If Bridget herself, however, wished Janet to be set free, there was no help for it.
"You wait here, Miss Biddy," she said; "you needn't go for Miss Janet May. I'll bring her to you in an hour at the farthest."
"Very well, Norah," said Bridget, "I'll wait for you here."
She sat down as she spoke, under the shelter of a large birch tree, and, leaning her head against its silver stem, fell into a heavy sleep.
She dreamt in her sleep, and these dreams were so disquieting that she could not help crying out and moaning heavily. She opened her eyes at last to see her old father standing by her.
For a moment she could not remember where she was, nor what had happened. The smile which always filled her eyes when she looked at her dearly loved father came into them now; a gay word banished the sorrowful lines from round her lips, and, with a little laugh, she rose to her feet.
"How ridiculous of me to have gone to sleep in the wood," she exclaimed.
Then memory came back. She flushed first, and then turned deadly pale.
"You are in trouble, alanna," said Squire O'Hara. "I know that by the look you wore in your sleep; I never saw my colleen wear a face so full of sorrow before. There's something on your mind, acushla, and you are afraid to tell your father. Maybe I frightened you a bit in the parlor just now; if so, my heart's core, you must forgive me. I was taken aback and put out, and we O'Haras are celebrated for our hasty tempers. I am not angry now, however: my anger has passed like a morning cloud. You tell me all that is vexing you, Biddy. Put your arms round me, and whisper your trouble in my ears, my own colleen."