WILLY REILLY

by William Carleton

Illustrated by M. L. Flanery

CONTENTS:

 CHAPTER I. --An Adventure and an Escape

 II. --The Cooleen Bawn

 III. --Daring Attempt of the Red Rapparee --Mysterious Disappearance of His Gang--The Avowal

 IV. --A Sapient Project for our Hero's Conversion--His Rival makes his Appearance, and its Consequences

 V. --The Plot and the Victims

 VI. --The Warning--an Escape

 VII. --An Accidental Incident favorable to Reilly, and a Curious Conversation

 VIII. --A Conflagration--An Escape--And an Adventure

 IX. --Reilly's Adventure Continued --A Prospect of By-gone Times--Reilly gets a Bed in a Curious Establishment

 X. --Scenes that took place in the Mountain Cave

 XI. --The Squire's Dinner and his Guests

 XII. --Sir Robert Meets a Brother Sportsman --Draws his Nets, but Catches Nothing

 XIII. --Reilly is Taken, but connived at by the Sheriff--the Mountain Mass

 XIV. --Reilly takes Service with Squire Folliard

 XV. --More of Whitecraft's Plots and Pranks

 XVI. --Sir Robert ingeniously extricates Himself out of a great Difficulty

 XVII. --Awful Conduct of Squire Folliard --Fergus Keilly begins to Contravene the Red Rapparee

 XVIII. --Something not very Pleasant for all Parties

 XIX. --Reilly's Disguise Penetrated --He Escapes--Fergus Reilly is on the Trail of the Rapparee--Sir Robert begins to feel Confident of Success

 XX. --The Rapparee Secured--Reilly and the Cooleen Bawn Escape, and are Captured

 XXI. --Sir Robert Accepts of an Invitation

 XXII. --The Squire Comforts Whitecraft in his Affliction

 XXIII. --The Squire becomes Theological and a Proselytizer, but signally fails

 XXIV. --Preparations--Jury of the Olden Time --The Scales of Justice

 XXV. --Rumor of Cooleen Bawn's Treachery --How it appears--Reilly stands his Trial --Conclusion

PREFACE TO THE SECOND EDITION. 

I am agreeably called upon by my bookseller to prepare for a SecondEdition of "Willy Reilly. " This is at all times a pleasing call upon anauthor; and it is so especially to me, inasmuch as the first Editionwas sold at the fashionable, but unreasonable, price of a guinea and ahalf--a price which, in this age of cheap literature, is almost fatal tothe sale of any three-volume novel, no matter what may be its merits. With respect to "Willy Reilly, " it may be necessary to say that I neverwrote any work of the same extent in so short a time, or with so muchhaste. Its popularity, however, has been equal to that of any otherof my productions; and the reception which it has experienced from theablest public and professional critics of the day has far surpassed myexpectations. I accordingly take this opportunity of thanking them mostsincerely for the favorable verdict which they have generously passedupon it, as I do for their kindness to my humble efforts for the lasttwenty-eight years. Nothing, indeed, can be a greater encouragement toa literary man, to a novel writer, in fact, than the reflection that hehas an honest and generous tribunal to encounter. If he be a quack or animpostor, they will at once detect him; but if he exhibit human natureand truthful character in his pages, it matters not whether he goes tohis bookseller's in a coach, or plods there humbly, and on foot; theywill forget everything but the value and merit of what he places beforethem. On this account it is that I reverence and respect them; andindeed I ought to do so, for I owe them the gratitude of a pretty longliterary life. 

Concerning this Edition, I must say something. I have already statedthat it was written rapidly and in a hurry. On reading it over forcorrection, I was struck in my cooler moments by many defects in it, which were, kindly overlooked, or, perhaps, not noticed at all. Tomyself, however, who had been brooding over this work for a long time, they at once became obvious. I have accordingly added an underplot ofaffection between Fergus Reilly--mentioned as a distant relative of myhero--and the _Cooleen Bawn's_ maid, Ellen Connor. In doing so, I havenot disturbed a single incident in the work; and the reader who may haveperused the first Edition, if he should ever--as is not unfrequently thecase--peruse this second one, will certainly wonder how the additionswere made. That, however, is the secret of the author, with which theyhave nothing to do but to enjoy the book, if they can enjoy it. 

With respect to the O'Reilly name and family, I have consulted mydistinguished' friend--and I am proud to call him so--John O'Donovan, Esq. , LL. D. , M. R. I. A. , who, with the greatest kindness, placed thesummary of the history of that celebrated family at my disposal. Thislearned gentleman is an authority beyond all question. With respect toIreland--her language--her old laws--her history--her antiquities--herarchaeology--her topography, and the genealogy of her families, he isa perfect miracle, as is his distinguished fellow-laborer in the samefield, Eugene Curry. Two such men--and, including Dr. Petrie, three suchmen--Ireland never has produced, and never can again--for this simplereason, that they will have left nothing after them for their successorsto accomplish. To Eugene Curry I am indebted for the principal fact uponwhich my novel of the "Tithe Proctor" was written--the able introductionto which was printed verbatim from a manuscript with which he kindlyfurnished me. The following is Dr. O'Donovan's clear and succincthistory of the O'Reilly family from the year 435 until the present time:

"The ancestors of the family of O'Reilly had been celebrated in Irishhistory long before the establishment of surnames in Ireland. In theyear 435 their ancestor, Duach Galach, King of Connaught, was baptizedby St. Patrick on the banks of Loch Scola, and they had remainedChristians of the old Irish Church, which appears to have been peculiarin its mode of tonsure, and of keeping Easter (and, since the twelfthcentury, firm adherents to the religion of the Pope, till DowellO'Reilly, Esq. , the father of the present head of the name, quarrellingwith Father Dowling, of Stradbally, turned Protestant, about the year1800). 

"The ancestor, after whom they took the family name, was Reillagh, whowas chief of his sect, and flourished about the year 981. 

"From this period they are traced in the Irish Annals through along line of powerful chieftains of East Breifny (County Cavan), whosucceeded each other, according to the law of Tanistry, till the year1585, when two rival chieftians of the name, Sir John O'Reilly andEdmund O'Reilly, appeared in Dublin, at the parliament summoned byPerrot. Previously to this, John O'Reilly, finding his party weak, hadrepaired to England, in 1583, to solicit Queen Elizabeth's interest, and had been kindly received at Court, and invested with the order ofKnighthood, and promised to be made Earl, whereupon he returned homewith letters from the Queen to the Lord Deputy and Council of Ireland, instructing them to support him in his claims. His uncle, Edmund, ofKilnacrott, would have succeeded Hugh Connallagh O'Reilly, the father ofSir John, according to the Irish law of Tanistry, but he was set asideby Elizabeth's government, and Sir John set up as O'Reilly in his place. Sir John being settled in the chieftainship of East Breifny, enteredinto certain articles of agreement with Sir John Perrot, the LordDeputy, and the Council of Ireland, whereby he agreed to surrender theprincipality of East Breifny to the Queen, on condition of obtaining itagain from the crown _in capite_ by English tenure, and the same to beratified to him and the heirs male of his body. In consequence of thisagreement, and with the intent of abolishing the tanistic succession, he, on the last day of August, 1590, perfected a deed of feofment, entailing thereby the seignory of Breifny (O'Reilly) on his eldest son, Malmore (Myles), surnamed Alainn (the comely), afterwards known as theQueen's O'Reilly. 

"Notwithstanding these transactions, Sir John O'Reilly soon after joinedin the rebellion of Hugh, Earl of Tyrone, and died on the first of June, 1596. After his death the Earl of Tyrone set up his second brother, Philip, as the O'Reilly, and the government of Elizabeth supported theclaim of Sir John's son, Malmore, the comely, in opposition to Philip, and Edmund of Kilnacrott. But Malmore, the Queen's O'Reilly, was slainby Tyrone in the great battle of the Yellow Ford, near Benburb, on the14th of August, 1528, and the Irish of Ulster agreed to establish Edmundof Kilnacrott, as the O'Reilly. 

"The lineal descendants of Sir John passed into the French service, andare now totally unknown, and probably extinct. The descendants of Edmundof Kilnacrott have been far more prolific and more fortunate. His seniorrepresentative is my worthy old friend Myles John O'Reilly, Esq. , HeathHouse, Emo, Queen's Co. , and from him are also descended the O'Reillysof Thomastown Castle, in the County of Louth, the Counts O'Reilly ofSpain, the O'Reillys of Beltrasna, in Westmeath, and the Reillys ofScarva House, in the County of Down. 

"Edmund of Kilnacrott had a son John who had a son Brian, by Mary, daughter of the Baron of Dunsany, who had a famous son Malmore, commonlycalled Myles the Slasher. This Myles was an able military leader duringthe civil wars of 1641, and showed prodigies of valor during the years1641, 1642, and 1643; but, in 1644, being encamped at Granard, in theCounty of Longford, with Lord Castlehaven, who ordered him to proceedwith a chosen detachment of horse to defend the bridge of Finea againstthe Scots, then bearing down on the main army with a very superiorforce, Myles was slain at the head of his troops, fighting bravely onthe middle of the bridge. Tradition adds, that during this action heencountered the colonel of the Scots in single combat, who laid open hischeek with a blow of his sword; but Myles, whose jaws were stronger thana smith's vice, held fast the Scotchman's sword between his teeth tillhe cut him down, but the main body of the Scots pressing upon him, hewas left dead on the bridge. 

"This Myles the Slasher was the father of Colonel John O'Reilly, ofBallymacadd, in the County Meath, who was elected Knight of the Shirefor the County of Cavan, in the parliament held at Dublin on the 7th ofMay, 1689. He raised a regiment of dragoons, at his own expense, for theservice of James II. , and assisted at the siege of Londonderry in1689. He had two engagements with Colonel Wolsley, the commander ofthe garrison of Belturbet, whom he signally defeated. He fought at thebattles of the Boyne and Aughrim, and was included in the articles ofcapitulation of Limerick, whereby he preserved his property, and wasallowed to carry arms. 

"Of the eldest son of this Colonel John O'Reilly, who left issue, myfriend Myles J. O'Reilly, Esq. , is now the senior representative. 

"From Colonel John O'Reilly's youngest son, Thomas O'Reilly, ofBeltrasna, was descended Count Alexander O'Reilly, of Spain, who tookAlgiers! immortalized by Byron. This Alexander was born near Oldcastle, in the County Meath, in the year 1722. He was Generalissimo of hisCatholic Majesty's forces, and Inspector-General of the Infantry, etc. , etc. In the year 1786 he employed the Chevalier Thomas O'Gorman tocompile for him a history of the House of O'Reilly, for which he paidO'Gorman the sum of £1, 137 10. S. , the original receipt for which I havein my possession. 

