothing of her design. If she werein complete ignorance, no amount of questioning could elicit the truth. Nora went into her bedroom, and changed her pretty jacket and skirtand neat sailor hat for a dark-blue skirt and blouse of the samematerial. Over these she put a long, old-fashioned cloak which at onetime had belonged to her mother. Over her head she tied a little redhandkerchief, and, having eaten a small portion of Mrs. Shaw'sprovisions, she left the room. It was already night-time; and Mrs. O'Shanaghgan, Molly, and the servants had gone to bed. Nora now lockedher door from the outside, slipped the key into her pocket, and herbasket of provisions partly hidden under the falls of her cloak, randownstairs. The dogs generally slept in the big hall; but they knewNora's step, and rose slowly, wagging their heavy tails. Nora pattedthem on their heads, gave them each an endearing word, and stooped tokiss pretty Cushla on her black forehead. She then softly unbolted oneof the windows, lifted the sash, and got out. She carefully shut thewindow as noiselessly as she had opened it. She now found herself onthe grassy sward in the neighborhood of the drawing-room. Under the old_régime_ that sward was hard, and knotty tufts of weed as wellas grass grew up here and there in profusion; but already, under theEnglish government, it was beginning to assume the velvet-likeappearance which a properly kept lawn ought to have. 

Nora hated to feel such softness; she disliked everything whichseemed to her to flavor of the English and their ways. There was ahot, rebellious feeling in her heart. Why should these things be?Why should not her Irish land and her Irish people be left in theirwild freedom? She ran round to the yard. Angus had receivedinstructions to leave the little postern door on the latch, and Noranow opened it and went softly in. The moon was beginning to rise, but was not at the full. There was, however already sufficient lightfor her to see each object with distinctness. She went and sat downin the shadow made by the great barn. She sat on the step to thebarn, wrapping her warm cloak tightly round her, and keeping herbasket of provisions by her side. Here she would sit all night, ifnecessary. Her vigil might have no result, but at any rate it wouldinsure her father from danger. For now only over Nora's dead bodycould the wild Andy Neil approach the Squire. 

"Andy shall kill me first, " she thought; "and if I die, I willscream and father will awaken. Angus is on the watch; the alarm willbe given; at least my father's life will be spared. But why do Ithink of danger of this sort? Andy will not kill me. I place mytrust in God. I am doing the right thing--I know I am doing theright thing. "

When Nora had let herself in at the postern door she had immediatelydrawn the bolt at the other side, thus preventing anyone else fromentering the great yard by the same way; but she knew that, althoughAndy could not now enter the yard, in all probability he was alreadyhiding there. There were no end to the ways and devices of a wildIrishman of Andy's sort. He was so thin and emaciated, too, that hecould squeeze himself into the tiniest space. It lay in his power toremain motionless all night, until the moment when his revenge wasripe. Nora sat on. She heard the old clock in the ancient tower ofthe Castle strike the hours. That old clock had been severelyanimadverted on by Mrs. O'Shanaghgan on account of the cracked soundin the bell; but Nora felt relieved to find that, amongst all themodern innovations, the old clock still held its own; it had not, atleast, _yet_, been removed from the tower. It struck solemnlynow the hour of midnight. 

"The witching hour, " thought the girl. "The hour when the Bansheewalks abroad. I wonder if I shall see her. I should like to see her. Did she hear me when I called to her in the cave? Would she help meif she came to my rescue now? She belongs to us; she is our ownBanshee; she has belonged to our family for many, many generations. "

Nora thought these thoughts; but then the feeling that_Someone_ else who never fails those who trust Him was alsowatching her during this silent hour came to her with a sense ofcomfort. She could hear her father turning once or twice in thecreaky old wooden bed. She was glad to feel that, unknown to him, she was his guardian angel. She began to think about the future, andalmost to forget Andy and the possible and very great peril of thepresent, when, shortly before the hour of one, all her senses werepreternaturally excited by the sound of a footfall. It was a verysoft footfall--the noise made by a bare foot. Nora heard it justwhere the shadow was deepest. She stood up now; she knew that, fromher present position, the one who was making this dead sort of heavysound could not possibly see her. She waited, her breath coming hardand fast. For a minute, or perhaps more, there was again absoluteand complete silence. The night was a breathless one; there was nota sound abroad; overhead the sky was of an inky blue-black, thestars were shining gloriously, and the moon was growing brighter andmore clear, and more nearly approaching her meridian each moment. The girl stood with her hand pressed against her beating heart; shehad flung aside her little red handkerchief, and her hair had fallenloose and was tumbling over her shoulders; she raised her other handto her left ear to listen more intently--she was in the attitude ofone about to spring. 

