The boys Patrick and Gerald were jolly, good-humored, handsome lads, with not a scrap of affectation, but with rather more than the average amount of boy mischief in their compositions. They were quite inclined to be friendly with the two English girls whom they found established at Castle Mahun, but that fact would by no means prevent their taking a rise out of them at the first opportunity which offered.
Sophy was full of little nervous terrors. She shrank back when they offered to help her into the boat; she uttered a succession of little shrieks as she was conveyed to her seat in the stern. Patrick winked at Gerald when she did this, and they both made a mental resolution to cajole the unfortunate Sophy into the boat some day when they could have her all to themselves. They would not endanger her life on that occasion, but unquestionably they would give her an exciting time.
They meant to play some pranks on Sophy; but at the same time they regarded the pretty, helpless, nervous little English girl with a certain chivalrous good nature, which by no means animated the feelings with which they looked at Janet.
Janet was not at all to their taste. She had a supercilious manner toward them, which was most riling. They were shrewd enough to guess, too, that Bridget, notwithstanding her gentleness and politeness, in her heart of hearts could not bear Janet. As Patrick and Gerald would both of them have almost died for their cousin Bridget, the knowledge that she was not fond of Janet was likely to give that young lady some unpleasant experiences in the future.
Although Bridget was in apparently gay spirits during the morning of this day, she was in her heart of hearts extremely anxious and unhappy. The fatal letter had arrived; the story of her deceit and underhand ways would soon be known to her father and to Aunt Kathleen. Aunt Kathleen might, and probably would, quickly forgive her; but Squire O'Hara, although he forgave, would, at least, never forget. Forever and forever, all through the rest of his days, the shadow of Bridget's dishonor would cloud his eyes, and keep back the old gay and heart-whole smile from his lips. He would love her, and pity her, and be sweet to her, but never again would she be as the old Biddy to him. Now he looked upon her as a pearl without a flaw, as the best of all created beings; in the future there would be a dimness over her luster.
While the poor young girl was laughing with her cousins, and trying to make her visitors happy, these thoughts darkened and filled her mind. She had also another care.
She must discover if Janet had really taken the two pounds. It would be too awful if she were really proved to be nothing better than a common thief. Bridget intended to ask Janet to accompany her to Pat's cottage on the hills that afternoon. The postal order might all the time be safely tucked away in the envelope of the unread letter. If so, all would be well; but if, on the other hand, it was nowhere to be found, Bridget felt sure that she could, to a great extent, read the truth in Janet's face. It would be impossible for her to speak to Janet on the subject while she was in her father's house, or even in any part of the grounds; but out on the hills, away from the O'Hara estate, she might tell her plainly what she thought of her conduct.
When the early dinner was over, Bridget called Janet aside and spoke to her.
"I am going to ride on my pony Wild Hawk," she said. "I am going to see some poor people who live up in the hills. I don't want the boys to come, but they can amuse Sophy if you like to ride with me, Janet. You told me once at school that you were very fond of riding."
"That is true," replied Janet. "I used to ride in Hyde Park when I was a very little girl, but that, of course, is some years ago."