“Well, Kathleen, what brings you here?” asked Miss O’Reilly, addressing her in a kind tone.
“What brings me here takes me wherever I list to go, my own free will,” answered the mad girl, who was still young, and possessed of an amount of beauty which made those who saw her feel even more sympathy and compassion than they might have done, had her appearance been less attractive.
“You are good and kind, Kathleen,” said Miss O’Reilly; “you would do me a kindness, I know, if I were to ask you.”
“That I would, lady!” answered the girl, in the broken Saxon which was spoken by not many of the peasantry in that part of Ireland; “I would do anything to serve you, just say what it is.”
Miss O’Reilly, in a few words, explained to Kathleen what she wished to have done.
“You know him, you know young Dermot O’Neil?”
“Oh yes, I know him well; he is a gentle lad and a good one, and I would gladly serve him, as I would you, lady.”
Miss O’Reilly again endeavoured to impress upon the wandering mind of the poor girl what she was to do, and then begged her to hasten off to overtake Dermot. However, neither she nor Miss O’Reilly were aware of the distance Dermot would have got before Kathleen could overtake him.
The mad girl went singing on as was her wont for some time, till suddenly she became unusually silent. She had not gone far when she heard the loud talking of a body of men approaching her.
“Those voices at this time of the evening bode no good,” she said to herself. “They are some of the rebels who they say are about the country. I never loved such. I will hide and watch to see what they are about.”