NORAH TO THE RESCUE.
Bridget had wandered away by herself. She knew her cousins, the Mahonys
of Court Macsherry, too well to stand on the least ceremony with them.
The load which crushed against her heart seemed to grow heavier each
moment. Her only desire was to be alone.
She knew a spot where no one was likely to disturb her, and, catching
up the long train of her rich dress, she ran swiftly until she found
a solitary tree which stood a little apart from its fellows, and hung
over the borders of the great, big bog which formed a large portion of
the Court Macsherry estate.
Bridget climbed up into the hollow of the oak tree, and leaning back
against its big trunk, looked out over the dismal, ugly bog. Her brows
were drawn down, her beautiful lips drooped petulantly, she pushed
back her rich hair from her brow. Her quaint many-colored dress, the
background formed by the oak tree, the effect of the wild country which
lay before her, gave to her own features a queer weirdness; and a
passing traveler, had any been near, might have supposed her to be one
of the fabled hamadryads of the oak.
No travelers, however, were likely to see Bridget where she had now
ensconced herself. She sat quite still for nearly an hour, then
dropping her head on her hands she gave way to a low, bitter moan.
She had scarcely done so before there was a rustling sound heard in
the grass. It was pushed aside in the place where it grew longest and
thickest, and a woman raised her head and looked up at her.
"Eh, mavourneen?" she said, in a voice of deep love and pity.
The woman was Norah Maloney. She had seen Biddy as she ran across the
grass to her seat in the oak tree, and had crept softly after her,
happy and content to lie silent and unobserved in the vicinity of her
adored young mistress.
Norah was a _protégée_ of the Mahonys as well as the O'Haras, and
thought nothing of walking from one estate to the other. She crouched
motionless in the long grass, scarcely daring to breathe or discover
her vicinity in any way, until Biddy's heartbroken moan reached her
ears.
Uncontrollable pity then overcame all other feelings. Her child, her
darling was unhappy. Come what might, Norah must comfort her.
"Eh, mavourneen?" she said then. "Core of me heart, you're in throuble!
What can Norah do for yez?"
"I am unhappy, Norah!" said Bridget. She sprang out of the oak tree as
she spoke. "O Norah, Norah!" she exclaimed, clasping the old servant's
horny hand; "don't tell anyone--don't, don't for the life of you,
Norah; but I hate Janet May."
"That young Englisher colleen?" said Norah, her eyes flashing angry
fire. "Eh, but she's a cowld-hearted foreigner. Eh, but it isn't me nor
Pat nayther that's took with her ways."
"It's dreadful of me to say anything," continued Bridget. "She's my
visitor, and I have told you that I hated her. Forget it, Norah--forget
it."
"Secret as the grave I'll keep it," replied Norah, with emphasis.
Bridget ran back to the house, and the old servant, with a certain
stealthy movement, which was more or less habitual to her, glided away
through the long grass. She walked two or three hundred yards in this
fashion, then she came to a stile which led directly to the dusty and
forsaken highroad. Here Norah stooped down and carefully removed her
thick hobnailed shoes and coarse, gray woolen stockings. She thrust
the stockings into her capacious pocket, and tying the shoes together
with a coarse piece of string, slung them over her arm. After this, she
kilted her petticoats an inch or two higher, and the next moment began
to run swiftly and silently over the dusty road. Her movements were
full of ease, and even grace. Her bare feet quickly covered the ground.
She ran with a certain swing, which did not abate in speed as she flew
over the road. Mile after mile she went in this fashion, never once
losing her breath, or appearing in the least inconvenienced by her
rapid motion. At last she turned up a narrow mountain path. Here the
ground was very rough, and she was obliged to go slowly, but even here
her bare feet carried her with unerring surety. She neither slipped nor
stumbled, and never once faltered in her swift upward course.
After going up the mountain for nearly half a mile, she came suddenly
upon the little shanty or mud hut where Pat, the boy whom Norah loved,
lay flat on his back on a rude bed of straw.
Norah lifted the latch of the door, and came in.
"Here's poor Norah back, Pat," she said. "And how are you, alanna? Is
it dhry ye feels and lonesome? Well, then, here's Norah to give wather
for your thirst, and news to fill your heart."
"Why, then, Norah, you look spent and tired," said Pat. "And what's up
now, girl, and why did you come up the cliff as if you had the hounds
at your heels?"
"Bekaze I had some news," said Norah, "and my heart burned to tell it
to yez. I have gone over a good bit of ground to-day, Pat, and I put
two and two together. I said the young Englisher wasn't afther no good,
and well I knows it now. It's our Miss Bridget has a sore heart; and
why should she have it for the loikes of her?"
Pat Donovan was a man of very few words, but he raised his big head now
from its pillow, and fixed his glittering black eyes on the old and
anxious face of Norah with keen interest.
"Spake out what's in yer mind, girl," he said. "Thim what interferes
with our Miss Biddy 'ull have cause to wish themselves out of Ould
Oireland before many days is over."
"Thrue for yez, Pat," said Norah; "and glad I am that I has come to a
right-hearted boy like yourself, for I knew as you'd see the rights of
it, and maybe rid Miss Bridget of an enemy."
"Spake," said Pat, "and don't sit there running round and round the
subject; spake, Norah, and tell me what you're after!"
"Well, then, it's this," said Norah. "Be a token which I can't reveal,
for I promised faithfully I wouldn't, our Miss Biddy is fit to break
her heart bekaze of that young Englisher. Now, I know that to-morrow
night Miss Janet May is going to the Witch's Island, jest for the sake
of brag, and to prove that she don't hould by no witches nor fairies,
nor nothing of that sort; and the young gentlemen'll take her over
to the island at nine o'clock, and they'll go to fetch her again at
twelve, and what I say, Pat, is this----"
"Whist!" said Pat, raising his big hand, and a look of mystery coming
over his face; "whist, Norah, mavourneen, you come over here and sit
nigh me, and let's talk the matter over."