Again there came the sound which she expected, and which, now thatit had arrived, caused her heart to beat no longer with fear, butwith a sort of wild exultation. Her suspicions had been right--thedanger was real; her father's most precious life was in peril. Thesteps came quicker and more quick; they approached the other windowof the barn. This window lay in complete shadow. Nora now steppedout of her hiding place, and, going with two or three quick stridesdown the yard, waited within a foot or two of the man, who nowproceeded to lift himself up by the window ledge preparatory toopening the barn window. With the aid of a claspknife he could veryeasily push back the quaint and imperfect fastening; then it was butto push in the glass, and he could enter the barn. He sat on thewindow ledge with his back to Nora. His huge, gaunt form lookedlarger than ever, intensified now by the light of the moon. Hebreathed quickly; his breathing proclaimed that he himself was inphysical suffering. 

"Andy, " said Nora in a low, very low whisper. 

But this low tone was as startling to the madman on the window asthough a pistol shot had been sounded in his ears. 

"Be the powers!" he said, and he tumbled so quickly off the windowsill that Nora herself held out her hand to help him. Then he turnedfiercely and faced the girl. She saw the light of madness gleamingin his sunken eyes; his wild face looked more cadaverous than ever;his great, skinny, long hand shook. He raised it as if to fell thegirl to the ground, but paused to look in her face, and then hishand hung feebly to his side. 

Nora had enacted all this scene beforehand to herself; she nowthrust into Andy's face, within an inch or two of his nose, a greatlump of bread and a slab of cold pie. 

"Before you do anything more, eat, " she said; "eat quickly; make nonoise. "

It was as impossible for the famished man to resist the good andtempting food as it would have been impossible for a needle toresist the influence of a powerful magnet. He grasped the bread, thrust the knife into his wretched shirt, and, tearing the bread infragments, began to stuff it into his mouth. For a couple of minutesthere was no sound but that of the starved creature tearing thebread and feeding himself. When he had slightly satisfied the firstcravings of his starved body Nora took his hand. 

"You have not had enough yet, " she said. "You have fasted long, andare very hungry; there is more where this came from. "

She took his hand quite unresistingly, and led him round to theentrance of the barn. 

"I am up, " she said, "but no one else. No one else knows of this. You have come without a gun?"

"I have a knife instead, " he said. His eye glittered strangely. 

"Give me your knife, " said the girl. "I will give you food inexchange for it. "

The famished creature began to gibber now in the most horriblemanner; he pointed to his breast and uttered a laugh. 

"Laugh again, and I will call those who will soon put a stop to yourwild and terrible purposes, Andy, " said the girl, "Here's food--fruit, jelly, bread. You shall have them all--all, when you give me thatknife. "

The man looked at the food, and now his eyes softened. They becamefull not only of rapture, but also of laughter. He gave a lowguttural sound, sank down on the ground, and held out both his handsimploringly for some of the nourishment. 

"The knife, " said Nora. 

He thrust his hands into his bosom and held the knife out to her. Itwas a huge clasp knife, and Nora noticed with a shudder that it hadall the appearance of having been newly sharpened. The moment shegot it she put it in her pocket, and then invited the man to feed. He sat now quite humbly. Nora helped him to pie. She had alreadytaken the precaution to hide the knife which Mrs. Shaw had suppliedher with. The man ate and ate, until his consuming hunger wassatisfied. Nora now gave him a very little of the brandy mixed withwater. He lay back at last, exhausted and also satisfied. 

"It's wake I am, it's wake I am--it's wake I am entoirely, " said he. "Why are you so good to me, Miss Nora? It was to take the life ofthe Squire I was afther to-night. "

"I knew that, " said Nora, "and I thought I would prevent you. Whydid you not meet me this evening down by the shore?"

The miserable creature now raised his hand and pushed back a graylock of unkempt hair from his forehead. 

"Why, then, " he said, "it was bothered I was entoirely. I knew therewas something I had got to do. It was waker and waker I was getting, for I did not touch bite nor sup since I saw you last, except amorsel of a cold pitatie; and there was not much of the nourishmentin that; and as the night came, I could not think of anything exceptto keep me word and have me victory. "

"Well, you have had it, " said Nora. 