"Prom this branch of the O'Reilly family was also descended theillustrious Andrew Count O'Reilly, who died at Vienna in 1832, at theage of 92. He was General of Cavalry in the Austrian service. Thisdistinguished man filled in succession all the military grades in theAustrian service, with the exception of that of Field Marshal, and wascalled by Napoleon '_le respectable General O'Reilly_. '

"The eldest son of Myles J. O'Reilly, Esq. , is a young gentleman ofgreat promise and considerable fortune. His rencontre with Lord Clements(now Earl of Leitrim) has been not long since prominently before thepublic, and in a manner which does justice to our old party quarrels!Both are, however, worthy of their high descent; and it is to be hopedthat they will soon become good friends, as they are boih young, andremarkable for benevolence and love of fatherland. "

As this has been considered by some persons as a historical novel, although I really never intended it as such, it may be necessary to givethe reader a more distinct notion of the period in which the incidentsrecorded in it took place. The period then was about that of 1745, whenLord Chesterfield was Governor-General of Ireland. This nobleman, thoughan infidel, was a bigot, and a decided anti-Catholic; nor do I thinkthat the temporary relaxation of the penal laws against Catholics wasanything else than an apprehension on the part of England that theclaims of the Pretender might be supported by the Irish Catholics, whothen, so depressed and persecuted, must have naturally felt a stronginterest in having a prince who professed their own religion placed uponthe English throne. Strange as it may appear, however, and be the causeof it what it may, the Catholics of Ireland, as a people and as a body, took no part whatever in supporting him. Under Lord Chesterfield'sadministration, one of the most shocking and unnatural Acts ofParliament ever conceived passed into a law. This was the making voidand null all intermarriages between Catholic and Protestant that shouldtake place after the 1st of May, 1746. Such an Act was a renewal of theStatute of Kilkenny, and it was a fortunate circumstance to Willy Reillyand his dear Cooleen Bawn that he had the consolation of having beentransported for seven years. Had her father even given his consent at anearlier period, the laws of the land would have rendered their marriageimpossible. This cruel law, however, was overlooked; for it need hardlybe said that it was met and spurned not only by human reason, but byhuman passion. In truth, the strong and influential of both religionstreated it with contempt, and trampled on it without any dread of theconsequences. By the time of his return from transportation, it wasmerely a dead letter, disregarded and scorned by both parties, and wasno obstruction to either the marriage or the happiness of himself andhis dear _Cooleen Bawn_. 

I know not that there is any thing else I can add to this preface, unless the fact that I have heard several other ballads upon the subjectof these celebrated lovers--all of the same tendency, and all in thehighest praise of the beauty and virtues of the fair _Cooleen Bawn_. Their utter vulgarity, however, precludes them from a place in thesepages. And, by the way, talking of the law which passed under theadministration of Lord Chesterfield against intermarriages, it is notimprobable that the elopement of Reilly and the _Cooleen Bawn_, inaddition to the execution of the man to whom I have given the name ofSir Robert Whitecraft, may have introduced it in a spirit of reaction, not only against the consequences of the elopement, but against thebaronet's ignominious death. Thus, in every point from which we canview it, the fate of this celebrated couple involved not only popularfeeling, but national importance. 

I have not been able to trace with any accuracy or satisfaction thatportion or branch of the O'Reilly family to which my hero belonged. Thedreary lapse of time, and his removal from the country, have been themeans of sweeping into oblivion every thing concerning him, with theexception of his love for Miss Folliard, and its strange consequences. Even tradition is silent upon that part of the subject, and I fear thatany attempt to throw light upon it must end only in disappointment. I have reason to believe that the Counsellor Fox, who acted as hisadvocate, was never himself raised to the bench; but that that honor wasreserved for his son, who was an active judge a little before the closeof the last century. 

W. Carleton. 

Dublin, December, 1856. 

CHAPTER I. --An Adventure and an Escape. 

Spirit of George Prince Regent James, Esq. , forgive me thiscommencement! *

 * I mean no offence whatsoever to this distinguished and multitudinous writer; but the commencement of this novel really resembled that of so many of his that I was anxious to avoid the charge of imitating him. 

It was one evening at the close of a September month and a September daythat two equestrians might be observed passing along one of those oldand lonely Irish roads that seemed, from the nature of its construction, to have been paved by a society of antiquarians, if a person could judgefrom its obsolete character, and the difficulty, without risk of neck orlimb, of riding a horse or driving a carriage along it. Ireland, as ourEnglish readers ought to know, has always been a country teeming withabundance--a happy land, in which want, destitution, sickness, andfamine have never been felt or known, except through the mendaciousmisrepresentations of her enemies. The road we speak of was a proofof this; for it was evident to every observer that, in some season ofsuperabundant food, the people, not knowing exactly how to dispose oftheir shilling loaves, took to paving the common roads with them, ratherthan they should be utterly useless. These loaves, in the courseof time, underwent the process of petrifaction, but could not, nevertheless, be looked upon as wholly lost to the country. A greatnumber of the Irish, within six of the last preceding years--that is, from '46 to '52--took a peculiar fancy for them as food, which, wepresume, caused their enemies to say that we then had hard times inIreland. Be this as it may, it enabled the sagacious epicures who livedupon them to retire, in due course, to the delightful retreats of Skulland Skibbereen, * and similar asylums, there to pass the very shortremainder of their lives in health, ease, and luxury. 

 * Two poor-houses in the most desolate parts of the County of Cork, where famine, fever, dysentery, and cholera, rendered more destructive by the crowded state of the houses and the consequent want of ventilation, swept away the wretched in-mates to the amount, if we recollect rightly, of sometimes from fifty to seventy per diem in the years '45 and '47. 

The evening, as we have said, was about the close of September, when thetwo equestrians we speak of were proceeding at a pace necessarily slow. One of them was a bluff, fresh-complexioned man, of about sixty summers;but although of a healthy look, and a frame that had evidently oncebeen vigorous, yet he was a good deal stooped, had about him all theimpotence of plethora, and his hair, which fell down his shoulders, waswhite as snow. The other, who rode pretty close to him, was much abouthis own age, or perhaps a few years older, if one could judge by a facethat gave more undeniable evidences of those furrows and wrinkles whichTime usually leaves behind him. This person did not ride exactly side byside with the first-mentioned, but a little aback, though not so faras to prevent the possibility of conversation. At this time it may bementioned here that every man that could afford it wore a wig, with theexception of some of those eccentric individuals that are to be foundin every state and period of society, and who are remarkable forthat peculiar love of singularity which generally constitutes theircharacter--a small and harmless ambition, easily gratified, andinvolving no injury to their fellow-creatures. The second horseman, therefore, wore a wig, but the other, although he eschewed thatornament, if it can be called so, was by no means a man of that mildand harmless character which we have attributed to the eccentric andunfashionable class of whom we have just spoken. So far from that, hewas a man of an obstinate and violent temper, of strong and unreflectingprejudices both for good and evil, hot, persevering, and vindictive, though personally brave, intrepid, and often generous. Like many of hisclass, he never troubled his head about religion as a matter that must, and ought to have been, personally, of the chiefest interest to himself, but, at the same time, he was looked upon as one of the best andstaunchest Protestants of the day. His loyalty and devotedness tothe throne of England were not only unquestionable, but proverbialthroughout the country; but, at the same time, he regarded no clergyman, either of his own or any other creed, as a man whose intimacy was worthpreserving, unless he was able to take off his three or four bottlesof claret after dinner. In fact, not to keep our readers longer insuspense, the relation which he and his companion bore to each other wasthat of master and servant. 

The hour was now a little past twilight, and the western sky presentedan unusual, if not an ominous, appearance. A sharp and melancholy breezewas abroad, and the sun, which had set among a mass of red clouds, halfplacid, and half angry in appearance, had for some brief space gonedown. Over from the north, however, glided by imperceptible degrees along black bar, right across the place of his disappearance, and nothingcould be more striking than the wild and unnatural contrast between thedying crimson of the west and this fearful mass of impenetrable darknessthat came over it. As yet there was no moon, and the portion of lightor rather "darkness visible" that feebly appeared on the sky andthe landscape, was singularly sombre and impressive, if not actuallyappalling. The scene about them was wild and desolate in the extreme;and as the faint outlines of the bleak and barren moors appeared in thedim and melancholy distance, the feelings they inspired were those ofdiscomfort and depression. On each side of them were a variety of lonelylakes, abrupt precipices, and extensive marshes; and as our travellerswent along, the hum of the snipe, the feeble but mournful cry of theplover, and the wilder and more piercing whistle of the curlew, stilldeepened the melancholy dreariness of their situation, and added totheir anxiety to press on towards the place of their destination. 

"This is a very lonely spot, your honor, " said his servant, whose namewas Andrew, or, as he was more familiarly called, Andy Cummiskey. 

"Yes, but it's the safer, Andy, " replied his master. "There is not ahuman habitation within miles of us. "

"It doesn't follow, sir, that this place, above all others in theneighborhood, is not, especially at this hour, without some personsabout it. You know I'm no coward, sir. "

"What, you scoundrel! and do you mean to hint that I'm one?"

"Not at all, sir; but you see the truth is, that, this being the veryhour for duck and wild-fowl shootin', it's hard to say where or when afellow might start up, and mistake me for a wild duck, and your honorfor a curlew or a bittern. "

He had no sooner spoken than the breeze started, as it were, into morevigorous life, and ere the space of many minutes a dark impenetrablemist or fog was borne over from the solitary hills across the drearylevel of country through which they passed, and they felt themselvessuddenly chilled, whilst a darkness, almost palpable, nearly concealedthem from each other. Now the roads which we have described, beingalmost without exception in remote and unfrequented parts of thecountry, are for the most part covered over with a thick sole of closegrass, unless where a narrow strip in the centre shows that a pathway iskept worn, and distinctly marked by the tread of foot-passengers. Underall these circumstances, then, our readers need not feel surprisedthat, owing at once to the impenetrable obscurity around them, and thenoiseless nature of the antique and grass-covered pavement over whichthey went, scarcely a distance of two hundred yards had been gained whenthey found, to their dismay, ' that they had lost their path, and werein one of the wild and heathy stretches of unbounded moor by which theywere surrounded. 

"We have lost our way, Andy, " observed his master. "We've got off thatdamned old path; what's to be done? where are you?"

"I'm here, sir, " replied his man; "but as for what's to be done, itwould take Mayo Mullen, that sees the fairies and tells fortunes, totell us that. For heaven's sake, stay where you are, sir, till I get upto you, for if we part from one another, we're both lost. Where are you, sir?"

"Curse you, sirra, " replied his master angrily, "is this either a timeor place to jest in? A man that would make a jest in such a situation asthis would dance on his father's tombstone. "

"By my soul, sir, and I'd give a five-pound note, if I had it, that youand I were dancing 'Jig Polthogue' on it this minute. But, in the manetime, the devil a one o' me sees the joke your honor speaks of. "

"Why, then, do you ask me where I am, when you know I'm astray, thatwe're both astray, you snivelling old whelp? By the great and good KingWilliam, I'll be lost, Andy!"

"Well, and even if you are, sir, " replied Andy, who, guided by hisvoice, had now approached and joined him; "even if you are, sir, I trustyou'll bear it like a Christian and a Trojan. "

"Get out, you old sniveller--what do you mean by a Trojan?"

"A Trojan, sir, I was tould, is a man that lives by sellin' wild-fowl. They take an oath, sir, before they begin the trade, never to die untilthey can't help it. "

"You mean to say, or to hint at least, that in addition to our otherdangers we run the risk of coming in contact with poachers?"

