"All right, my dear." Janet slipped the letter into her pocket. "I know Lady Kathleen's room," she continued, "and I shall manage to put this letter back on her dressing table when I go in. Who's that coming to meet us? Oh, I declare, it is Squire O'Hara! How well your father rides, Bridget! what a handsome man he is!"
Bridget felt as if she should choke; the squire's loud, hearty voice was heard in the distance.
"Hullo, colleens; there you are!" he shouted. "I thought I'd bring the General round in this direction; I had a curiosity to see how you were managing Miss Nelly, my dear." He bowed as he spoke to Janet. "I see you keep your seat very nicely. And you, Biddy—eh, my jewel—why, you look tired. Has Wild Hawk been too much for you?"
"Not a bit, father; I am as right as possible." Bridget turned swiftly to Janet as she uttered these words.
"I will give you your answer to-morrow," she said in a low tone; "give me until to-morrow to decide."
CHAPTER XXIII. UNDER A SPELL.
Lady Kathleen did not make much fuss over the loss of her letter.
"It's a queer thing," she said that evening to the squire, as they all sat round the supper table, "but I can't lay my hand on the letter with the Eastcliff post-mark. I made sure that I slipped it into the pocket of the striped lilac silk dress I wore this morning; but I didn't, and I can't imagine where I dropped it."