CHAPTER XIX. "BRUIN, MY DOG."
Two days afterward Lady Kathleen called Bridget aside, and, linking her hand through her arm, said in an affectionate tone:
"If you can spare me five minutes, Biddy, I have a pleasant little bit of news to give you."
Bridget O'Hara had resumed all the finery which had been more or less tabooed at school. The time was seven o'clock, on a summer's evening. She had on a richly embroidered tea gown of pale green silk, a silver girdle clasped her slim waist, the long train of her dress floated out behind her; it was partly open in front, and revealed a petticoat of cream satin, heavily embroidered with silver.
Strictly speaking, the dress was a great deal too old for so young a girl; but it suited Biddy, whose rich and brilliant coloring, and whose finely formed and almost statuesque young figure could carry off any amount of fine clothing. She and Lady Kathleen were standing on the terrace walk, which looked down on the lake. Its waters were tranquil as glass to-night; a few fleecy clouds in the sky were reflected on its bosom. A little boat with a white sail, which flapped aimlessly for want of wind to fill it, was to be seen in the distance. The Squire was directing the boat's wayward course, but it was making its way after a somewhat shambling fashion to the nearest landing-place. Bridget waved a handkerchief in the air.
"Turn the boat a bit, daddy, and the sail will fill," she shouted. "Now, then, Aunt Kathleen, what is it you want to say to me?"
"If you will only attend, Biddy," said Lady Kathleen. "Your thoughts are with your father, child; he's as safe as safe can be. Hasn't he sailed on the waters of Lake Crena since he was a little dot no higher than my knee?"
"But it is called the Witch's Cauldron, too," said Bridget, her eyes darkening. "They say that misfortune attends on those who are too fond of sailing on its waters."
Lady Kathleen laughed.