"Is that you, Biddy?" he said. "How are you, my love? Oh! and Kathleen, you have put in an appearance at last; and here the boys, and Miss Sophy. Come, that's right, that's right. Now let us sit down and enjoy ourselves. I have been out since six o'clock, and I'm quite disposed to do justice to my tea and fresh eggs. Here, Biddy, you shall pour me out a cup with your own fair hands, alanna."
The squire drew up to the table, making a considerable amount of bluster and noise. Bruin crouched in his usual place by Bridget's side; Sophy sat near Lady Kathleen; the boys began hungrily to attack a huge bowl of porridge each, and the meal proceeded.
"You are all very silent," said the squire. "Have none of you anything to say for yourselves? Not a laugh do I hear—not a whisper. Half an hour late for breakfast, and everyone coming in as mum as if we were all a house of the dead! Come, Biddy, come, haven't you a joke to crack with anyone?"
"Oh, squire," said Lady Kathleen, from the other end of the long board, "we just want you to drink off your tea first. Oh, oh, oh! Sophy, poor child, poor child, restrain yourself. There, she can't, the creature, she can't. Put your arms round my neck, pet, and cry here then; poor little dear, poor little dear!"
"What in the name of fortune does this mean?" exclaimed Dennis O'Hara. "Biddy, can you explain it? Why, your face is like a sheet, child. What can be wrong?"
"I will tell you, Dennis," said Lady Kathleen. "Poor little Janet is lost. If you hadn't been so taken up with all the singing and the dancing last night you'd have missed her from our family circle, for she wasn't there then, and she isn't here now; and what's more, she hasn't been in her bed the whole of the blessed night, and there's Sophy fit to break her heart, and no wonder, poor thing, no wonder, for if there was a nice devoted little sister it was Janet. I am fearing that the poor child has fallen from a precipice, or gone too far into one of the bogs. I always told you, squire, that you didn't half drain those bogs. Now, what is it? Oh, mercy me, what awful thing are you going to say?"
"I'm going to request you to hold your tongue," said the squire. "We none of us can hear ourselves speak with you, Kathleen. And a fine, queer tale you have to tell! Miss Janet May hasn't been in the house all night! Is that true, Miss Sophy?"
"She wasn't in her room last night," said Sophy, a fresh sob breaking her voice.
"But this must be looked into at once," continued the squire. "One of my visitors has been absent from my roof all night, and I am only told of it now—now—and it past eight o'clock in the morning! This is a scandalous shame! Why, there isn't a man or boy in the place who shouldn't have been searching round for the bit of a colleen four hours past. But, of course, I'm always kept in the dark. Although I am Squire O'Hara of Castle Mahun, I'm just nobody, I suppose? Now, what is it, Bridget—what are you going to say? I won't take interference from anyone when I am roused like this."
The squire was in one of his rare, but terrible passions: his lips trembled, his eyes blazed, his great hand shook.