Janet sprang up to take it to her. As she did so she recognized the handwriting and the postmark. The letter came from Eastcliff, and was from Mrs. Freeman.
Janet felt her heart beat heavily. She felt no doubt whatever that this letter, so thick in substance and so important in appearance, contained an account of poor Biddy's delinquencies.
Lady Kathleen received it, and laid it by her plate.
"Who's your correspondent, Kathleen?" asked the squire, from the other end of the table. It was one of his small weaknesses to be intensely curious about letters.
Lady Kathleen raised the letter and examined the writing.
"It's from Eastcliff," she said, "from Mrs. Freeman; I know by the way she flourishes her t's. The letter is from Mrs. Freeman," she repeated, raising her voice. "A thick letter, with an account, no doubt, of our Biddy's progress."
Bridget, who was standing by her father's side, turned suddenly pale. Her hand, which rested on his shoulder, slightly trembled; a sick fear, which she had thought dead, came over her with renewed force. She had forgotten the possibility of Mrs. Freeman writing an account of her wrong doings to Lady Kathleen. Now she felt a sudden wild terror, something like a bird caught for the first time in the fowler's net.
Squire O'Hara felt her hand tremble. This father and daughter were so truly one that her lightest moods, her most passing emotions were instantly perceived by him.
"You are all in a fuss, colleen," he said, looking back at her; "but if there is a bit of praise in the letter, why shouldn't we hear it? You open it, and read it aloud to us, Kathleen. You'll be glad to hear what my daughter has done at school, Miss Macnamara?"