CHAPTER VI

COUSINS

Another week or two sped by, very happily and very busily. Most of the neighbouring families, though they all lived at considerable distances, had come to visit the O'Briens and to express their pleasure at seeing them established at Kilshane. But by those who were nearest to them both in kinship and propinquity no notice of their existence had been taken--no sign had come from Moyross Abbey of any desire for truce or reconciliation, and it seemed only too clear that Roderick had been right when he said that Nicholas O'Brien could not forgive his brother even in his grave for the wrong that he had done him.

The old rector of the church which stood on the cliff's midway between Moyross Abbey and Kilshane--a weather-beaten, gray building which seemed as though it had been specially built to withstand the wild Atlantic winds--Mr. Lynch, and his wife, had been the first to call, and they remained the O'Briens' chiefest friends. From them the new-comers learned that matters were not running altogether smoothly upon the Moyross property. New machinery had recently been introduced at the mine, the great undertaking which Mr. O'Brien had built up from its first commencement, and of which he was justly proud, and with the machinery had came a Scotch manager to assume the control, which Mr. O'Brien had hitherto kept in his own hands, but which was beginning to prove too heavy a burden to him. The new functionary had loudly expressed his scorn of the easy-going fashion of working which had prevailed hitherto, and his intention of introducing an entirely new system. The ire of the whole country side had been roused, and reprisals of a sort but too common in Ireland had followed: the new machinery had been broken, and a skull and cross-bones painted on the manager's hall-door.

"If Nicholas O'Brien were the man he was ten years ago, it would not have happened," Mr. Lynch said, with a shake of his head. "He understood the people and how to deal with them, but they've put his back up now, and he'll uphold M'Bain through thick and thin. A thoroughly determined man Nicholas O'Brien always was--there's no turning him aside when once his mind is made up--and M'Bain is another of the same sort. But if they're as tough as steel, the people are like tinder, and between them I shouldn't wonder if there was a big flare-up one of these days."

"Oh, Mr. Lynch, do tell us something about the Wyndhams who live at Moyross Abbey!" called out Norah, who was perched on the window sill, and had not understood much of the previous conversation. "They are a kind of cousins of ours, you know, and we have never even seen them; it is so funny."

"Cousins of yours? Of course they are," said the old clergyman briskly. "Their grandmother was Jess O'Brien, the eldest of the family. She married and went out to India while your father was in petticoats. I knew your father before he was the height of that," holding up his walking-stick for Norah's inspection, "and I'd have known you for his child anywhere: you've just got his eyes and the cock of his nose. As to the Wyndhams, Harry and Ella, why, they are a nice, pleasant-mannered pair of young people. I shouldn't wonder but there might be trouble in that quarter too. Your uncle has been drawing the rein too tight with the boy--just the mistake he made long ago with your father, Roderick. He thinks no will but his is to prevail, and he has made up his mind that Master Harry is to undertake the management of the mine some day; but I've a notion that that young gentleman has different views of life for himself. However, he's been sent off to some Austrian mining works to be trained for a couple of years, and we'll see what comes of it."

"It must be very lonely for Ella, poor child, living in that big house at Moyross with no other society than old Mr. O'Brien, and that good soul they call Brownie," said Mrs. Lynch, a very trim little old lady in the neatest of black silk mantles and bonnets. "She was the children's governess years ago, and came home with them from India after their mother died. She manages the servants and the housekeeping, and is quite wrapped up in Ella."

"She's as little like a brownie as anyone I ever saw," laughed the old rector. "Come along, my dear, it's time for old folks like us to be getting home. Miss Anstace, you and your brother and sister are to dine with us to-morrow after church--nonsense, we'll take no excuse! We're not new acquaintances to be paying calls and leaving our pasteboards on each other. Bless me, we're old friends! I boxed your father's ears over his Latin grammar forty years ago!"

And the kindly old pair trotted off together.

