CHAPTER XXIV. NORAH TO THE RESCUE.
Bridget had wandered away by herself. She knew her cousins, the Mahonys of Court Macsherry, too well to stand on the least ceremony with them. The load which crushed against her heart seemed to grow heavier each moment. Her only desire was to be alone.
She knew a spot where no one was likely to disturb her, and, catching up the long train of her rich dress, she ran swiftly until she found a solitary tree which stood a little apart from its fellows, and hung over the borders of the great, big bog which formed a large portion of the Court Macsherry estate.
Bridget climbed up into the hollow of the oak tree, and leaning back against its big trunk, looked out over the dismal, ugly bog. Her brows were drawn down, her beautiful lips drooped petulantly, she pushed back her rich hair from her brow. Her quaint many-colored dress, the background formed by the oak tree, the effect of the wild country which lay before her, gave to her own features a queer weirdness; and a passing traveler, had any been near, might have supposed her to be one of the fabled hamadryads of the oak.
No travelers, however, were likely to see Bridget where she had now ensconced herself. She sat quite still for nearly an hour, then dropping her head on her hands she gave way to a low, bitter moan.
She had scarcely done so before there was a rustling sound heard in the grass. It was pushed aside in the place where it grew longest and thickest, and a woman raised her head and looked up at her.
"Eh, mavourneen?" she said, in a voice of deep love and pity.
The woman was Norah Maloney. She had seen Biddy as she ran across the grass to her seat in the oak tree, and had crept softly after her, happy and content to lie silent and unobserved in the vicinity of her adored young mistress.