"What do you mane now, missie?"

"You have conquered yourself; that is the best victory of all. Butcome, you made a bargain with me last night, and I am prepared tokeep it. I went down to the shore to tell you that I would do whatyou wanted me to do. The cabin is ready on Slieve Nagorna; we havemade it fairly comfortable for you; and I will do better--yes, Iwill try to do better by and by. I will speak to my father when heis strong enough. Go to Slieve Nagorna now, and you will find theold cot in which you were born. You can sleep there, and--and_I_--I will see that you are not interfered with. "

"The old cot in which I was born, " said Neil very slowly. "The oldcot, and I'll see it again. Is it a-joking me you are, Miss Nora?"

"Would I joke with you just now, Andy? Would I?"

"I know it's saft you are making me. There was a lump of ice in me;but, somehow, it's melted. It's the food and your bonny face, andyer ways. But do you know that it was your _father_ I wanted tokill--t'ould Squire? There, I have said it!"

"I know--and I have saved him, " answered Nora. "But come, he mayhear us speaking; he would wonder. I do not want him to knowanything of this night. When he is stronger I will plead with him. Come, Andy, come; your home is ready for you. Go back to it. "

The man tottered to his feet, and began to stagger across the barn. 

"Stay! you are not strong enough, " said the girl. "Come outside theyard, here; come with me. "

She walked across the yard, reached the little postern gate, andopened it. 

"Come out and wait, " she said in a mysterious voice. "You cannotwalk to Slieve Nagorna, and yet you must get there; but I will getAngus to take you. "

"Angus! ay, he is a true Irish boy. Aw, I'd trust him. "

"You well may; he is a broth of a boy, " said Nora. "Sit there. Iwill soon be back with you. "

She shut Andy out, bolting the little gate. The man heard the boltbeing drawn, but did not move; he had not the slightest fear butthat Nora would keep her word. She ran across the yard and openedthe door of the barn at the farther end. Angus was already awake; heheard her light step. 

"Is it me you're wanting, Miss Nora?"

"Angus, all is well, " she said. "What I wanted to do I havesucceeded in doing. It is Andy Neil who is without; he is brokendown and is very weak. Get the long cart and take him to the foot ofSlieve Nagorna, help him up the mountain, and see him into the oldcot where he was born. Good-night, Angus, and God bless you. "

Nora returned to her own bedroom. She unlocked the door and letherself in. Without waiting even to undress, she flung herself onthe bed, curled herself up, and went off into dreamless slumber. When she woke again it was broad daylight, and Molly was standingover her. 

"Why, Nora, you have lain undressed all night! What--what hashappened?"

"Do not ask me, " said Nora. "Do not ask me. I have done what Iwanted to do, and I am thankful. "

"And you won't really tell me?"

"No, I won't. I cannot ever. There is more to attend to, Molly; youand I have got to go to Slieve Nagorna immediately after breakfast. "

Molly did not ask anything further. 

"I brought your hot water, " she said. "You do not want any of thegrand English servants to see you look like this. "

"What a dear old thing you are!" said Nora. "I am so grateful toyou. "

She got up, took off her clothes, indulged in a hot bath, and camedown to breakfast looking exactly as if she had spent an ordinarynight. Mrs. O'Shanaghgan was a little more fretful than ever, andtold Nora that her conduct was making her mother quite ridiculous inthe neighborhood. 

"I met those remarkably nice people, the Setons of Seton Court, yesterday, " said Mrs. O'Shanaghgan--"charming English people--andthey asked me if it was really true that my husband, the owner ofCastle O'Shanaghgan, was sleeping in a barn. "

"And what did you answer, mother?" asked Nora, her dark-blue eyesbright with sudden fun. 

"Well, my dear, I made the best of it. I could not deny such apatent fact. I said that the eccentricities of Irish squires wereproverbial. But you can imagine, my dear Nora, my mortification as Ihad to make this admission. If this sort of thing goes on I shallask your uncle to let the place, and allow us all to live inEngland. "

"Oh, come, mother, " said her daughter. "You ought to be thankfulthis morning--you ought to be. Oh, mother! do give me a loving kiss. It is so long, so long since you have done so, and somehow I amtired, mother. "

"Tired!" said Mrs. O'Shanaghgan, alarmed and surprised by the newtone in Nora's voice. "You look tired. How black those shadows areunder your eyes! and you have lost some of your color. There! ofcourse I will kiss you, and I hope I am thankful, for we certainlyhave had wonderful mercies since your dear Uncle George came overand delivered us all. But what do you mean by special thankfulnessthis morning?"