Anstace and Norah, and indeed Roderick too, had a great curiosity to see the relatives of whom they had heard so much and who were so closely connected with themselves, but there did not seem much likelihood of their desire being gratified. In the church the Moyross family occupied a pew in a recess of the chancel, where they were invisible to most of the congregation, and passed in and out by a side-door, and nowhere else was there much chance of their meeting.

The trio at Kilshane were at breakfast one morning when the post brought a letter to Roderick addressed in Manus's round schoolboy hand. Roderick opened it, and a look of some vexation gathered on his face.

"There is nothing wrong with Manus, I hope?" asked Anstace, pausing in her occupation of pouring out the tea.

"Not with Manus himself, but it is a most unfortunate business, and worse for other people than ourselves. Diphtheria has broken out at the school, and the doctor has ordered all the boys to be sent home at once."

Norah let her bread and butter fall, and jumped to her feet, clapping her hands.

"Then Manus will be coming home, coming here at once! How splendid!" she cried. "Oh, Roderick, don't sit with that terrible long face, as if it was a misfortune."

"It is certainly a misfortune for poor Dr. and Mrs. Ford, and for the boys who are ill," said Anstace. "Does Manus say whether any of the cases are serious?"

"No; the young rascal is so taken up with the idea of coming over here that he does not seem to have been able to think of anything else."

Roderick picked up Manus's letter, and read it through again with a frown.

"Really, Manus's writing is disgraceful, the lines are all up and down the paper. Surely a boy of twelve ought to know better than to spell 'diftheria' with an _f_, and 'hollidays' with two _ll_'s. I must try and find time to give him some teaching while he is here, for I suppose we shall have him on our hands for three months at least."

"Oh, but Manus need not begin lessons at once. I'm sure after all the hard work he's had at school a little rest will be good for him," said Norah, with the funny old-fashioned manner she put on at times.

"I don't think Manus is likely to have worked hard enough to injure himself," said Roderick grimly; "it's about the last thing we need be afraid of."

"It is very unlucky this interruption coming just after Dr. Ford had written to you that Manus was beginning to settle down properly to his school work. However, we can only be thankful that he has not fallen ill himself," remarked Anstace. "Does he say what day he will be over?"

"He speaks of starting 'to-morrow', whatever day that may be," said Roderick, turning over the leaf. "I suppose as usual he has not dated his letter, so that we might know what he meant. Yes, he has though--'Monday!' Why, that's two days ago. The letter hasn't been posted in time, of course. Then in that case--"

"He must have started yesterday, and he'll be here to-day, this very, very day!" cried Norah, jumping from her seat and skipping round the table, almost beside herself with joy.

"My dear Norah, do sit down and finish your breakfast like a reasonable mortal," said Anstace. "I suppose she is right, Roderick, and Manus will arrive this evening. Someone must drive into Ballyfin to meet him. Will you go?"

Roderick shook his head.

"I have to go off with Tom after breakfast to arrange about letting the grazing of a couple of the fields for the summer, and there's that article for the _Piccadilly_ besides, which must be finished to-night."

Roderick had inherited a considerable share of his father's talent as a writer, and his contributions to newspapers and periodicals promised in time to bring in material aid to the slender resources of the family.

"I don't think I can go either," said Anstace. "Mrs. Lynch is bringing Lady Louisa Butler over to tea this afternoon. She knew Father in old times, and wants to make our acquaintance."

"But there's not the least necessity for anyone to go to Ballyfin. I'll tell Connor, who drove us here the night we came, to meet Manus at the station; that's all that's needful."

"But I can go. Oh, Roderick, do let me drive in to meet Manus," cried Norah eagerly.

"Well, I suppose there is no reason why you should not," said her brother good-naturedly. "You won't tumble off the outside-car, I suppose?"

"Of course not. How can you be so silly?" returned Norah, drawing her little self up with much dignity.

"All right, I didn't mean to offend your ladyship. I'll tell Connor to be here with his car at three."

And Roderick left the room laughing.

