"You have got to tell me the truth," answered Bridget. "If what I suspect is the case, I shall not ask Aunt Kathleen to do anything to shorten your stay at Castle Mahun; I shall not breathe the knowledge that is given to me, to a soul in the house; but I myself will never speak to you again. A few bare civilities it will be necessary for me to offer, but beyond this I shall never address you. My silence will not be noticed, for everyone else will be kind; but I—I tell you plainly that, if what I suspect is true, I will not associate with you."
"Will you kindly tell me your suspicions?" replied Janet.
"I think—oh! it's an awful thing to say—I think that you took those two sovereigns and put them into your own pocket."
"And because of that, supposing it to be true, you will not speak to me?"
"I will not!"
"But I tell you that you will; you will speak to me, and pet me, and fawn on me, even though you regard me as a thief—there!"
"I won't, Janet; I am a proud Irish girl, and I can't."
"You are a very cowardly, mean Irish girl. You are not a bit the sort of creature that people imagine you to be!" replied Janet, who was now almost overcome by the passion which choked her. "You talk of speaking quite openly and frankly, because we are on the hills together. I, too, will give you a piece of my mind out here, with no one to listen to us."
"No one to listen to us!" said Bridget, her face growing pale; "oh, you forget, you must forget, there is Nature herself, her voice in the breeze, and in the twitter of the birds, and her face looking up at us from the earth, and her smile looking down at us from the sky. I should be awfully afraid to tell a lie out here, alone with Nature."