The low words which came to his lips were not heard by anyone; there
was a frown, very like Nora's own, between his brows. The next
moment a small man, with reddish hair, in a very shabby suit of
half-worn tweed, appeared on the steps of the front door.

"Hullo, O'Shanaghgan, is that yourself?" he called out. "How are you,
Mrs. O'Shanaghgan? Right glad to see you. You'll step inside--won't
you? I believe the wife is somewhere round. Neil, my man, go and look
for the missus. Tell her that Madam O'Shanaghgan is here, and the
Squire. Well, Nora, I suppose you are wanting a chat with Bridget?
You won't find her indoors this fine evening."

"Where is she, Mr. Murphy?" asked the girl. "I do want to have a
talk with her."

"Ah! what's the basket for?"

"I want her to give me some of the pretty brown eggs."

"Well, go right down there by the sea-path, and you'll find her, as
likely as not."

"Very well," answered Nora. Slinging her basket on her arm, she
started for her walk. As soon as she was out of sight she began to
run. Presently she stopped and began whistling "The Wearing of the
Green," which was responded to in a moment by another voice, sweet
as that of a blackbird. She looked to right and left, and presently
saw a pair of laughing black eyes looking down at her from beneath
the shelter of a huge oak tree.