"Never mind, mother, " said Nora. "Only _do_ be thankful, _do_ thank God for His mercies; and oh, mother, do give me thatkiss!"

"There, child! of course you shall have it. "

Mrs. O'Shanaghgan pressed her lips lightly to Nora's cheek. 

"Now eat your breakfast, " she said. "These eggs are quite fresh, and thehoney was bought only yesterday--you know you are fond of honey--andthese hot cakes are made in a new and particularly nice way. Eatplenty, Nora, and do, my dear, try to restrain your emotions. It isquite terrible what wear and tear you give yourself over thesefeelings. It is really, my dear girl, unladylike; and let me tellyou another thing, that when you lose your fresh wild-rose color, you will lose the greater part of your beauty. Dear me! it will notstay long with you if you excite yourself about every hand's turn inthe ridiculous way you are doing. "

Nora did not say any more. She sat down to the breakfast table. Washer mother right? Was she indeed exciting herself over every hand'sturn, and was that thing which had happened last night--which, nowthat it was over, caused her heart to beat a trifle too fast, andbrought that tired, that very tired feeling into her sensitiveframe--was that indeed but a trifling thing? Thank God--oh, thankGod--she had been in time!

Soon after breakfast Nora and Molly started once more for SlieveNagorna. They went on the outside car this time, and Nora found herstrength and courage returning as she handled the reins and urgedBlack Bess to speed. They presently reached their destination. Norafastened up the horse as she had done on the previous day, and thegirls began to climb the mountain. 

"You must not be afraid when you see Andy, " said Nora. "He was veryweak last night, and will in all probability be in his house. I amgoing to arrange to have provisions sent to him every day. He willstay there now that he has got back again. "

"But how has he got back again? You will remember you never told mewhat happened last night. "

"And you must not ask me, Molly. What happened last night can neverbe told by me to any human being. Only Angus knows something of it;and Angus will not tell anyone else. "

"And you were frightened? You look, Nora, as if you had gone througha great deal. "

"I went through more than anyone will ever know, " said Nora, "but Iam very thankful. "

The girls had now reached the old cabin. The tarpaulin was over theroof, but there was no smoke issuing from the hole. 

"I wonder he did not light his fire, " said Nora in an anxious voice. "Will you go in with me, Molly, or shall I go alone?"

"I'll go in with you, " said Molly stoutly. "If you are not afraid, neither will I be. "

"I afraid now?" said Nora, with a smile. "Come, Molly, I hope thepoor creature is not very ill. "

Both girls entered the cabin. The tarpaulin had been so contrivedthat a piece hung over, and formed a temporary door. Nora now pushedit aside, and they both stepped into the miserable cabin. Andy waslying on the straw; the basket of provisions had not yet beentouched, nor was the fire lit. Andy lay very still and quiet on thestraw. Nora went up to him; his eyes were shut, and his head wasslightly turned round, so that she could not at first get a properglimpse of his face. She went on her knees, then presently touchedhis forehead with her own slim hand, calling his name softly at thesame time. There was no answer--there would never be an answeragain, for the wild Irishman was dead. 

CHAPTER XXXVI. 

"I'M A HAPPY MAN!"

It was just before Christmas, and the preparations for the festiveseason were great at Castle O'Shanaghgan. The Squire was quite wellagain. Once more he walked all over his estate; once more he talkedto his tenants; once more he joked and laughed with the othersquires of the neighborhood. To a certain extent he had grownaccustomed to the grand house with its grand furniture; to theterrible late dinner, at which he stoutly declined to appear inevening dress; to the English servants who knew none of his ways. Hebegan to bear with these things, for Light o' the Morning, as hecalled his beloved Nora, was always by his side, and at night hecould cast off the yoke which was so burdensome, and do what heliked in the barn. At Mrs. O'Shanaghgan's earnest request this barnwas now rendered a tolerably comfortable bedroom; the walls had beenpapered, and the worst of the draughts excluded. A huge fireplacehad been built out at one end, and the Squire did not object at allto a large turf fire on a cold night; but the old bedstead fromCronane still occupied its old place of honor in the best positionin the room, the little deal table was destitute of cloth orornament of any kind, and the tarpaulin on the floor was notrendered more luxurious by the presence of rugs. 

