"Here's the young Englisher lady," said Norah. "She's none the worse for having spent one night with the Irish folk, and there's no throuble, now that she has come back; is there, Miss Biddy?" For one instant Bridget was silent. Janet came up to her and spoke in a gentle, cheerful tone. "I am so glad to be back with you, dear," she said. "I dare say you and the squire were uneasy about me. Well, I had an adventure, and am none the worse. I'll tell you all about it presently. Norah has something, also, to say for herself; but she, too, will speak presently. Now I have one request to make of the squire." "What is that, my dear?" asked Dennis O'Hara. "It is that no one shall be punished on my account," said Janet, in her sweet, low tones. "There was just a little bit of a practical joke played on me. You Irish are celebrated for practical jokes, are you not? I came to no harm, and if I don't wish anyone to be punished, I suppose my wishes are worth considering, as I was the only one who suffered." "You are by no means the only one who suffered, Miss May," said the squire. "Look at Biddy, there. Why is her face so pale, and why are her eyes so heavy? And as to practical jokes, I never heard that it was the way of the Irish gentry to practice them upon their visitors. My dear young lady, I appreciate your kind and generous spirit. It does my old heart good to see you here safe and unharmed, but you must allow me to deal with this matter in my own way. I am not thinking of it at present, however. I want to have a word with my daughter Biddy. Will you go into the house, Miss May? Biddy and I will follow you presently." "No, Janet, stay here," said Bridget suddenly. She threw up her head with something of the free action of a young race horse, tossed her curly hair back from her broad brow, and looked first at Janet and then at the squire. There was something in the expression of her eyes which caused Janet, as she afterward expressed it, "to shake in her shoes." "Norah," continued Bridget, "you must stay here too. Now, father, I will tell you something. I will tell you why your Biddy can never, never again be the old Bridget you used to know and to love." "Oh, don't," interrupted Janet. "See how hysterical you are, Bridget. Don't you think, squire----" "Hush!" thundered the squire. "Let the colleen speak." "Father," continued Bridget, "I am a very unhappy girl. I have behaved badly. I have been wicked; I have been dishonorable and--and deceitful." "No, no, I don't believe that," said the squire. "Whatever you are, you are not deceitful." Once again his face turned white, and an angry light leaped out of his eyes.