"Well, then, sir, if I don't mistake they're out to-night. However, don't let us alarm one another. God forbid that I'd say a single word tofrighten you; but still, you know yourself that there's many a man nota hundred miles from us that 'ud be glad to mistake you for a target, amallard, or any other wild-fowl or that description. "

"In the meantime we are both well armed, " replied his master; "but whatI fear most is the risk we run of falling down precipices, or walkinginto lakes or quagmires. What's to be done? This fog is so cursedly coldthat it has chilled my very blood into ice. "

"Our best plan, sir, is to dismount, and keep ourselves warm by takinga pleasant stroll across the country. The horses will take care ofthemselves. In the meantime keep up your spirits--we'll both wantsomething to console us; but this I can tell you, that devil a bit oftombstone ever will go over either of us, barrin' the sky in heaven; andfor our coffins, let us pray to the coffin-maker, bekaise, you see, it'sthe _maddhu ruah_ * (the foxes), and ravens, and other civilized animalsthat will coffin us both by instalments in their hungry guts, untilour bones will be beautiful to look at--afther about six months'bleaching--and a sharp eye 'twould be that 'ud know the differencebetween masther and man then, I think. "

We omitted to say that a piercing and most severe hoar frost had set inwith the fog, and that Cummiskey's master felt the immediate necessityof dismounting, and walking about, in order to preserve some degree ofanimal heat in his body. 

"I cannot bear this, Andy, " said he, "and these two gallant animalswill never recover it after the severe day's hunting they've had. PoorFiddler and Piper, " he exclaimed, "this has proved a melancholy day toyou both. What is to be done, Andy? I am scarcely able to stand, andfeel as if my strength had utterly left me. "

"What, sir, " replied his servant, who was certainly deeply attached tohis master, "is it so bad with you as all that comes to? Sure I onlythought to amuse you, sir. Come, take courage; I'll whistle, and maybesomebody will come to our relief. "

He accordingly put his two fingers into his mouth, and uttered a loudand piercing whistle, after which both stood still for a time, but noreply was given. 

"Stop, sir, " proceeded Andrew; "I'll give them another touch that'll makethem spake, if there's any one near enough to hear us. "

He once more repeated the whistle, but with two or three peculiar shakesor variations, when almost instantly one of a similar character wasgiven in reply. 

"Thank God, " he exclaimed, "be they friends or foes, we have humancreatures not far from us. Take courage, sir. How do you feel?"

"Frozen and chilled almost to death, " replied his master; "I'll givefifty pounds to any man or party of men that will conduct us safelyhome. "

"I hope in the Almighty, " said Andrew to himself in an anxious andapprehensive tone of voice, "that it's not Parrah Ruah (Red Patrick), the red Rapparee, that's in it, and I'm afeered it is, for I think Iknow his whistle. There's not a man in the three baronies could givesuch a whistle as that, barring himself. If it is, the masther's a goneman, and I'll not be left behind to tell the story, God protect us!

"What are you saying, Andy?" asked his master: "What were you mutteringjust now?"

"Nothing, sir, nothing; but there can be no harm, at all events, to lookto our pistols. If there should be danger, let us sell our lives likemen. "

"And so we will, Andy. The country I know is in a disturbed and lawlessstate, and ever since that unfortunate affair of the priest, I know I amnot popular with a great many. I hope we won't come across his Rappareenephew. "

"Whether we do or not, sir, let us look to our firearms. Show me yourstill I settle the powdher in them. Why, God bless me, how you aretremblin'. "

"It is not from fear, sir, " replied the intrepid old man, "but fromcold. If any thing should happen me, Andy, let my daughter know that mywill is in the oaken cabinet; that is to say, the last I made. She ismy heiress--but that she is by the laws of the land. However, as I haddisposed of some personal property to other persons, which dispositionI have revoked in the will I speak of--my last, as I said--I wish you tolet her know where she may find it. Her mother's jewels are also inthe same place--but they, too, are hers by right of law--her motherbequeathed them to her. "

"All! sir, you are right to remember and think well of that daughter. She has been a guardian angel to you these five years. But why, sir, doyou give me this message? Do you think I won't sell my life in defenceof yours? If you do you're mistaken. "

"I believe it, Andrew; I believe it, Andy, " said he again, familiarizingthe word; "but if this red Rapparee should murder me, I don't, wish youto sacrifice your life on my account. Make your escape if he should bethe person who is approaching us, and convey to my daughter the messageI have given you. "

At this moment another whistle proceeded from a quarter of the moor muchnearer them, and Andy, having handed back the pistols to his master, asked him should he return it. 

"Certainly, " replied the other, who during all this time was pacing toand fro, in order to keep himself from sinking; "certainly, let us seewhether these persons are friends or enemies. "

His servant then replied to the whistle, and in a few minutes it wasanswered again, whilst at the same time a strong but bitter windarose which cleared away the mist, and showed them with considerabledistinctness the position which they occupied. 

Within about ten yards of them, to the left, the very direction inwhich they had been proceeding, was a small deep lake' or tarn, utterlyshoreless, and into which they unquestionably would have walked andperished, as neither of them knew how to swim. The clearing away ofthe mist, and the light of the stars (for the moon had not yet risen), enabled the parties to see each other, and in a few minutes Andrew andhis master were joined by four men, the principal person among thembeing the identical individual whom they both had dreaded--the RedRapparee. 

"Master, " said Cummiskey, in a whisper, on seeing them approach, "wemust fight for it, I'm afeered, but let us not be rash; there may be afriend or two among them, and it is better to come off peaceably if wecan. "

"I agree with you, " replied his master. "There is no use in sheddingunnecessary blood; but, in any event, let us not permit them to disarmus, should they insist on doing so. They know I never go three yardsfrom my hall-door without arms, and it is not improbable they may makea point of taking them from us. I, however, for one, will not trust totheir promises, for I know their treachery, as I do their cowardice, when their numbers are but few, and an armed opponent or two beforethem, determined to give battle. Stand, therefore, by me, Andy, and, byKing William, should they have re-course to violence, we shall let themsee, and feel too, that we are not unprepared. "

"I have but one life, sir, " replied his faithful follower; "it wasspent--at least its best days were--in your service, and sooner than anydanger should come to you, it will be lost in your defence. If it wasonly for the sake of her, that is not here, the _Cooleen Bawn_, I woulddo it. "

"Who goes there?" asked a deep and powerful voice when the parties hadcome within about twenty yards of each other. 

"By the powers!" exclaimed Andrew in a whisper, "it's himself the RedRapparee!"

"We are friends, " he replied, "and have lost our way. "

The other party approached, and, on joining our travellers, the Rappareestarted, exclaiming, "What, noble Squire, is it possible that this isyou? Hut! it can't be--let me look at you closer, till I make sure ofyou. "

"Keep your distance, sir, " replied the old man with courage and dignity;"keep your distance; you see that I and my servant are both well armed, and determined to defend ourselves against violence. "

An ominous and ferocious glance passed from the Rapparee to hiscomrades, who, however, said nothing, but seemed to be resolved to guidethemselves altogether by his conduct. The Red Rapparee was a huge manof about forty, and the epithet of "Red" had been given to him inconsequence of the color of his hair. In expression his countenance wasby no means unhandsome, being florid and symmetrical, but hard, andwith scarcely any trace of feeling. His brows were far asunder, arguingingenuity and invention, but his eyes, which were small and treacherous, glared--whenever he became excited--with the ferocity of an enragedtiger. His shoulders were broad, his chest deep and square, his armslong and powerful, but his lower limbs were somewhat light in proportionto the great size of his upper figure. This, however, is generallythe case when a man combines in his own person the united qualities ofactivity and strength. Even at the period we are describing, when thisonce celebrated character was forty years of age, it was well known thatin fleetness of foot there was no man in the province able to competewith him. In athletic exercises that required strength and skill henever had a rival, but one--with whom the reader will soon be madeacquainted. He was wrapped loosely in a gray frieze big-coat, or_cothamore_, as it is called in Irish--wore a hat of two colors, and sopliant in texture that he could at any time turn it inside out. His coatwas--as indeed were all his clothes--made upon the time principle, sothat when hard pressed by the authorities he could in a minute or twotransmute himself into the appearance of a nun very different from theindividual described to them. Indeed he was such a perfect Proteus thatno vigilance of the Executive was ever a match for his versatility ofappearance, swiftness of foot, and caution. These frequent defeats ofthe authorities of that day made him extremely popular with the people, who were always ready to afford him shelter and means of concealment, in return for which he assisted them with food, money, and the spoilsof his predatory life. This, indeed, was the sagacious principle of theIrish Robbers and Rapparees from the beginning to _rob from the rich andgive to the poor_ being their motto. 

The persons who accompanied him on this occasion were three of his owngang, who usually constituted his body-guard, and acted as videttes, either for his protection or for the purpose of bringing him informationof such travellers as from their known wealth or external appearancemight be supposed worth attacking. They were well-made, active, andathletic men, in whom it would not be easy to recognise any particularcharacter at variance with that of the peasantry around them. It isunnecessary to say that they were all armed. Having satisfied himself asto the identity of master and man, with a glance at his companions, theRapparee said, "What on earth brought you and Andy Cummiskey here, noble squire? Oh!you lost your way Andy says. Well now, " he proceeded, "you know I havebeen many a day and night on the lookout for you; aye, could haveput daylight through you many and many a time; and what do you thinkprevented me?"

"Fear of God, or of the gallows, I hope, " replied the intrepid old man. 

"Well, " returned the Rapparee, with a smile of scorn, "I'm not a man--asI suppose you may know--that ever feared either of them much--Godforgive me for the one, I don't ask his forgiveness for the other. No, Squire Folliard, it was the goodness, the kindness, the generosity, andthe charity of the _Cooleen Bawn_, your lovely daughter, that held myhand. You persecuted my old uncle, the priest, and you would a' hangedhim too, for merely marryin' a Protestant and a Catholic together. Well, sir, your fair daughter, and her good mother--that's now in heaven, I hope--went up to Dublin to the Lord Lieutenant, and before him the_Cooleen Bawn_, went on her two knees and begged my uncle's life, andgot it; for the Lord Lieutenant said that no one could deny her anything. Now, sir, for her sake, go home in peace. Boys, get theirhorses. "

Andy Cummiskey would have looked upon all this as manly and generous, but he could not help observing a particular and rather sinister meaningin the look which the Rapparee turned on his companions as he spoke. Hehad often heard, too, of his treacherous disposition and his unrelentingcruelty whenever he entertained a feeling of vengeance. In his presentposition, however, all he could do was to stand on his guard; and withthis impression strong upon him he resolved to put no confidence in thewords of the Rapparee. In a few minutes the horses were brought up, andRandy (Randall) Ruah having wiped Mr. Folliard's saddle--for such washis name--with the skirt of his _cothamore_, and removed the hoar frostor rime which had gathered on it, he brought the animal over to him, andsaid, with a kind of rude courtesy, "Come, sir, trust me; I will help you to your saddle. "

"You have not the reputation of being trustworthy, " replied Mr. Folliard; "keep back, sir, at your peril; I will not trust you. My ownservant will assist me. "

This seemed precisely the arrangement which the Rapparee and his men hadcontemplated. The squire, in mounting, was obliged, as every man is, touse both his hands, as was his servant also, while assisting him. They consequently put up their pistols until they should get into thesaddles, and, almost in an instant, found themselves disarmed, andprisoners in the hands of these lawless and unscrupulous men. 