"Rugs indeed!" said the Squire, snorting almost like a wild beastwhen his wife ventured to suggest a few of these comforts. "It istripping me up you'd be? Rugs indeed! I know better. "

But compared to its condition when the Squire first occupied it, thebarn was now a fairly comfortable bedroom, and Squire Murphy, SquireFitzgerald, Squire Terence Malone, and the other squires of theneighborhood had many a good smoke there, and many a hearty laugh, as they said, quite "unbeknownst" to the English lady and her grandfriends. And Nora, Molly, and even Biddy Murphy often shared inthese festive times, laughing at the best jokes, and adding sundrywitticisms on their own account. 

It was now, however, Christmas Eve, and Mrs. O'Shanaghgan's nearestEnglish relatives were coming to spend the festive season at theCastle. Mrs. Hartrick, for the first time in her life, was to findherself in Old Ireland. Linda was also accompanying her mother, andTerence O'Shanaghgan was coming back for a brief visit to the homewhich one day would be his. Terence was now permanently settled inhis uncle's office, and was likely to make an excellent man ofbusiness. Mr. Hartrick was glad of this, for he would much preferthe O'Shanaghgans to have money of their own in the future, ratherthan to depend on him to keep up the old place. Inwardly the Squirewas fretting and fuming a good bit at Mr. Hartrick really owningCastle O'Shanaghgan. 

"I must say, after all's said and done, the man is a gentleman, " heremarked to his daughter; "but it frets me sore, Nora, that I shouldhold the place under him. "

"It's better, surely, than not having it at all, " answered Nora. 

"Yes, be the powers! it is that, " said the Squire; "but when I sayso, it's about all. But I'll own the truth to you now, Nora: whenthey were smothering me up in that dreadful bedroom before you came, mavourneen, I almost wished that I had sold the place out and out. "

"Oh, but, father, that time is long over, " answered Nora; "and Ibelieve that, after all, it will be good for the poor people roundhere that you should stay with them, and that there should be plentyof money to make their cabins comfortable, and to give them a chancein life. "

"If I thought that, there'd not be another grumble out of me, " saidthe Squire. "I declare to you, Nora, I'd even put on that abominabledinner suit which your lady mother ordered from the best Dublintailors. My word! but it's cramped and fussed I feel in it. But I'dput it on, and do more than that, for the sake of the poor souls whohave too little of this world's goods. "

"Then, father, do believe that it is so, " said Nora; and now she putone of her soft arms round his neck, and raised herself on tiptoeand kissed his cheek. "Believe that it is so, for this morning Iwent round to the people, and in every cabin there was a bit ofbacon, and a half-sack of potatoes, and fagots, and a pile of turf;and in every cabin they were blessing you, father; they think thatyou have sent them these Christmas gifts. "

"Ah, ah!" said the Squire, "it's sore to me that I have not done it;but I must say it's thoughtful of George Hartrick--very thoughtful. I am obliged to him--I cannot say more. Did you tell me the thingswere sent to every cabin, Nora--all over the place, alannah?"

"Every cabin, father, " answered his daughter. 

"Then, that being the case, I'll truss myself up tonight. I willtruly. Mortal man couldn't do more. "

The preparations, not only outside but inside, for the arrival of theEnglish family were going on with vigor. Pretty suites of rooms werebeing put into their best holiday dress for the visitors. Huge firesblazed merrily all over the house. Hothouse flowers were in profusion;hothouse fruit graced the table. The great hall quite shone withfirelight and the gleam of dark old oak. Mrs. O'Shanaghgan dressedherself in her most regal black velvet dress for this auspiciousoccasion; and Nora, Molly, and even Biddy Murphy, all in white, dancedexcitedly in the hall. For Biddy Murphy, at Nora's special suggestion, had been asked to spend Christmas at the Castle. It was truly good tosee her. Notwithstanding her celestial nose and very wide mouth, itwould have been difficult to have looked at a happier face than hers. And, Irish as Biddy was, she had got the knack of coming round Mrs. O'Shanaghgan. She did this by her simple and undisguised admiration. 

