“It's Biddy; for the love o' God make haste, Kitty, an' open.”
“What Biddy are you? I won't open.”
“Biddy Nulty. You know me well enough, Kitty; so make haste an' open, Alick, mark my words,” said she in a low voice to her brother, “Kitty's the very one that practised the desate this night—that left the hall-door open. Make haste, Kitty, I say.”
“I'll do no such thing indeed,” replied the other; “it was you left the hall-door open to-night, an' I heard you spakin' to fellows outside. I have too much regard for my masther's house an' family to let you or any one else in to-night. Come in the mornin'.”
“Folly me, Alick,” said Biddy, “folly me.”
She went immediately to the hall-door, and gave such a single rap with the knocker, as brought more than Kitty to the door.
“Who's there?” inquired a voice, which she and her brother at once knew to be Ned M'Cormick's.
“Ned, for the love o' God, let me an' Alick in!” she replied; “we got away from that netarnal villin.”
Instantly the door was opened, and the first thing Ned did was to put his arms about Biddy's neck, and—we were going to say kiss her.
“Saints above!” said he, “what's this?” on seeing that her face was dreadfully disfigured with blood.