travel was no new thing to her, and she could speak enough of French
to explain the object of her journey, and had, moreover, the
advantage of being, from her faith, a welcome object of charitable
hospitality at many a distant convent. But the country people round
Starkey Manor-house knew nothing of all this. They wondered what had
become of her, in a torpid, lazy fashion, and then left off thinking
of her altogether. Several years passed. Both Manor-house and
cottage were deserted. The young Squire lived far away under the
direction of his guardians. There were inroads of wool and corn into
the sitting-rooms of the Hall; and there was some low talk, from time
to time, among the hinds and country people whether it would not be
as well to break into old Bridget's cottage, and save such of her
goods as were left from the moth and rust which must be making sad
havoc. But this idea was always quenched by the recollection of her
strong character and passionate anger; and tales of her masterful
spirit, and vehement force of will, were whispered about, till the
very thought of offending her, by touching any article of hers,
became invested with a kind of horror: it was believed that, dead or
alive, she would not fail to avenge it.

Suddenly she came home; with as little noise or note of preparation
as she had departed. One day some one noticed a thin, blue curl of
smoke ascending from her chimney. Her door stood open to the noonday
sun; and, ere many hours had elapsed, some one had seen an old
travel-and-sorrow-stained woman dipping her pitcher in the well; and
said, that the dark, solemn eyes that looked up at him were more like
Bridget Fitzgerald's than any one else's in this world; and yet, if
it were she, she looked as if she had been scorched in the flames of
hell, so brown, and scared, and fierce a creature did she seem. By-
and-by many saw her; and those who met her eye once cared not to be