“You are a brick, Aunt Church,” said Tom.

He took a seat at the table, and gazed with wonder, delight, and admiration at Kathleen.  He told his schoolfellows that at that moment he lost his heart to Kathleen.  He said that she bowled him over completely.

“I haven’t a scrap of heart in my body to-day,” he remarked to his chosen friends.  “I took it out and put it at her feet; and if you’ll believe me, she spurned it.  That’s the way of girls.  Don’t you have anything to do with them, boys.”

But the boys only begged more earnestly than ever to have a look at Kathleen.  Tom finally promised to secure her photograph by hook or by crook, and to show it to them.

When the meal, which was but a short one after all, came to an end, Miss O’Flynn and Kathleen got up and were preparing to go to the yard at the back of the house, when there came the sound of horse’s hoofs on the stones outside.  They stopped at the cottage, and a loud knock at the door was next heard.

“They have come,” said Susy, her face white as a sheet.  “I knew they would.  I wonder what will happen, Kathleen.  Aren’t you awfully frightened?”

“Not I,” said Kathleen.  “Why should I be afraid?  Whoever is there has nothing to do with us.”

Susy’s state of panic amused both Miss O’Flynn and Kathleen, and Tom was the only one found brave enough to go to the door in answer to the knock.  He came back the next instant with a telegram, which was addressed to Miss O’Flynn.  She tore it open, and gave a loud scream.

“It’s my poor cousin Peggy Doharty.  She has fallen from her horse and has concussion of the brain.  I must go to her at once.  Oh, alannah, alannah!  What is to be done?”

Here Miss O’Flynn turned a face of anguish in Kathleen’s direction.

“It is I that must leave you, my darling,” she said.  “I will go back to town with the messenger, get off to London to-night, and cross in the morning.  Ah, the creature!  And she’s my dearest friend.  Let us hope that Providence will spare her precious life.  Oh dear, dear, dear!  This is awful!”

“I don’t see why you should go, Aunt Katie,” said Kathleen.  “I want you very badly indeed just now.”

“Then, my sweet child, come straight away with me to Dublin; for as to leaving Peggy in her hour of extremity, I wouldn’t do it even for you, Kathleen, and that’s saying a good deal.”

“But how can I come?  I have my society and—­and the school.”

“Well, then, stay, love; only don’t keep me now.  Good-bye to you, pet; I haven’t a minute to lose—­Tom—­is that your name?—­go out and tell the messenger that I will go back with him to Merrifield.”

“And what about my almshouse?” screamed out Mrs. Church.  “This is a nice state of things, I must say.  Who minds what a slip of a young lady says?—­meaning no offence to you, miss; but I have been spending my money right and left, getting tea that beats all for gentility, and now one of the ladies is off as it were in a flash of an eye.  What about my almshouse?”