ur misthress'll be the better of a quiet sleep afther the night
she's had, and it'll be betther for her jist popping into Miss Meg's
bed than getting between a pair of cowld sheets."

These preparations met with Biddy's entire approval, for she reiterated
her blessings on the widow, as she went to announce all the news to
Sally and Kate, while Mrs Kelly made such preparations as were fitting
for a walk, at that early hour, up to Dunmore House.

They were not long before they were under weigh, but they did not reach
the house quite so quickly as Biddy had left it. Mrs Kelly had to pick
her way in the half light, and observed that "she'd never been up to
the house since old Simeon Lynch built it, and when the stones were
laying for it, she didn't think she ever would; but one never knowed
what changes might happen in this world."

They were soon in the house, for Judy was up to let them in; and though
she stared when she saw Mrs Kelly, she merely curtsied, and said
nothing.

The girl went upstairs first, with the candle, and Mrs Kelly followed,
very gently, on tiptoe. She need not have been so careful to avoid
waking Barry, for, had a drove of oxen been driven upstairs, it would
not have roused him. However, up she crept,--her thick shoes creaking
on every stair,--and stood outside the door, while Biddy went in to
break the news of her arrival.

Anty was still asleep, but it did not take much to rouse her; and she
trembled in her bed, when, on her asking what was the matter, Mrs Kelly
popped her bonnet inside the door, and said,

"It's only me, my dear. Mrs Kelly, you know, from the inn," and then
she very cautiously insinuated the rest of her body into the room, as
though she thought that Barry was asleep under the bed, and she was
afraid of treading on one of his stray fingers. "It's only me, my
dear. Biddy's been down to me, like a good girl; and I tell you
what--this is no place for you, just at present, Miss Anty; not till
such time as things is settled a little. So I'm thinking you'd betther
be slipping down wid me to the inn there, before your brother's up.
There's nobody in it, not a sowl, only Meg, and Jane, and me, and
we'll make you snug enough between us, never fear."

"Do, Miss Anty, dear do, darling," added Biddy. "It'll be a dale
betther for you than waiting here to be batthered and bruised, and,
perhaps, murthered out and out."

"Hush, Biddy--don't be saying such things," said the widow, who had a