Probably there was no prouder little girl in all Connaught than Norah that afternoon, as she drove from the door, sitting up very straight on one side of the car, her hands folded on the rug which Roderick had wrapped round her before starting. She and Connor, who was sole occupant of the other side, had become quite confidential before the ten miles' drive was accomplished. Connor had acquainted her with all his family affairs, and Norah had promised to pay a visit on the earliest opportunity, partly to his old mother, but more especially to the litter of a dozen little pigs which had been born only a few days before.

Very important Norah felt, too, as she went in and out of the two or three shops of which Ballyfin boasted, executing various small commissions with which Anstace had entrusted her. She had more than an hour in which to wander about the little country town, as Connor's horse required rest and a feed before commencing the homeward journey. And as Ballyfin did not possess very many attractions and objects of interest, she found herself at the station a full half-hour before there was any possibility of the train's arrival. A porter pointed it out obligingly to her at last, almost at vanishing point upon the track that stretched away with undeviating straightness through the flat bog-land. Norah watched its gradual approach, a prey to fears that after all it might not contain Manus, that he might have arrived late at Euston or been left behind somewhere on the journey. Her mind was relieved of this anxiety, however, long before the train reached the station, by seeing Manus's close-cropped, bullet head protruding from one of the windows. Norah ran to the end of the platform to meet the train, and then had to run back for her pains, keeping up with the carriage at the door of which Manus was standing. Almost before Manus had time to alight she had thrown her arms round his neck and was kissing him with all the fervour that was possible, seeing that she had to stand on tiptoe even to reach the point of his chin.

"There, hold on, don't squeeze the breath out of a fellow!" said Manus, striving to disengage himself from Norah's embraces, and looking round rather sheepishly to see if anyone was observing their meeting.

"Oh, Manus, and I haven't seen you for such an age, not since Christmas!" said Norah reproachfully, withdrawing her arms, but continuing to devour her brother with her eyes.

"You needn't make a gazabo of yourself all the same!" retorted Manus. "Come along, and let's see after my traps. I suppose you have some sort of shandrydan outside?"

And Manus sauntered towards the luggage-van with an easy man-of-the-world air which filled Norah with admiration, but accorded none too well, if the truth be told, with his broad, sunburnt face and squat schoolboy figure. As for Norah, she danced along by his side, for in her present ecstasy of delight it was quite impossible for her feet to pace along at an ordinary walk.

Once, however, that they were seated side by side on the car and driving over the bog road, Manus condescended to relax in some degree from his new-born dignity and to become more like his former self. He even permitted Norah to hold one of his hands under cover of the rug, but rebelled when in an outburst of affection she rubbed her cheek against his sleeve.

"The driver fellow is looking," he muttered ungraciously, jerking her off with his shoulder.

Connor, however, who occupied the other side of the car conjointly with the carpet-bag and large brown-paper parcel, which contained all Manus's worldly goods, and were by him somewhat grandly designated his "traps", kept his eyes stolidly fixed upon his horse's ears, and seemed to take no heed of the pair across the well. The drive home was a very silent one for him, for Norah and Manus had so much to tell each other that their tongues never once ceased wagging during the whole of the drive, and Connor did not seem called upon to take any part in the conversation. It was after dark when they drove up to Kilshane, and found Roderick and Anstace at the door waiting to welcome the traveller.

"This is a long way jollier than school," observed Manus half an hour later, when he was seated at the supper-table with Anstace smiling at him from behind the tea-urn, and Norah hovering round, herself unable to eat in her excitement, and her desire to pile his plate with dainties.

That brief remark brought balm to his little sister's heart, for Norah had been troubled by terrible misgivings that the brother who had come back to her would prove quite different from the Manus of old. She had feared that after a term of school-life and of the companionship of other boys he would look down upon her as being "only a girl"--an inferiority which Norah fully recognized and the irremediableness of which she most deeply deplored--and refuse her the place in his affections and his confidence which she had hitherto enjoyed.

