"It was the dress that did it," she said; "it is the loveliest
garment in all the world. Come along now, and let's take it off. I
want to gather those eggs for you."

She ran upstairs again, followed by Nora. The dress was disposed of in
the large wooden wardrobe, the old torn frock readjusted on Biddy's
stout form, and the girls went out into the lovely summer air. The
eggs which Nora required were put into the little basket, and in
half an hour the O'Shanaghgans' party were returning at full speed
to Castle O'Shanaghgan. Nora glanced once into her father's face, and
her heart gave a great leap. Her high spirits left her as if by magic;
she felt a lump in her throat, and during the rest of the drive hardly
spoke.

The Squire, on the contrary, talked incessantly. He talked more than
ever after Nora had looked at him. He slapped his wife on the
shoulder, and complimented her on her bravery. Nora's driving was
the very best in all the world; she was a born whip; she had no fear
in her; she was his own colleen, the Light o' the Morning, the dearest,
sweetest soul on earth.

Mrs. O'Shanaghan replied very briefly and coldly to her husband's
excited words. She treated them with what she imagined the contempt
they deserved; but Nora was neither elated just then by her father's
praise nor chilled by her mother's demeanor. Every thought of her
heart, every nerve in her highly strung frame, was concentrated on
one fact alone--she had surprised a look, a look on the Squire's
face, which told her that his heart was broken.