"Now, Squire Folliard, " exclaimed the Rapparee, "see what it is not totrust an honest man; had you done so, not a hair of your head wouldbe injured. As it is, I'll give you five minutes to do three things;remember my uncle, the priest, that you transported. "

"He acted most illegally, sir, " replied the old man indignantly; "and, in my opinion, I say that, in consequence of his conduct, the countryhad a good riddance of him. I only wish I could send you after him;perhaps I shall do so yet. I believe in Providence, sirra, and that Godcan protect me from your violence even here. "

"In the next place, " proceeded the Rapparee, "think of your daughter, that you will never see again, either in this world or the next. "

"I know I am unworthy of having such an angel, " replied the old man, "but unless you were a cruel and a heartless ruffian, you would notat this moment mention her, or bring the thoughts of her to myrecollection. "

"In the last place, " continued the other, "if you have any thing to sayin the shape of a prayer, say it, for in five minutes' time there willbe a bullet through your heart, and in five more you will be snug andwarm at the bottom of the loch there below--that's your doom. "

"O'Donnel, " said Andy, "think that there's a God above you. Surelyyou wouldn't murdher this ould man and make the sowl within your bodyredder--if the thing's possible--than the head that's on the top ofit, though in throth I don't think it's by way of ornament it's thereeither. Come, come, Randal, my man, this is all _feastalagh_ (nonsense). You only want to frighten the gentleman. As for your uncle, man alive, all I can say is that he was a friend to your family, and to religiontoo, that sent him on his travels. "

"Take off your gallowses" (braces)! said the Rapparee; "take them off, a couple of you--for, by all the powers of darkness, they'll both go tothe bottom of the loch together, back to back. Down you'll go, Andy. "

"By my soul, then, " replied the unflinching servant, "if we go downyou'll go up; and we have those belongin' to us that will see you kissthe hangman yet. Yerra, now, above all words in the alphabet what couldput a gallows into your mouth? Faith, Randal, it's about your neckit'll go, and you'll put out your tongue at the daicent people that willattend your own funeral yet--that is, if you don't let us off. "

"Put them both to their knees, " said the Rapparee in a voice of thunder, "to their knees with them. I'll take the masther, and, Kineely, do youtake the man. "

The companions of the Rapparee could not avoid laughing at the comiccourage displayed by Cummiskey, and were about to intercede for him, when O'Donnel, which was his name, stamped with fury on the ground andasked them if they dared to disobey him. This sobered them at once, and in less than a minute Mr. Folliard and Andy were placed upon theirknees, to await the terrific sentence which was about to be executedon them, in that wild and lonely moor, and under such appallingcircumstances. When placed in the desired posture, to ask that mercyfrom God which they were not about to experience at the hands of man, Squire Folliard spoke:

"Red Rapparee, " said he, "it is not that I am afraid of death as such, but I feel that I am not prepared to die. Suffer my servant and myselfto go home without harm, and I shall engage not only to get you a pardonfrom the Government of the country, but I shall furnish you with moneyeither to take you to some useful calling, or to emigrate to someforeign country, where nobody will know of your misdeeds, or the lifeyou have led here. "

"Randal, my man, " added Andy, "listen to what the gentleman says, andyou may escape what you know yet. As for my master, Randal, let himpass, and take me in his place. I may as well die now, maybe, as anothertime. I was an honest, faithful servant, at all times. I have neitherchick nor child to cry for me. No wife, thank God, to break my heartafther. My conscience is light and airy, like a beggarmans blanket, as they say; and, barrin' that I once got drunk wid your uncle in MollFlanagan's sheebeen house, I don't know that I have much to trouble me. Spare _him_, then, and take _me_, if it must come to that. He has the_Cooleen Bawn_ to think for. Do you think of her, too; and remember thatit was she who saved your uncle from the gallows. "

This unlucky allusion only deepened the vengeance of the Red Rapparee, who looked to the priming of his gun, and was in the act of preparingto perpetrate this most in-human and awful murder, when all interruptiontook place for which neither party was prepared. 

Now, it so happened that within about eight or ten yards of where theystood there existed the walls and a portion of the arched roof of oneof those old ecclesiastical ruins, which our antiquarians denominateCyclopean, like _lucus a non lucendo_, because scarcely a dozen mencould kneel in them. Over this sad ruin was what sportsmen term "a pass"for duck and widgeon, and, aided by the shelter of the building, anypersons who stationed themselves there could certainly commit greathavoc among the wild-fowl in question. The Red Rapparee then had his gunin his hand, and was in the very act of adjusting it to his shoulder, when a powerful young man sprung forward, and dashing it aside, exclaimed:

"What is this, Randal? Is it a double murder you are about to execute, you inhuman ruffian?"

[Illustration: PAGE 11--Is it a double murder you are about to execute?]

The Rapparee glared at him, but with a quailing and subdued, yet sullenand vindictive, expression. 

"Stand up, sir, " proceeded this daring and animated young man, addressing Mr. Folliard; "and you, Cummiskey, get to your legs. No person shall dare to injure either of you while I am here. O'Donnel--stain and disgrace to a noble name--begone, you and yourruffians. I know the cause of your enmity against this gentleman; and Itell you now, that if you were as ready to sustain your religion as youare to disgrace it by your conduct, you would not become a curse to itand the country, nor give promise of feeding a hungry gallows some day, as you and your accomplices will do. "

Whilst the young stranger addressed these miscreants with such energyand determination, Mr. Folliard, who, as well as his servant, had nowgot to his legs, asked the latter in a whisper who he was. 

"By all that's happy, sir, " he replied, "it's himself, the only manliving that the Red Rapparee is afraid of; it's 'Willy Reilly. '"

CHAPTER II. _The Cooleen Baum_. 

The old man became very little wiser by the information of his servant, and said in reply, "I hope, Andy, he's not a Papist;" but checking theunworthy prejudice--and in him such prejudices were singularly strong inwords, although often feeble in fact he added, "it matters not--we oweour lives to him--the deepest and most important obligation that oneman can owe to another. I am, however, scarcely able to stand; I feelbe-numbed and exhausted, and wish to get home as soon as possible. "

"Mr. Reilly, " said Andy, "this gentleman is very weak and ill; and asyou have acted so much like a brave man and a gentleman, maybe you'dhave no objection to see us safe home. "

"It is my intention to do so, " replied Reilly. "I could not for a momentthink of leaving either him or you to the mercy of this treacherousman, who dishonors a noble name. Randal, " he proceeded, addressing theRapparee, "mark my words!--if but a single hair of this gentleman'shead, or of any one belonging to him, is ever injured by you or yourgang, I swear that you and they will swing, each of you, from as manygibbets, as soon as the course of the law can reach you. You know me, sir, and my influence over those who protect you. As for you, Fergus, "he added, addressing one of the Rapparee's followers, "you are, thankGod! the only one of my blood who has ever disgraced it by leadingsuch a lawless and guilty life. Be advised by me--leave that man oftreachery, rapine, and murder--abandon him and re-form your life--and ifyou are disposed to become a good and an industrious member of society, go to some other country, where the disgrace you have incurred in thismay not follow you. Be advised by me, and you shall not want the meansof emigrating. Now begone; and think, each of you, of what I have said. "

The Rapparee glanced at the noble-looking young fellow with thevindictive ferocity of an enraged bull, who feels a dispositionto injure you, but is restrained by terror; or, which is quite asappropriate, a cowardly but vindictive mastiff, who eyes you askance, growls, shows his teeth, but has not the courage to attack you. 

"Do not look at me so, sir, " said Reilly; "you know I fear you not. "

"But the meantime, " replied the Rapparee, "what's to prevent me fromputting a bullet into you this moment, if I wish to do it?"

"There are ten thousand reasons against it, " returned Reilly. "If youdid so, in less than twenty-four hours you would find yourself in Sligojail--or, to come nearer the truth, in less than five minutes you wouldfind yourself in hell. "

"Well, now, suppose I should make the trial, " said the Rapparee. "Youdon't know, Mr. Reilly, how you have crossed me to-night. Suppose now Ishould try--and suppose, too, that not one of you three should leave thespot you stand on only as corpses--wouldn't I have the advantage of youthen?"

Reilly turned towards the ruined chapel, and simply raising his righthand, about eight or ten persons made their appearance; but, restrainedby signal from him, they did not advance. 

"That will do, " said he. "Now, Randal, I hope you understand yourposition. Do not provoke me again; for if you do I will surround youwith toils from which you could as soon change your fierce and brutalnature as escape. Yes, and I will take you in the midst of your ruffianguards, and in the deepest of your fastnesses, if ever you provoke me asyou have done on other occasions, or if you ever injure this gentlemanor any individual of his family. Come, sir, " he proceeded, addressingthe old man, "you are now mounted--my horse is in this old ruin--and ina moment I shall be ready to accompany you. "

Reilly and his companions joined our travellers, one of the formerhaving offered the old squire a large frieze great-coat, which he gladlyaccepted, and having thus formed a guard of safety for him and hisfaithful attendant, they regained the old road we I have described, andresumed their journey. 

When they had gone, the Rapparee and his companions looked after themwith blank faces for some minutes. 

"Well, " said their leader, "Reilly has knocked up our game for thisnight. Only for him I'd have had a full and sweet revenge. However, never mind: it'll go hard with me, or I'll have it yet. In the mane timeit won't be often that such another opportunity will come in our way. "

"Well, now that it is over, what was your intention, Randal?" asked theperson to whom Reilly had addressed himself. 

"Why, " replied the miscreant, "after the deed was done, what was toprevent us from robbing the house to-night, and taking away his daughterto the mountains. I have long had my eye on her, I can tell you, andit'll cost me a fall, or I'll have her yet. "

"You had better, " replied Fergus Reilly, for such was his name, "neithermake nor meddle with that family afther this night. If you do, thatterrible relation of mine will hang you like a dog. "

"How will he hang me like a dog?" asked the Rapparee, knitting hisshaggy eyebrows, and turning upon him a fierce and gloomy look. 

"Why, now, Randal, you know as well as I do, " replied the other, "thatif he only raised his finger against you in the country, the very peoplethat harbor both you and us would betray us, aye, seize us, and bind ushand and foot, like common thieves, and give us over to the authorities. But as for himself, I believe you have sense enough to let him alone. When you took away Mary Traynor, and nearly kilt her brother, the youngpriest--you know they were Reilly's tenants--I needn't tell you whathappened: in four hours' time he had the country up, followed youand your party--I wasn't with you then, but you know it's truth I'mspakin'--and when he had five to one against you, didn't he make themstand aside until he and you should decide it between you? Aye, and youknow he could a' brought home every man of you tied neck and heels, andwould, too, only that there was a large reward offered for the takin'of you livin' or dead, and he scorned to have any hand in it on thataccount. "

"It was by a chance blow he hit me, " said the Rapparee--"by a chanceblow. "

"By a couple dozen chance blows, " replied the other; "you know heknocked you down as fast as ever you got up--I lave it to the boys herethat wor present. "

"There's no use in denyin' it, Randal, " they replied; "you hadn't achance wid him. "

"Well, at all events, " observed the Rapparee, "if he did beat me, he'sthe only man in the country able to do it; but it's not over, cursehim--Ill have another trial with him yet. "

"If you take my advice, " replied Reilly, "you'll neither make nor meddlewith him. He's the head o' the Catholics in this part of the country, and you know that; aye, and he's their friend, and uses the friendshipthat the Protestants have towards him for their advantage, wherever hecan. The man that would injure Willy Reilly is an enemy to our religion, as well as to every thing that's good and generous; and mark me, Randal, if ever you cross him in what he warned you against this very night, I'll hang you myself, if there wasn't another livin' man to do it, andto the back o' that again I say you must shed no blood so long as I amwith you. "

"That won't be long, then, " replied the Rapparee, pulling out a purse;"there's twenty guineas for you, and go about your business; but takecare, no treachery. "

"No, " replied the other, "I'll have none of your money; there's blood init. God forgive me for ever joinin' you. When I want money I can getit; as for treachery, there's none of it in my veins; good-night, andremember my words. "

Having thus spoken, he took his way along the same road by which the oldsquire and his party went. 