The next day was wild and boisterous, with fierce rain squalls sweeping in from the Atlantic and beating on the window-panes. To venture on any distant expedition was therefore out of the question, and Norah had to content herself with showing off the house and garden to Manus, and taking him down to gaze over the cliffs into the wonderful clearness of the green depths below, where the great forests of sea-weed could be traced lying like purple shadows far beneath the water. Upon the following day, however, she proposed that he should accompany her upon her promised visit to old Mrs. Connor and the family of infant pigs, and Manus was graciously pleased to accede to the suggestion.

The Connors' abode was situated at the end of a long boreen or lane, very narrow and muddy, with high furze-topped banks on either side. It had originally been a tolerably well-built and comfortable cabin, but was much impaired by dirt and neglect. The thatched roof was fastened down by ropes elaborately interlaced, and weighted with stones to prevent its being swept bodily off in the wild Atlantic gales, and the approach to the house was by a causeway with a manure-heap on one hand and a pool of stagnant filth upon the other. Mrs. Connor, an old woman in a wondrously-quilled night-cap, came to the door on hearing steps and voices outside, and welcomed the children with great heartiness and good-will. It was quite unnecessary to express a wish to be taken to see the interesting family of pigs, since on entering the kitchen they and their grunting old mother were found to be in possession of the most comfortable place in front of the fire. Mrs. Connor, whilst edging them to one side with her foot to enable her to set chairs for the visitors, explained that this was necessitated by the cannibalistic tastes of the old sow, who had on one or two previous occasions demolished some of her offspring soon after their birth.

"It takes Thady an' me, turn an' turn, day an' night, to kape an eye on her, the ould villin; but glory be to goodness the craythers is growin' that fast they'll put it beyant her to ait them soon."

Then, whilst Norali eyed the unnatural parent with horror, Mrs. Connor proceeded to hang a griddle--a round iron plate--above the turf fire, and to arrange upon it a goodly supply of potato scones, in the kneading of which she had been engaged when interrupted by the children's arrival.

"Thady--that's the boy that dhruv ye, Miss Norah--'ull be fit to break his heart he wasn't here, but he's away to the bog to cut turf since cockshout, an' I was gettin' his tay ready agin he'd come home. Yez'll take bite an' sup now afore yez go."

Looking at the table on which the cakes had been prepared, and the smoky interior of the cabin, Norah had some qualms about accepting the proffered hospitality. She hardly saw her way to refusing it with politeness, however, and Manus manifestly was not troubled by any inconvenient fastidiousness, for he was sniffing the fragrant smell of the potato bread, as the old woman moved it to and fro and turned it in the griddle, with evident satisfaction. Norah thanked Mrs. Connor, therefore, with the best grace that she could, and having once overcome her scruples, was fain to admit that she had never tasted anything more delicious than potato scones buttered hot from the fire, and accompanied by draughts of new milk, the seasoning imparted by a previous walk in the sea-breezes not being omitted. It was with promises of paying another visit before long to see the progress of the little pink porkers that Manus and Norah took their leave at last.

They had reached the confines of Kilshane, and were discussing whether to go round in orderly fashion by the gate, or to attempt a short cut by scrambling through the hedge, when they heard the sound of horse hoofs coming full gallop down the road.

"Whoever that is, they're going a stunning pace," observed Manus.

The next instant a black pony, stretched out like a greyhound, came tearing round a bend in the road. The girl who rode it was sitting back in the saddle, pulling with all her might on the reins. Her hat was gone, and her fair hair had become loose and was flying in a cloud about her. As she flashed past them, Manus and Norah had an instant's glimpse of a white, set face and eyes wide with terror. Even to their inexperience the peril of the situation was manifest. A few hundred yards farther on, the road ran steeply downhill, turning sharply at the foot of the descent over a bridge which spanned a little stream. Going at its present pace, it would be little short of miraculous if the pony took that turn in safety.

"That girl will be killed, she will indeed!" gasped Norah, clutching her brother by the arm. "Oh, Manus, can't something be done?"

"Nothing whatever," said Manus, from whose ruddy face the colour had faded. "Cart ropes wouldn't stop that pony." Then in a tone of sudden relief: "Oh look, Norah, there's Roderick; he's rushing across the field! Oh, I say, I do hope he'll be in time."

