"Ah yes, of course," Paulina agreed. "Well, just wear your nicest black in the evening. Your being in mourning will explain it's not being full dress. When we get to St. Aidan's"—the place where she intended to drink the waters—"I'll see about some gowns for you. I hear that the shops there are quite modish."
"Thank you," said Clodagh gratefully. But in her heart she was thinking: "Oh dear, if I'm to have more clothes, it will make the packing still worse, and where am I to put them if Cousin Paulina complains already of my luggage?"
But no more was said on the subject just then, and before very long they found themselves at Felway, where they left the coach, to complete the rest of the day's journey in Squire Marriston's chariot, which was awaiting them, as well as, to Paulina's satisfaction, a cart for their voluminous belongings.
The elder girl stepped into the roomy vehicle and glanced round her with approval.
"What a comfort to be less crowded up!" she exclaimed. "Clodagh, tell them to put everything in the cart. Just give me my satin mantle—these hot days sometimes end in chilly evenings—nothing else," and as her cousin obeyed her, "You are sure nothing was left in the coach?"
"Nothing," replied Clodagh confidently. "Still, I'll glance inside again, to make quite sure," and she did so, for the stage-coach was still there, waiting for fresh horses.
She came back to report satisfactorily, and they set off.
It was a longish drive, five or six miles, and the latter part through rough roads and lanes which reminded Clodagh of her native land.
"Thank goodness," said Paulina more than once, "that it is not winter or very wet weather. We should stick fast in the mud in these cart-tracks, to a certainty."
But before long they reached the Priory, safe and sound, and as they drove up the avenue, caught sight of two or three figures waiting to welcome them in front of the picturesque old house.