"That fellow will betray us, " said the Rapparee. 

"No, " replied his companions firmly, "there never was treachery in hispart of the family; he is not come from any of the Queen's O'Reillys. *We wish you were as sure of every man you have as you may be of him. "

 * Catholic families who were faithful and loyal to Queen Elizabeth during her wars in Ireland were stigmatized by the nickname of the Queen's friends, to distinguish them from others of the same name who had opposed her, on behalf of their religion, in the wars which desolated Ireland during her reign; a portion of the family of which we write were on this account designated as the Queen's O'Reillys. 

"Well, now, " observed their leader, "a thought strikes me; this ouldsquire will be half dead all night. At any rate he'll sleep like a top. Wouldn't it be a good opportunity to attack the house--aise him of hismoney, for he's as rich as a Jew--and take away the _Colleen Bawn_?We'll call at Shane Bearna's** stables on our way and bring the otherboys along wid us. What do you say?"

 ** Shane Bearna was a celebrated Rapparee, who, among his other exploits, figured principally as a horse-stealer. He kept the stolen animals concealed in remote mountain caves, where he trimmed and dyed them in such a way as made it impossible to recognize them. These caves are curiosities at the present day, and are now known as Shane Bearna's Stables. He was a chief in the formidable gang of the celebrated Redmond O'Manion. It is said of him that he was called Bearna because he never had any teeth; but tradition tells us that he could, notwithstanding, bite a piece out of a thin plate of iron with as much ease as if it were gingerbread. 

"Why, that you'll hang yourself, and every man of us. "

"Nonsense, you cowardly dogs, " replied their leader indignantly; "can'twe lave the country?"

"Well, if you're bent on it, " replied his followers, "we won't be yourhindrance. "

"We can break up, and be off to America, " he added. 

"But what will you do with the _Cooleen Bawn_, if you take her?" theyasked. 

"Why, lave her behind us, afther showin' the party creature the insideof Shane Bearea's stables. She'll be able to find her way back to herfather's, never fear. Come, boys, now or never. To say the truth, thesooner we get out of the country, at all events, the better. "

The Rapparee and his men had moved up to the door of the old chapelalready alluded to, whilst this conversation went on; and now that theirdreadful project had been determined on, they took a short cutacross the moors, in order to procure additional assistance for itsaccomplishment. 

No sooner had they gone, however, than an individual, who had beenconcealed in the darkness within, came stealthily to the door, andpeeping cautiously out, at length advanced a few steps and lookedtimidly about him. Perceiving that the coast was clear, he placedhimself under the shadow of the old walls--for there was now sufficientlight to cast a shadow from any prominent object; and from thence havingobserved the direction which the Rapparee and his men took, withoutany risk of being seen himself, he appeared satisfied. The name ofthis individual--who, although shrewd and cunning in many things, was nevertheless deficient in reason--or rather the name by which hegenerally went, was Tom Steeple, a _sobriquet_ given to him on accountof a predominant idea which characterized and influenced his wholeconversation. The great delight of this poor creature was to beconsidered the tallest individual in the kingdom, and indeed nothingcould be more amusing than to witness the manner in which he held up hishead while he walked, or sat, or stood. In fact his walk was a completestrut, to which the pride, arising from the consciousness of, or ratherthe belief in, his extraordinary height gave an extremely ludicrousappearance. Poor Tom was about five feet nine in height, but imaginedhimself to be at least a foot higher. His whole family were certainlytall, and one of the greatest calamities of the poor fellow's life wasa bitter reflection that he himself was by several inches the lowest ofhis race. This was the only exception he made with respect to height, but so deeply did it affect him that he could scarcely ever allude to itwithout shedding tears. The life he had was similar in most respectsto that of his unhappy class. He wandered about through the country, stopping now at one farmer's house, and now at another's, where healways experienced a kind reception, because he was not only amusingand inoffensive, but capable of making himself useful as a messenger anddrudge. He was never guilty of a dishonest act, nor ever known to commita breach of trust; and as a quick messenger, his extraordinary speed offoot rendered him unrivalled. His great delight, however, was to attendsportsmen, to whom he was invaluable as a guide and director. Suchwas his wind and speed of foot that, aided by his knowledge of what istermed the lie of the country, he was able to keep up with any pack ofhounds that ever went out. As a _soho_ man he was unrivalled. The formof every hare for miles about was known to him, and if a fox or a coveyof partridges were to be found at all, he was your man. In wild-fowlshooting he was infallible. No pass of duck, widgeon, barnacle, orcurlew, was unknown to him. In fact, his principal delight was to attendthe gentry of the country to the field, either with harrier, foxhound, or setter. No coursing match went right if Torn were not present; andas for night shooting, his eye and ear were such as, for accuracy ofobservation, few have ever witnessed. It is true he could subsist along time without food, but, like the renowned Captain Dalgetty, when anabundance of it happened to be placed before him, he displayed the mostindefensible ignorance as to all knowledge of the period when he oughtto stop, considering it his bounden duty on all occasions to clear offwhatever was set before him--a feat which he always accomplished withthe most signal success. 

"Aha" exclaimed Tom, "dat Red Rapparee is tall man, but not tall as Tom;him no steeple like Tom; but him rogue and murderer, an' Tom honest;him won't carry off _Cooleen Bawn_ dough, nor rob her fader avder. Come, Tom, Steeple Tom, out with your two legs, one afore toder, andput Rapparee's nose out o' joint. _Cooleen Bawn_ dats good to everybody, Catlieks (Catholics) an' all, an' often ordered Tom many a bully dinner. Hicko! hicko! be de bones of Peter White--off I go!"

Tom, like many other individuals of his description, was never ableto get over the language of childhood--a characteristic which is oftenappended to the want of reason, and from which, we presume, the term"innocent" has been applied in an especial manner to those who areremarkable for the same defect. 

Having uttered the words we have just recited, he started off at a gait, peculiar to fools, which is known by the name of "a sling trot, " andafter getting out upon the old road he turned himself in the directionwhich Willy Reilly and his party had taken, and there we beg to leavehim for the present. 

The old squire felt his animal heat much revived by the warmth of thefrieze coat, and his spirits, now that the dreadful scene into which hehad been so unexpectedly cast had passed away without danger, began torise so exuberantly that his conversation became quite loquacious andmirthful, if not actually, to a certain extent, incoherent. 

"Sir, " said he, "you must come home with me--confound me, but youmust, and you needn't say nay, now, for I shall neither take excuse norapology. I am a hospitable man, Mr. --what's this your name is?"

"My name, sir, " replied the other, "is Reilly--William Reilly, or, asI am more generally called, Willy Reilly. The name, sir, though anhonorable one, is, in this instance, that of an humble man, but one who, I trust, will never disgrace it. "

"You must come home with me, Mr. Reilly. Not a word now. "

"Such is my intention, sir, " replied Reilly. "I shall not leave youuntil I see that all risk of danger is past--until I place you safelyunder your own roof. "

"Well, now, " continued the old squire, "I believe a Papist can be agentleman--a brave man--a man of honor, Mr. Reilly. "

"I am not aware that there is any thing in his religion to make himeither dishonorable or cowardly, sir, " replied Reilly with a smile. 

"No matter, " continued the other, who found a good deal of difficultyin restraining his prejudices on that point, no matter, sir, nomatter, Mr. --a--a--oh, yes, Reilly, we will have nothing to do withreligion--away with it--confound religion, sir, if it prevents one manfrom being thankful, and grateful too, to another, when that otherhas saved his life. What's your state and condition in society, Mr. --?confound the scoundrel! he'd have shot me. We must hang that fellow--theRed Rapparee they call him--a dreadful scourge to the country; and, another thing, Mr. --Mr. Mahon--you must come to my daughter's wedding. Not a word now--by the great Boyne, you must. Have you ever seen mydaughter, sir?"

"I have never had that pleasure, " replied Reilly, "but I have heardenough of her wonderful goodness and beauty. "

"Well, sir, I tell you to your teeth that I deny your words--you havestated a falsehood, sir--a lie, sir. "

"What do you mean, sir?" replied Reilly, somewhat indignantly. "I am notin the habit of stating a falsehood, nor of submitting tamely to such animputation. "

"Ha, ha, ha, I say it's a lie still, my friend. What did you say? Why, that you had heard enough of her goodness and beauty. Now, sir, by thebanks of the Boyne, I say you didn't hear half enough of either one orother. Sir, you should know her, for although you are a Papist you area brave man, and a gentleman. Still, sir, a Papist is not--curse it, this isn't handsome of me, Willy. I beg your pardon. Confound allreligions if it goes to that. Still at the same time I'm bound to sayas a loyal man that Protestantism is my forte, Mr. Reilly--there's whereI'm strong, a touch of Hercules about me there, Mr. Reilly--Willy, I mean. Well, you are a thorough good fellow, Papist and all, thoughyou--ahem!--never mind though, you shall see my daughter, and you shallhear my daughter; for, by the great Boyne, she must salute the man thatsaved her father's life, and prevented her from being an orphan. And yetsee, Willy, I love that girl to such a degree that if heaven was openfor me this moment, and that Saint Peter--hem!--I mean the ApostlePeter, slid to me, 'Come, Folliard, walk in, sir, ' by the greatDeliverer that saved us from Pope and Popery, brass money, and--ahem! Ibeg your pardon--well, I say if he was to say so, I wouldn't leave her. There's affection for you; but she deserves it. No, if ever a girl wascapable of keeping an old father from heaven she is. "

"I understand your meaning, sir, " replied Reilly with a smile, "andI believe she is loved by every one who has the pleasure of knowingher--by rich and poor. "

"Troth, Mr. Reilly, " observed Andy, "it's a sin for any one to lettheir affections, even for one of their own childer, go between them andheaven. As for the masther, he makes a god of her. To be sure if everthere was an angel in this world she is one. "

"Get out, you old whelp, " exclaimed his master; "what do you know aboutit?--you who never had wife or child? isn't she my only child?--theapple of my eye? the love of my heart?"

"If you loved her so well you wouldn't make her unhappy then. "

"What do you mean, you despicable old Papist?"