Norah said nothing, she only tightened her hold on Manus's arm, and in silence both children strained their eyes on their brother as he raced at top speed towards the road. Would he reach it before the pony in its frantic gallop had passed him by? Another minute would bring it to the brow of the hill. There was a second or two of sickening suspense, then they saw Roderick vault over the gate of the field and almost in the same instant catch the pony by the bridle. He let himself be dragged along by it for a few paces, then with a sudden jerk brought it up short in its career. The terrified animal made an attempt to rear, but Roderick's hand was at its nostrils, squeezing them with an iron grip, and feeling itself mastered it dropped on its forefeet and stood still, panting and quivering all over.

"She's saved! Hooray! hooray, three cheers! Well done, Roderick!" cried Manus, beginning to run, and Norah ran too, keeping up with him as well as she could.

When they came up, the stranger was sitting in her saddle, deadly pale and trembling from head to foot. It was evidently only by a great effort that she succeeded in keeping back her tears. Roderick, somewhat out of breath, and hardly less pale, stood at the pony's head.

"You saved my life, I think," the girl said tremulously, as soon as she had regained sufficient self-control to speak; "I should have thrown myself off in another minute if you had not caught Sheila, I knew it was my only chance. I am very, very grateful to you."

"There is nothing to be grateful about," Roderick returned lightly. "It was most fortunate I was near enough to reach the road in time; anyone who had been where I was would have done just the same."

"You saved me all the same," the girl repeated; "and poor little Sheila, too, she must have been killed. Even if I had escaped, she never would have got over the bridge safely." And she leant forward to pat the pony's mane.

"The little brute hardly deserves so much commiseration after running away with you," said Roderick.

"Oh, but it was not Sheila's fault," the girl cried eagerly, "it was mine quite as much as hers. She has not been out of the stable for two or three days, and that made her fresh and fidgety; she is generally as quiet as a mouse. I was riding carelessly, not keeping a look-out as I ought to have done. A wheel-barrow which someone had left upside down on the road frightened her and made her shy, and before I knew what I was about she had got her head and was tearing down the road."

She stopped short with a shiver she could not repress.

"Don't think any more about it," Roderick said cheerily. "Our house is close by, and you must let me lead the pony there and give you into my sister's charge till you have recovered from the shock you have had."

"Oh, thank you, I must go home. Brownie--Miss Browne, I mean--would be so frightened if I did not come back at the right time; she is always nervous when I am out by myself, and she would be sure something dreadful had happened to me," and the stranger laid her hands on the reins as if she wished to take them into her own keeping again.

Roderick, however, held them fast.

"Something dreadful very nearly did happen," he said gravely, "and you are quite too much shaken to attempt riding anywhere at present. I can send a message to Miss Browne to assure her of your safety, and meanwhile you must rest at Kilshane."

"But--but," and the girl's eyes grew big with alarm, "you must be Mr. Roderick O'Brien."

This time Roderick could not forbear laughing.

"So I am, but I am not a very formidable personage notwithstanding."

"Oh, indeed, it is not that," and confusion and distress brought the colour back into her cheeks, "but I ought to tell you who I am; my name is Wyndham--Ella Wyndham--and I live at Moyross Abbey."

"In that case, Miss Wyndham," said Roderick courteously, but making no attempt to claim relationship, "the best arrangement will be to have a carriage sent for you from Moyross Abbey. You are really not fit to ride back, and I hope you will not mind waiting at our house till it comes. Manus, run up the road and see if you can find Miss Wyndham's hat."

Perhaps Ella was too shy to make any further resistance, perhaps in her secret soul she was not sorry that fate had willed that she should make acquaintance under their own roof with the kinsfolk from whom she had hitherto been kept apart. At any rate she offered no opposition when Roderick turned the pony's head towards Kilshane. He kept a careful hand on the bridle all the way to the house, though Mistress Sheila, who had had the fire taken out of herself very effectively by her wild race, walked along very soberly and evinced no inclination for any further pranks. With a thoughtfulness which Ella fully appreciated, he left her to herself to recover her composure in some degree, and chatted gaily with Norah as they walked along, questioning that small personage about her ramble and her visit to old Mrs. Connor.

