"Pshaw! what a mistake, to address such a girl, sans ceremonie; what an awkward predicament! It would be absurd to enter into a contest with such a brute, unarmed, for nothing," muttered Kate's admirer, who did not look like a man deficient in courage. "Here, good dog, I say," and he again attempted to pass, but Cormac sprang to his feet with a savage growl, and again the haughty looking 'elegant' was baffled.
Meantime Kate's slight figure disappeared in the distance, and, a moment after, Cormac pricking his ears at some sound, unheard by his opponent, with a final growl, darted at full speed down the walk by which his mistress had vanished. She was waiting a few paces beyond the gate, where she had, to the best of her ability, uttered the whistle, which had recalled her faithful guardian; and now hurrying her pace almost to a run, they speedily reached home, but not before the persevering stranger had caught sight of the flutter of her dress, as she turned the corner of Victoria Gardens.
"How late you are, my child! you seem flushed and breathless."
"Yes, dear grandpapa, I was detained at Mrs. Potter's, and of course that made me late with my other pupils; then I walked so fast; but I will run up stairs and take off my bonnet."
"Oh, nurse!" she exclaimed, throwing herself into Mrs. O'Toole's arms, "I have had such a fright—no, not a fright, but I am so indignant to think that he should dare to—"
"Och, what is it, good or bad? take breath, asthore!"
And Kate, with many charges not to tell her grandfather, recounted her adventure to nurse.
"Och, bad manners to him," exclaimed that sympathising confidante. "The rale divil he was to go spake that away to a lady like you; bad luck to his impidence; did he think ye'd thank him for wantin' to know ye? I wish I come across him, faith I'd make his hair stand on ind, the schamin' vagabone. But why are ye cryin', avick, about a thief iv a pickpocket? I'll go bail it's yer purse he wanted; sure a rale gintleman ud know betther!"
"I can't help it, nurse! they are the bitterest tears I ever shed, not on account of that wretched man, but to think that such a thing ever occurred, and may occur again."
"Sorra bit iv it, I'll go wid ye me own self ivery day to Potter's an' the other place, an' let me see if me gintleman dare say pays to ye! Whist! och, jewel, there's the masther callin—dhry yer eyes."