"I mean that you wouldn't marry her to a man she doesn't like, as you'regoin' to do. That's a bad way to make her happy, at any rate. "

"Overlook the word Papist, Mr. Reilly, that I applied to that oldidolater--the fellow worships images; of course you know, as a Papist, he does--ahem!--but to show you that I don't hate the Papist withoutexception, I beg to let you know, sir, that I frequently have the Papistpriest of our parish to dine with me; and if that isn't liberality thedevil's in it. Isn't that true, you superstitious old Padareen? No, Mr. Reilly, Mr. Mahon--Willy, I mean--I'm a liberal man, and I hope we'llbe all saved yet, with the exception of the Pope--ahem! yes, I hope weshall all be saved. "

"Throth, sir, " said Andy, addressing himself to Reilly, "he's a quaregentleman, this. He's always abusing the Papists, as he calls us, andyet for every Protestant servant undher his roof he has three Papists, as he calls us. His bark, sir, is worse than his bite, any day. "

"I believe it, " replied Reilly in a low voice, "and it's a pity thata good and benevolent man should suffer these idle prejudices to swayhim. "

"Divil a bit they sway him, sir, " replied Andy; "he'll damn and abusethem and their religion, and yet he'll go any length to serve one o'them, if they want a friend, and has a good character. But here, nowwe're at the gate of the avenue, and you'll soon see the _Cooleen Bawn_"

"Hallo!" the squire shouted out, "what the devil! are you dead or asleepthere? Brady, you Papist scoundrel, why not open the gate?"

The porter's wife came out as he uttered the words, saying, "I beg yourhonor's pardon. Ned is up at the Castle;" and whilst speaking she openedthe gate. 

"Ha, Molly!" exclaimed her master in a tone of such bland good nature ascould not for a moment be mistaken; "well, Molly, how is little Mick? Ishe better, poor fellow?"

"He is, thank God, and your honor. "

"Hallo, Molly, " said the squire, laughing, "that's Popery again. You arethanking God and me as if we were intimate acquaintances. None of thatfoolish Popish nonsense. When you thank God, thank him; and when youthank me, why thank me; but don't unite us, as you do him and yourPopish saints, for I tell you, Molly, I'm no saint; God forbid! Tell thedoctorman to pay him every attention, and to send his bill to me whenthe child is properly recovered; mark that--properly recovered. "

A noble avenue, that swept along with two or three magnificent bends, brought them up to a fine old mansion of the castellated style, wherethe squire and his two equestrian attendants dismounted, and wereushered into the parlor, which they found brilliantly lighted up witha number of large wax tapers. The furniture of the room was exceedinglyrich, but somewhat curious and old-fashioned. It was such, however, asto give ample proof of great wealth and comfort, and, by the heat of alarge peat fire which blazed in the capacious hearth, it communicatedthat sense of warmth which was in complete accordance with the generalaspect of the apartment. An old gray-haired butler, well-powdered, together with two or three other servants in rich livery, now entered, and the squire's first inquiry was after his daughter. 

"John, " said he to the butler, "how is your mistress?" but, withoutwaiting for a reply, he added, "here are twenty pounds, which you willhand to those fine fellows at the hall-door. "

"Pardon me, sir, " replied Reilly, "those men are my tenants, and thesons of my tenants: they have only performed towards you a duty, whichcommon humanity would require at their hands towards the humblest personthat lives. "

"They must accept it, Mr. Reilly--they must have it--they are humblemen--and as it is only the reward of a kind office, I think it is justlydue to them. Here, John, give them the money. "

It was in vain that Reilly interposed; the old squire would not listento him. John was, accordingly, dispatched to the hall steps, but foundthat they had all gone. 

At this moment our friend Toni Steeple met the butler, whom heapproached with a kind of wild and uncouth anxiety. 

"Aha! Mista John, " said he, "you tall man too, but not tall asTom Steeple--ha, ha--you good man too, Mista John--give Tom bullydinners--Willy Reilly, Mista John, want to see Willy Reilly. "

"What do you want with him, Tom? he's engaged with the master. "

"Must see him, Mista John; stitch in time saves nine. Hicko! hicko!God's sake, Mista John: God's sake! Up dere;" and as he spoke he pointedtowards the sky. 

"Well, but what is your business, then? What have you to say to him?He's engaged, I tell you. "

Tom, apprehensive that he might not get an opportunity of communicatingwith Reilly, bolted in, and as the parlor door stood open, he saw himstanding near the large chimney-piece. 

"Willy Reilly!" he exclaimed in a voice that trembled with earnestness, "Willy Reilly, dere's news for you--for de squire too--bad news--God'ssake come wid Tom--you tall too, Willy Reilly, but not tall as Tom is. "

"What is the matter, Tom?" asked Reilly; "you look alarmed. "

"God's sake, here, Willy Reilly, " replied the kind-hearted fool, "comewid Tom. Bad news. "

"Hallo!" exclaimed the squire, "what is the matter? Is this Tom Steeple?Go to the kitchen, Tom, and get one of your 'bully dinners'--my poorfellow--off with you--and a pot of beer, Tom. "

An expression of distress, probably heightened by his vague andunconscious sense of the squire's kindness, was depicted strongly on hiscountenance, and ended in a burst of tears. 

"Ha!" exclaimed Reilly, "poor Tom, sir, was with us to-night on ourduck-shooting excursion, and, now that I remember, remained behind usin the old ruin--and then he is in tears. What can this mean? I will gowith you, Tom--excuse me, sir, for a few minutes--there can be no harmin hearing what he has to say. "

He accompanied the fool, with whom he remained for about six or eightminutes, after which he re-entered the parlor with a face which strovein vain to maintain its previous expression of ease and serenity. 

"Well, Willy?" said the squire--"you see, by the way, I make an oldacquaintance of you--"

"You do me honor, sir, " replied Reilly. "Well, what was this mightymatter? Not a fool's message, I hope? eh!"

"No, sir, " said the other, "but a matter of some importance. "

"John, " asked his master, as the butler entered, "did you give thoseworthy fellows the money?"

"No, your honor, " replied the other, they were gone before I went out. "

"Well, well, " replied his master, "it can't be helped. You will excuseme, Mr. --a--a--yes--Mr. Reilly--Willy--Willy--ay, that's it--you willexcuse me, Willy, for not bringing you to the drawing room. The fact is, neither of us is in a proper trim to go there--both travel-soiled, asthey say--you with duck-shooting and I with a long ride--besides, Iam quite too much fatigued to change my dress--John, some Madeira. I'mbetter than I was--but still dreadfully exhausted and afterwards, John, tell your mistress that her father wishes to see her here. First, theMadeira, though, till I recruit myself a little. A glass or two will doneither of us any harm, Willy, but a great deal of good. God bless me!what an escape I've had! what a dreadful fate you rescued me from, myyoung friend and preserver--for as such I will ever look upon, you. "

"Sir, " replied Reilly, "I will not deny that the appearance of myselfand my companions, in all probability, saved your life. "

"There was no probability in it, Willy--none at all; it would havebeen a dead certainty in every sense. My God! here, John--put it downhere--fill for that gentleman and me--thank you, John--Willy, " he saidas he took the glass in his trembling hand--"Willy--John, withdraw andsend down, my daughter--Willy"--the old man looked at him, but was toofull to utter a word. At this moment his daughter entered the room, and her father, laying down the glass, opened his arms, and said in achoking voice, "Helen, my daughter--my child--come to me;" and as shethrew herself into them he embraced her tenderly and wept aloud. 

"Dear papa!" she exclaimed, after the first burst of his grief was over, "what has affected you so deeply? Why are you so agitated?"

"Look at that noble young man, " he exclaimed, directing her attention toReilly, who was still standing. "Look at him, my life, and observe himwell; there he stands who has this night saved your loving father fromthe deadly aim of an assassin--from being murdered by O'Donnel, the RedRapparee, in the lonely moors. "

Reilly, from the moment the far-famed _Cooleen Dawn_ entered the room, heard not a syllable the old man had said. He was absorbed, entranced, struck with a sensation of wonder, surprise, agitation, joy, andconfusion, all nearly at the same moment. Such a blaze of beauty, such elegance of person, such tenderness and feeling as chastenedthe radiance of her countenance into something that might be termedabsolutely divine; such symmetry of form; such harmony of motion; sucha seraphic being in the shape of woman, he had, in fact, never seen ordreamt of. She seemed as if surrounded by an atmosphere of light, ofdignity, of goodness, of grace; but that which, above all, smotehim, heart on, the moment was the spirit of tenderness and profoundsensibility which seemed to predominate in her whole being. Why did hismanly and intrepid heart palpitate? Why did such a strange confusionseize upon him? Why did the few words which she uttered in her father'sarms fill his ears with a melody that charmed him out of his strength?Alas! is it necessary to ask? To those who do not understand thismystery, no explanation could be of any avail; and to those who do, noneis necessary. 

[Illustration: PAGE 18--Looked with her dark eyes upon Reilly]

After her father had spoken, she raised herself from his arms, andassuming her full height--and she was tall--looked for a moment withher dark, deep, and terrible eyes upon Reilly, who in the meantime feltrapt, spell-bound, and stood, whilst his looks were riveted upon theseirresistible orbs, as if he had been attracted by the influence of somedelightful but supernatural power, under which he felt himself helpless. 

That mutual gaze and that delightful moment! alas! how many hours ofmisery--of sorrow--of suffering--and of madness did they not occasion!

"Papa has imposed a task upon me, sir, " she said, advancing gracefullytowards him, her complexion now pale, and again over-spread with deepblushes. "What do I say? Alas--a task! to thank the preserver of myfather's life--I know not what I say: help me, sir, to papa--I amweak--I am--"

Reilly flew to her, and caught her in his arms just in time to preventher from falling. 

"My God!" exclaimed her father, getting to his feet, "what is thematter? I was wrong to mention the circumstance so abruptly; I ought tohave prepared her for it. You are strong, Reilly, you are strong, and Iam too feeble--carry her to the settee. There, God bless you!--God blessyou!--she will soon recover. Helen! my child! my life! What, Helen!Come, dearest love, be a woman. I am safe, as you may see, dearest. Itell you I sustained no injury in life--not a hair of nay head was hurt;thanks to Mr. Reilly for it thanks to this gentleman. Oh! that's right, bravo, Helen--bravo, my girl! See that, Reilly, isn't she a gloriouscreature? She recovers now, to set her old loving father's heart atease. "

The weakness, for it did not amount altogether to insensibility, wasonly of brief duration. 

"Dear papa, " said she, raising herself, and withdrawing gently andmodestly from Reilly's support, "I was unprepared for the account ofthis dreadful affair. Excuse me, sir; surely you will admit that amurderous attack on dear papa's life could not be listened to by his onlychild with indifference. But do let me know how it happened, papa. "

"You are not yet equal to it, darling; you are too much agitated. "

"I am equal to it now, papa! Pray, let me hear it, and how thisgentleman--who will be kind enough to imagine my thanks, for, indeed, no language could express them--and how this gentleman was the means ofsaving you. "

"Perhaps, Miss Folliard, " said Reilly, "it would be better to defer theexplanation until you shall have gained more strength. "

"Oh, no, sir, " she replied; "my anxiety to hear it will occasion megreater suffering, I am sure, than the knowledge of it, especially nowthat papa is safe. "

Reilly bowed in acquiescence, but not in consequence of her words; aglance as quick as the lightning, but full of entreaty and gratitude, and something like joy--for who does not know the many languages whichthe single glance of a lovely woman can speak?--such a glance, we say, accompanied her words, and at once won him to assent. 