Anstace was nailing up a rose-tree on the porch when the party arrived, but she took prompt possession of Ella, and conveyed her upstairs to the quiet of her own room, where she made her lie down upon the bed. Ella submitted very docilely; she was very young and evidently still accustomed to be looked upon and treated as a child. When, however, Anstace, having seen her comfortably settled, was about to leave the room, she stretched out imploring hands to detain her.

"Do stay with me," she pleaded, "and don't call me Miss Wyndham, it sounds so cold and distant. We are cousins, you know, though we have never seen each other before, and why should we not be friends, you and I?"

"Why not indeed?" said Anstace pleasantly; "that is, if you will do as you are told, and not talk or excite yourself, otherwise I shall have to be angry and scold you, as I do Norah."

"I don't think I should mind being scolded by you," returned Ella, looking up into Anstace's face. "Norah is your little sister, I suppose, and you are Anstace. I heard your brother call you so downstairs. It is such a pretty, quaint name, and it suits you so well. No, I will not talk any more if you will sit where I can see you."

And with a sigh of contentment Ella lay back amongst her pillows.

Roderick meanwhile had written a hasty note to Miss Browne at Moyross Abbey to tell her what had occurred. Pride forbade his thrusting himself in any way upon the notice of the uncle, who hitherto had not deigned to take any notice of his existence. A messenger to convey the note to Moyross Abbey was found in the person of Lanty Hogan, Biddy's red-headed nephew, who, since Manus's arrival at Kilshane, was generally to be found hanging about the back door or the out-offices.

Lanty had already fired Manus's imagination full by the accounts he gave of the breeding-places of the sea-birds upon the coast, well-nigh inaccessible spots all of them, where the gannets, the gulls, and the kittiwakes in thousands laid their eggs on narrow ledges high above the boiling surf--fastnesses which could only be scaled by the most experienced and most daring climbers.

Manus saw himself in fancy returning to school the possessor of a collection of birds' eggs which should make him the envy of every other boy there. Lanty threw out other hints, too, that were no less alluring, about the enormous trout which peopled a trout stream a couple of miles away, real "breedhauns" in Lanty's speech, who seemed acquainted with the exact haunts of each of these monsters of the finny tribe and with the fly that would infallibly land him in the angler's basket.

"He knows a good deal more about it than he has any business to do, I'll be bound, the poaching young rascal!" was Roderick's comment when some of these wondrous tales were repeated to him by Manus; but that did not cause Manus to take any less delight in Lanty's society.

Half an hour's rest had so far composed Ella's nerves that she would not allow Anstace to bring tea up to her as she proposed, but insisted on accompanying her down to the little drawing-room, where she was received with general acclamation. Roderick pulled the most luxurious chair which the room boasted of forward beside the tea-table for her, and Norah, who was always ready to strike up friendships upon the briefest acquaintance, established herself upon a footstool at her side, with her small black head on a level with the arm of Ella's chair and her eyes fixed admiringly upon her. Manus had returned triumphant from his search after Ella's hat, which he had found reposing in a pool by the roadside.

As he and Norah had already had their afternoon repast at Mrs. Connor's, and as not even Manus's powers, though prodigious in that direction, were equal to commencing a second meal after so short an interval, they were able to contribute even more than their usual share to the conversation, and their tongues ran on so persistently that Anstace asked Ella, laughing, if she had ever heard so much nonsense talked before, and Roderick proposed to banish them both summarily from the room.

"Oh, don't stop them, please don't!" Ella said earnestly, laying her arm round Norah's shoulders. "I like to listen to them. I wish I had a little sister like Norah to live with me at home. It's so quiet and so silent at Moyross since Harry--that's my brother--went away. Uncle Nicholas lives almost entirely in his own rooms, and there are only Brownie and I to sit together in the evenings."