"Oh, Mrs. O'Shanaghgan!" Biddy would cry, "it is the very mostlovely thing I have ever clapped eyes on. I never saw anything somagnificent as this room. It's fairyland; the whole place isfairyland;" and as Biddy spoke her eyes would twinkle, and her bigmouth would open, showing her immaculate white teeth. So much didshe contrive to win over Mrs. O'Shanaghgan that that lady presentedher with a soft white muslin dress for the present occasion. IfBiddy was proud before, she was almost rampant with pleasure now. She twirled round, and gazed at herself in the long mirrors whichhad been inserted in the hall between the oak panels. 

"Why, then, it's proud me ancestors, the old Irish kings, would beof me now, " she was even heard to say. 

But, all things being ready, the time at last approached when thetired travelers would arrive. At the eleventh hour there had come agreat surprise to Nora and Molly; for Mrs. Hartrick and Linda werebringing Stephanotie with them. How this came to pass was more thaneither girl could possibly conjecture; but they both felt that itwas the final crown of their happiness. 

"Can I ever forget, " said Nora, "that but for Stephanotie lending usthat money I should not have been able to run away to Ireland, andmy dear, dearest father might not now have been alive?"

But the sound of wheels was at last heard without. 

"Come, girleens, and let's give them a proper Irish welcome, " saidthe Squire, standing on the steps of the old house. 

Nora ran to him, and he put his arm round her waist. 

"Now then, Nora, as the carriage comes up, you help me with the bigIrish cheer. Hip, hip, hurrah! and _Caed Mille a Faitha_. Nowthen, let every one who has got a drop of Irish blood in him or herraise the old cheer. "

Poor gentle English Mrs. Hartrick turned quite pale when she heardthese sounds; but Mr. Hartrick was already beginning to understandhis Irish relatives; and as to Stephanotie, she sprang from thecarriage, rushed up the steps, and thrust a huge box of bon-bonsinto Squire O'Shanaghgan's face. 

"I am an American girl, " she said; "but I guess that, whether one isIrish or American, one likes a right-down good sweetheart. Have abon-bon, Squire O'Shanaghgan, for I guess that you are the man toenjoy it. "

"Why then, my girl, I'd like one very much, " said the Squire; "butdon't bother me for a bit, for I have to speak to my Englishrelatives. "

"Oh, come along in, Stephanotie, do, " said Molly. "I see that youare just as eccentric and as great a darling as ever. "

"I guess I'm not likely to change, " answered Stephanotie. "I wasborn with a love of bon-bons, and I'll keep it to the end of thechapter. "

But now Mrs. Hartrick and Mrs. O'Shanaghgan had met. The two Englishladies immediately began to understand each other. Mrs. O'Shanaghgan, without a word, slipped her hand inside her sister-in-law's arm, andthey walked slowly across the magnificent hall and up the wide stairsto the palatial bedroom got ready for the traveler. 

Then the fun and excitement downstairs became fast and furious. TheSquire clapped his brother-in-law, George Hartrick, on the shoulder;the Squire laughed; the Squire very nearly hallooed. Terence lookedround him in undisguised amazement. 

"I would not have known the old place, " he said, turning to Nora. 

Nora gave a quick sigh. 

"Where is my mother?" said the lad then. 

"She has gone upstairs with Aunt Grace; but run after her, Terry, do, " said his sister. 

Terence gave another glance round, in which pride for the home wherehe was born kindled once more in his dark eyes. He then rushed upthe stairs three steps at a time. 

"Why, then, " said the Squire, "it's cramped and bothered I am inthese clothes. What possesses people to make Merry-andrews ofthemselves night after night beats my comprehension. In my oldvelveteen jacket and knee-breeches I am a man--in this tomfoolery Ido not feel as good as my own footman. "

"You look very well in your dinner dress all the same, O'Shanaghgan, " said Mr. Hartrick. And he added, glancing from Norato her father, "I am glad to see you quite recovered. "

"Ah! it's she has done it, " said the Squire, drawing Nora forward andpressing her close to his heart. "She's a little witch. She has donefine things for me, and I am a happy man to-night. Yes, I will own toit now, I'm a happy man; and perhaps there are more things in theworld than we Irish people know of. Since I have my barn to sleep inI can bear the house, and I am much obliged to you, George--muchobliged to you. But, all the same, it's downright I'd have hated you, when you altered this old place past knowing, had it not been for mylittle girl, Light o' the Morning, as I call her. "

THE END.