"Miss Folliard may be right, sir, " he observed, "and as the shock haspassed, perhaps to make her briefly acquainted with the circumstanceswill rather relieve her. "

"Right, " said her father, "so it will, Willy, so it will, especially, thank God, as there has been no harm done. Look at this now! Get away, you saucy baggage! Your poor loving father has only just escaped beingshot, and now he runs the risk of being strangled. "

"Dear, dear papa, " she said, "who could have thought of injuringyou--you with your angry tongue, but your generous and charitable andnoble heart?" and again she wound her exquisite and lovely arms abouthis neck and kissed him, whilst a fresh gush of tears came to her eyes. 

"Come, Helen--come, love, be quiet now, or I shall not tell you anything more about my rescue by that gallant young fellow standing beforeyou. "

This was followed, on her part, by another glance at Reilly, andthe glance was as speedily followed by a blush, and again a host oftumultuous emotions crowded around his heart. 

The old man, placing her head upon his bosom, kissed and patted her, after which he related briefly, and in such a way as not, if possible, to excite her afresh, the circumstances with which the reader is alreadyacquainted. At the close, however, when he came to the part which Reillyhad borne in the matter, and dwelt at more length on his intrepidity andspirit, and the energy of character and courage with which the quelledthe terrible Rapparee, he was obliged to stop for a moment, and say, "Why, Helen, what is the matter, my darling? Are you getting ill again?Your little heart is going at a gallop--bless me, how it pit-a-pats. There, now, you've heard it all--here I am, safe--and there stands thegentleman to whom, under God, we are both indebted for it. And now letus have dinner, darling, for we have not dined?"

Apologies on the part of Reilly, who really had dined, were flung to thewinds by the old squire. 

"What matter, Willy? what matter, man?--sit at the table, picksomething--curse it, we won't eat you. Your dress? never mind yourdress. I am sure Helen here will not find fault with it. Come, Helen, use your influence, love. And you, sir, Willy Reilly, give her yourarm. " This he added in consequence of dinner having been announced whilehe spoke; and so they passed into the dining-room. 

CHAPTER III. --Daring Attempt of the Red Rapparee

--Mysterious Disappearance of His Gang--The Avowal

We must go back a little. When Helen sank under the dreadfulintelligence of the attempt made to assassinate her father, we stated atthe time that she was not absolutely insensible; and this was the fact. Reilly, already enraptured by such wonderful grace and beauty as thehighest flight of his imagination could never have conceived, whencalled upon by her father to carry her to the sofa, could scarcelycredit his senses that such a lovely and precious burden should ever beentrusted to him, much less borne in his very arms. In order to preventher from falling, he was literally obliged to throw them around her, and, to a certain extent, to press her--for the purpose of supportingher--against his heart, the pulsations of which were going at atremendous speed. There was, in fact, something so soft, so pitiable, so beautiful, and at the same time so exquisitely pure and fragrant, inthis lovely creature, as her head lay drooping on his shoulder, her palecheek literally lying against his, that it is not at all to be wonderedat that the beatings of his heart were accelerated to an unusual degree. Now she, from her position upon his bosom, necessarily felt this rapidaction of its tenant; when, therefore, her father, after her recovery, on reciting for her the fearful events of the evening, and dwelling uponReilly's determination and courage, expressed alarm at the palpitationsof her heart, a glance passed between them which each, once and forever, understood. She had felt the agitation of him who had risked his life indefence of her father, for in this shape the old man had truly put it;and now she knew from her father's observation, as his arm lay upon herown, that the interest which his account of Reilly's chivalrous conductthroughout the whole affair had excited in it were discovered. In thiscase heart spoke to heart, and by the time they sat down to dinner, each felt conscious that their passion, brief as was the period of theiracquaintance, had become, whether for good or evil, the uncontrollabledestiny of their lives. 

William Reilly was the descendant of an old and noble Irish family. Hisancestors had gone through all the vicissitudes and trials, and beenengaged in most of the civil broils and wars, which, in Ireland, hadcharacterized the reign of Elizabeth. As we are not disposed to enterinto a disquisition upon the history of that stormy period, unless tosay that we believe in our souls both parties were equally savage andinhuman, and that there was not, literally, a toss up between them, wehave only to add that Reilly's family, at least that branch of it towhich he belonged, had been reduced by the ruin that resulted from thecivil wars, and the confiscations peculiar to the times. His fatherhad made a good deal of money abroad in business, but feeling thatmelancholy longing for his native soil, for the dark mountains and thegreen fields of his beloved country, he returned to it, and having takena large farm of about a thousand acres, under a peculiar tenure, whichwe shall mention ere we close, he devoted himself to pasturage andagriculture. Old Reilly had been for some years dead, and his eldestson, William, was now not only the head of his immediate family, butof that great branch of it to which he belonged, although he neitherclaimed nor exercised the honor. In Reilly, many of those irreconcilablepoints of character, which scarcely ever meet in the disposition of anybut an Irishman, were united. He was at once mild and impetuous; underpeculiar circumstances, humble and unassuming, but in others, proudalmost to a fault; a bitter foe to oppression in every sense, and tobigotry in every creed. He was highly educated, and as perfect a masterof French, Spanish, and German, as he was of either English or Irish, both of which he spoke with equal fluency and purity. To his personalcourage we need not make any further allusion. On many occasions ithad been well tested on the Continent. He was an expert and unrivalledswordsman, and a first-rate shot, whether with the pistol orfowling-piece. 

At every athletic exercise he was matchless; and one great cause of hisextraordinary popularity among the peasantry was the pleasure he took inpromoting the exercise of such manly sports among them. In his personhe combined great strength with remarkable grace and ease. The wonderfulsymmetry of his form took away apparently from his size; but on lookingat and examining him closely, you felt surprised at the astonishingfulness of his proportions and the prodigious muscular power which layunder such deceptive elegance. As for his features, they were repletewith that manly expression which changes with, and becomes a candidexponent of, every feeling that influences the heart. His mouth wasfine, and his full red lips exquisitely chiselled; his chin was full offirmness; and his large dark eyes, though soft, mellow, and insinuating, had yet a sparkle in them that gave evidence of a fiery spirit whenprovoked, as well as of a high sense of self-respect and honor. Hiscomplexion was slightly bronzed by residence in continental climates, acircumstance that gave a warmth and mellowness to his features, which, when taken into consideration with his black, clustering locks, and thesnowy whiteness of his forehead, placed him in the very highest order ofhandsome men. 

Such was our hero, the fame of whose personal beauty, as well as that ofthe ever-memorable _Cooleen Bawn_, is yet a tradition in the country. 

On this occasion the dinner-party consisted only of the squire, hisdaughter, and Reilly. The old man, on reflecting that he was nowsafe, felt his spirits revive apace. His habits of life were jolly andconvivial, but not actually intemperate, although it must be admittedthat on some occasions he got into the debatable ground. To those whodid not know him, and who were acquainted through common reportonly with his unmitigated abuse of Popery, he was looked upon as anoppressive and overbearing tyrant, who would enforce, to the furthestpossible stretch of severity, the penal enactments then in existenceagainst Roman Catholics. And this, indeed, was true, so far as any onewas concerned from whom he imagined himself to have received aninjury; against such he was a vindictive tyrant, and a most implacablepersecutor. By many, on the other hand, he was considered as aneccentric man, with a weak head, but a heart that often set all hisanti-Catholic prejudices at complete defiance. 

At dinner the squire had most of the conversation to himself, hisloquacity and good-humor having been very much improved by a fewglasses of his rich old Madeira. His daughter, on the other hand, seemedfrequently in a state of abstraction, and, on more than one occasion, found herself incapable of answering several questions which he put toher. Ever and anon the timid, blushing glance was directed at Reilly, by whom it was returned with a significance that went directly to herheart. Both, in fact, appeared to be influenced by some secret trainof thought that seemed quite at variance with the old gentleman'sgarrulity. 

"Well, " said he, "here we are, thank God, all safe; and it is to you, Willy, we owe it. Come, man, take off your wine. Isn't he a fine youngfellow, Helen?"

Helen's heart, at the moment, had followed her eyes, and she did nothear him. 

"Hello! what the deuce! By the banks of the Boyne, I believe the girlhas lost her hearing. I say, Helen, isn't Willy Reilly here, thatprevented you from being an orphan, a fine young fellow?"

A sudden rosy blush suffused her whole neck and face on hearing thisblunt and inconsiderate question. 

"What, darling, have you not heard me?"

"If Mr. Reilly were not present, papa, I might give an opinion on thatsubject; but I trust you will excuse me now. "

"Well, I suppose so; there's no getting women to speak to the point. At all events, I would give more than I'll mention that Sir HobertWhitecraft was as good-looking a specimen of a man; I'll engage, if hewas, you would have no objection to say yes, my girl. "

"I look to the disposition, papa, to the moral feelings and principles, more than to the person. 

"Well, Helen, that's right too--all right, darling, and on that accountSir Robert must and ought to be a favorite. He is not yet forty, and forthis he is himself my authority, and forty is the prime of life; yet, with an immense fortune and strong temptations, he has never launchedout into a single act of imprudence or folly. No, Helen, he never soweda peck of wild oats in his life. He is, on the contrary, sober, grave, silent--a little too much so, by the way--cautious, prudent, and saving. No man knows the value of money better, nor can contrive to make it gofurther. Then, as for managing a bargain--upon my soul, I don't think hetreated me well, though, in the swop of 'Hop-and-go-constant' against myprecious bit of blood, 'Pat the Spanker. ' He made me pay him twenty-fivepounds boot for an old--But you shall see him, Reilly, you shall seehim, Willy, and if ever there was a greater take in--you needn't smile, He en, nor look at Willy. By the good King William that saved us fromPope, and--ahem--I beg pardon, Willy, but, upon my soul, he took mecompletely in. I say, I shall show you 'Hop-and-go-constant', and whenyou see him you'll admit the 'Hop, ' but the devil a bit you will find ofthe 'Go-constant. '"

"I suppose the gentleman's personal appearance, sir, " observed Reilly, glancing at Miss Folliard, "is equal to his other qualities. "

"Why--a--ye-s. He's tall and thin and serious, with something about him, say, of a philosopher. Isn't that true, Helen?"

"Perfectly, papa, " she replied, with a smile of arch humor, which, toReilly, placed her character in a new light. 

"Perfectly true, papa, so far as you have gone; but I trust you willfinish the portrait for Mr. Reilly. "

"Well, then, I will. Where was I? Oh, yes--tall, thin, and serious; likea philosopher. I'll go next to the shoulders, because Helen seems tolike them--they are a little round or so. I, myself, wish to goodnessthey were somewhat straighter, but Helen says the curve is delightful, being what painters and glaziers call the line of beauty. "

A sweet light laugh, that rang with the melody of a musical bell, brokefrom Helen at this part of the description, in which, to tell the truth, she was joined by Reilly. The old man himself, from sheer happiness andgood-humor, joined them both, though utterly ignorant of the cause oftheir mirth. 