She stopped short and flushed painfully, afraid that she had betrayed more than she had intended of her home life to these strangers. In truth, she had been contrasting the cosy, home-like air of the little drawing-room, shabby and faded though its furniture might be, with the chill stateliness of the great rooms at Moyross Abbey, where tables and chairs and ornaments were set out with the formality and precision which Miss Browne deemed correct.

Before another word could be said, the crunching of wheels was heard outside, and an open carriage, with a gray-haired lady as its solitary occupant, drew up at the door.

"That is Brownie; she has come for me herself. Oh, I do hope she has not been frightened about me!" exclaimed Ella, starting up anxiously.

Miss Browne on her part had alighted almost before the carriage had drawn up. She entered the house without any of the ordinary formalities of knocking or ringing, and came straight into the drawing-room. She was a tall, thin woman with a slight stoop, and light blue, near-sighted eyes which compelled her to wear glasses. She would have been a ludicrous figure had it not been for her manifest anxiety and distress, for her bonnet was put on backwards, and in her haste she had caught up a table-cover to put about her in place of a shawl.

"Oh, Ella, my darling child, then you are not so very badly hurt after all!" she exclaimed, seizing her by both hands and peering nervously into her face. "I was so afraid I had not been told the worst, and that you were seriously injured--or even killed."

"Brownie, dear, why will you always worry yourself for nothing?" Ella returned, smiling. "I am not the very least bit hurt, and you have not spoken to Miss O'Brien yet, and to Mr. O'Brien, who caught Sheila and stopped her."

"You must never ride her again, never. I should not have an easy moment if I knew you were on her back," declared poor Miss Browne vehemently.

She drew a long breath of relief notwithstanding, and her eye wandered round the room, taking in the paraphernalia of the tea-table, and the family group which her unceremonious entry had disturbed.

"Dear me! I think I did allow myself to be alarmed needlessly. I am always so nervous where dear Ella is concerned. How do you do, Miss O'Brien; we have not met before. How do you do, Mr. O'Brien. I am most obliged to you for your services to Ella."

It was all said very jerkily and awkwardly, for as poor Miss Browne's fears and anxieties subsided, she became painfully aware of the eccentricities of her attire, and of the open-eyed amazement with which Norah was regarding her, while Manus had only too evident difficulty in suppressing his laughter. Ella, too, looked annoyed, and made one or two furtive but vain attempts to pull the unlucky bonnet right. Miss Browne prided herself on her neatness and her habits of order, and to have appeared in such guise before strangers was therefore to her unspeakably mortifying.

"No, thank you, we cannot stay," in answer to Anstace's invitation to sit down and partake of tea. "We must not keep the horses standing, and Ella's uncle is coming from Dublin by the evening train, and will expect to find us at home. If you have finished your tea, dear, we had better start at once. I must thank you once again, Mr. O'Brien, for the assistance you rendered Ella this afternoon."

"It is quite unnecessary, I assure you," Roderick said rather loftily, as he escorted Miss Browne to the carriage. "I am very glad to have been of service to Miss Wyndham; my being at the spot was a mere accident."

Ella had lingered in the drawing-room to say good-bye to Anstace and Norah.

"Thank you so much for all your kindness to me," she said, holding out both her hands to Anstace. "It was so nice to be here with you all."

"Then I hope you will come and pay us another visit before very long," said Anstace cordially, as she kissed her. "We shall always be very glad to see you."

"Oh yes, you must come back very soon!" chimed in Norah, holding up her face in turn to be kissed; "and when you do, I will show you the bantam cock and hen which Mrs. Lynch gave me, and the cliffs, and the garden--oh, and lots of things besides!"

"I should like dearly to come and see you again," said Ella, but as she spoke she looked round the little room into which the westering sun was streaming, and wondered if she would be allowed to enter it again.

"Ella, my dear, make haste, I am waiting for you," came from the carriage, in which Miss Browne was already seated, and with a brief nod of farewell the girl hurried out.