He had received an answer from Kate to his letter, prepared in a fashion very different from that of his own.  He had seated himself at a table and in compliance with the pledge given by him, had scrawled off his epistle as fast as he could write it.  She had taken a whole morning to think of hers, and had re-copied it after composing it, and had then read it with the utmost care, confessing to herself, almost with tears, that it was altogether unworthy of him to whom it was to be sent.  It was the first love letter she had ever written,—­probably the first letter she had ever written to a man, except those short notes which she would occasionally scrawl to Father Marty in compliance with her mother’s directions.  The letter to Fred was as follows;—­

   Ardkill cottage,
   10th April, 18—.

   My dearest Fred,

I received your dear letter three or four days ago, and it made me so happy.  We were sorry that you should have such an uncomfortable journey; but all that would be over and soon forgotten when you found yourself in your comfortable home and among your own friends.  I am very glad to hear that your uncle is better.  The thought of finding him so ill must have made your journey very sad.  As he is so much better, I suppose you will come back soon to your poor little Kate.

There is no news at all to send you from Liscannor.  Father Marty was up here yesterday and says that your boat is all safe at Lahinch.  He says that Barney Morony is an idle fellow, but as he has nothing to do he can’t help being idle.  You should come back and not let him be idle any more.  I think the sea gulls know that you are away, because they are wheeling and screaming about louder and bolder than ever.

Mother sends her best love.  She is very well.  We have had nothing to eat since you went because it has been Lent.  So, if you had been here, you would not have been able to get a bit of luncheon.  I dare say you have been a great deal better off at Scroope.  Father Marty says that you Protestants will have to keep your Lent hereafter,—­eighty days at a time instead of forty; and that we Catholics will be allowed to eat just what we like, while you Protestants will have to look on at us.  If so, I think I’ll manage to give you a little bit.

Do come back to your own Kate as soon as you can.  I need not tell you that I love you better than all the world because you know it already.  I am not a bit jealous of the proper young lady, and I hope that she will fall in love with your brother.  Then some day we shall be sisters;—­shan’t we?  I should like to have a proper young lady for my sister so much.  Only, perhaps she would despise me.  Do come back soon.  Everything is so dull while you are away!  You would come back to your own Kate if you knew how great a joy it is to her when she sees you coming along the cliff.

   Dearest, dearest love, I am always your own, own