"Aye, aye, " he exclaimed, "you may laugh--by the great Boyne, I knew Iwould make you laugh. Well, I'll go on; his complexion is of a--a--nomatter--of a good standing color, at all events; his nose, I grant you, is as thin, and much of the same color, as pasteboard, but as a set-offto that it's a thorough Williamite. Isn't that true, Helen?"

"Yes, papa; but I think King William's nose was the worst feature in hisface, although that certainly cannot be said of Sir Robert. "

"Do you hear that, Reilly? I wish Sir Robert heard it, but I'll tellhim--there's a compliment, Helen--you're a good girl--thank you, Helen. "

Helen's face was now radiant with mirthful enjoyment, whilst at the sametime Reilly could perceive that from time to time a deep unconscioussigh would escape from her, such a sigh as induced him to infer thatsome hidden care was at work with her heart. This he at once imputed toher father's determination to force her into a marriage with the worthybaronet, whom in his simplicity he was so ludicrously describing. 

"Proceed, papa, and finish as you have begun it. "

"I will, to oblige and gratify you, Helen. He is a little close aboutthe knees, Mr. Reilly--a little close about the knees, Willy. "

"And about the heart, papa, " added his daughter, who, for the life ofher, could not restrain the observation. 

"It's no fault to know the value of money, my dear child. However, letme go on--close about the knees, but that's a proof of strength, becausethey support one another: every one knows that. "

"But his arms, papa?"

"You see, Reilly, you see, Willy, " said the squire, nodding in thedirection of his daughter, "not a bad sign that, and yet she pretendsnot to care about him. She is gratified, evidently. Ah, Helen, Helen!it's hard to know women. "

"But his arms, papa?"

"Well, then, I wish to goodness you would allow me to skip that part ofthe subject--they are an awful length, Willy, I grant. I allow the fact, it cannot be denied, they are of an awful length. "

"It will give him the greater advantage in over-reaching, papa. "

"Well, as to his arms, upon my soul Willy, I know no more what to dowith them--"

"Than he does himself, papa. "

"Just so, Helen; they hang about him like those of a skeleton on wires;but, on the other hand, he has a neck that always betokens trueblood, long and thin like that of a racer. Altogether he's a devilishinteresting man, steady, prudent, and sober. I never saw him drink athird glass of--"

"In the meantime, papa, " observed Helen, "in the enthusiasm of yourdescription you are neglecting Mr. Reilly. "

Ah, love, love! in how many minute points can you make yourselfunderstood!

"By the great William, and so I am. Come, Willy, help yourself"--and hepushed the bottle towards him as he spoke. 

And why, gentle reader, did Reilly fill his glass on that particularoccasion until it became literally a brimmer? We know--but if you areignorant of it we simply beg you to remain so; and why, on putting theglass to his lips, did his large dark eyes rest upon her with thatdeep and melting glance? Why, too, was that glance returned with thequickness of thought before her lids dropped, and the conscious blushsuffused her face? The solution of this we must also leave to your owningenuity. 

"Well, " proceeded the squire, "steady, prudent, sober--of a fine oldfamily, and with an estate of twelve thousand a year--what do you thinkof that, Willy? Isn't she a fortunate girl?"

"Taking his virtues and very agreeable person into consideration, sir, I think so, " replied Reilly in a tone of slight sarcasm, which was onlycalculated to reach one of his audience. 

"You hear that, Helen--you hear what Mr. Reilly--what Willy-says. Thefact is, I'll call you nothing but Willy in future, Willy--you hear whathe says, darling?"

"Indeed I do, papa--and understand it perfectly. "

"That's my girl. Twelve thousand a year--and has money lent out at everyrate of interest from six per cent. Up. "

"And yet I cannot consider him as interesting on that account, papa. "

"You do, Helen--nonsense, my love--you do, I tell you--it's allmake-believe when you speak to the contrary--don't you call the curveon his shoulders the line of beauty? Come--come--you know I only want tomake you happy. "

"It is time, papa, that I should withdraw, " she replied, rising. 

Reilly rose to open the door. 

"Good-night, papa-dear, dear papa, " she added, putting her snowy armsabout his neck and kissing him tenderly. "I know, " she added, "that thegreat object of your life is to make your _Cooleen Bawn_ happy--and indoing so, dear papa--there now is another kiss for you--a little bribe, papa--in doing so, consult her heart as well as your own. Good-night. "

"Good-night, my treasure. "

During this little scene of affectionate tenderness Reilly stood holdingthe door open, and as she was going out, as if recollecting herself, sheturned to him and said, "Pardon me, Mr. Reilly, I fear you must thinkme ungrateful; I have not yet thanked you for the service--the serviceindeed so important that no language could find expression for it--whichyou have rendered to dear papa, and to me. But, Mr. Reilly, I pray youdo not think me ungrateful, or insensible, for, indeed, I am neither. Suffer me to feel what I owe you, and do not blame me if I cannotexpress it. "

"If it were not for the value of the life which it is probable I havesaved, and if it were not that your happiness was so deeply involvedin it, " replied Reilly, "I would say that you overrate what I have donethis evening. But I confess I am myself now forced to see the value ofmy services, and I thank heaven for having made me the humble instrumentof saving your father's life, not only for his own sake, Miss Folliard, but for yours. I now feel a double debt of gratitude to heaven for it. "

The _Cooleen Bawn_ did not speak, but the tears ran down her cheeks. "Good-night, sir, " she said. "I am utterly incapable of thanking you asyou deserve, and as I ought to thank you. Good-night!"

She extended her small snowy hand to him as she spoke. Reilly took itin his, and by some voluntary impulse he could not avoid givingit a certain degree of pressure. The fact is, it was such ahand--so white--so small--so soft--so warm--so provocative of asqueeze--that he felt his own pressing it, he knew not how norwherefore, at least he thought so at the time; that is to say, if hewere capable of thinking distinctly of any thing. But heaven and earth!Was it true! No delusion? No dream? The pressure returned! theslightest, the most gentle, the most delicate pressure--the barelyperceptible pressure! Yes! it was beyond all doubt; for although the actitself was light as delicacy and modesty could make it, yet thespirit--the lightening spirit--which it shot into his bounding andenraptured heart could not be for a moment mistaken. 

As she was running up the stairs she returned, however, and againapproaching her father, said--whilst Reilly could observe that her cheekwas flushed with a feeling that seemed to resemble ecstasy--"Papa, "said she, "what a stupid girl I am! I scarcely know what I am saying ordoing. "

"By the great Boyne, " replied her father, "I'll describe him to youevery night in the week. I knew the curve--the line of beauty--would getinto your head; but what is it, darling?"

"Will you and Mr. Reilly have tea in the drawing-room, or shall I sendit down to you?"

"I am too comfortable in my easy chair, dear Helen: no, send it down. "

"After the shock you have received, papa, perhaps you might wish to haveit from the hand of your own Cooleen Bawn?"

As the old man turned his eyes upon her they literally danced withdelight. "Ah, Willy!" said he, "is it any wonder I should love her?"

"I have often heard, " replied Reilly, "that it is impossible to knowher, and not to love her. I now believe it. "

"Thank you, Reilly; thank you, Willy; shake hands. Come, Helen, shakehands with him. That's a compliment. Shake hands with him, darling. There, now, that's all right. Yes, my love, by all means, come down andgive us tea here. "

Innocent old man--the die is now irrevocably cast! That mutual pressure, and that mutual glance. Alas! alas! how strange and incomprehensible ishuman destiny!

After she had gone upstairs the old man said, "You see, Willy, how myheart and soul are in that angelic creature. The great object, the greatdelight of her life, is to anticipate all my wants, to study whateveris agreeable to me--in fact, to make me happy. And she succeeds. Everything she does pleases me. By the grave of Schomberg, she's beyond allprice. It is true we never had a baronet in the family, and it wouldgratify me to hear her called Lady Whitecraft; still, I say, I don'tcare for rank or ambition; nor would I sacrifice my child's happinessto either. And, between you and me, if she declines to have him, sheshan't, thats all that's to be said about it. He's quite round inthe shoulders; and yet so inconsistent are women that she calls aprotuberance that resembles the letter C the line of beauty. Then againhe bit me in 'Hop-and-go-constant;' and you know yourself, Willy, thatno person likes to be bit, especially by the man he intends for hisson-in-law. If he gives me the bite before marriage, what would he notdo after it?"

"This, sir, is a subject, " replied Reilly, "on which I must declineto give an opinion; but I think that no father should sacrifice thehappiness of his daughter to his own inclinations. However, setting thismatter aside, I have something of deep importance to mention to you. "

"To me! Good heavens! What is it?"

"The Red Rapparee, sir, has formed a plan to rob, possibly to murder, you, and what is worse--"

"Worse! Why, what the deuce--worse! Why, what could be worse?"

"The dishonor of your daughter. It is his intention to carry her off tothe mountains; but pardon me, I cannot bear to dwell upon the diabolicalproject. "

The old man fell back, pale, and almost insensible, in his chair. 

"Do not be alarmed, sir, " proceeded Keilly, "he will be disappointed. Ihave taken care of that. "

"But, Mr. Reilly, what--how--for heaven's sake tell me what you knowabout it. Are you sure of this? How did you come to hear of it? Tellme--tell me every thing about it! We must prepare to receive thevillains--we must instantly get assistance. My child--my life--my Helen, to fall into the hands of this monster!"

"Hear me, sir, " said Reilly, "hear me, and you will perceive I havetaken measures to frustrate all his designs, and to have him a prisonerbefore to-morrow's sun arises. "

He then related to him the plan laid by the Red Rapparee, as overheardby Tom Steeple, and as it was communicated to himself by the sameindividual subsequently, after which he proceeded:

"The fact is, sir, I have sent the poor fool, who is both faithful andtrustworthy, to summon here forty or fifty of my laborers and tenants. They must be placed in the out-houses, and whatever arms and ammunitionyou can spare, in addition to the weapons which they shall bring alongwith them, must be made available. I sent orders that they should behere about nine o'clock. I, myself, will remain in this house, and youmay rest assured that your life, your property, and your child shall beall safe. I know the strength of the ruffian's band; it only consistsof about twelve men, or rather twelve devils, but he and they will findthemselves mistaken. "

Before Miss Folliard came down to make tea, Reilly had summoned theservants, and given them instructions as to their conduct during theexpected attack. Having arranged this, he went to the yard, and founda large body of his tenants armed with such rude weapons as they couldprocure; for, at this period, it was a felony for a Roman Catholic tohave or carry arms at all. The old squire, however, was well provided inthat respect, and, accordingly, such as could be spared from the housewere distributed among them. Mr. Folliard himself felt his spiritanimated by a sense of the danger, and bustled about with uncommonenergy and activity, considering what he had suffered in the course ofthe evening. At all events, they both resolved to conceal the matterfrom Helen till the last moment, in order to spare her the terror andalarm which she must necessarily feel on hearing of the contemplatedviolence. At tea, however, she could not avoid observing that somethinghad disturbed her father, who, from his naturally impetuous character, ejaculated, from time to time, "The bloodthirsty scoundrel!--murderingruffian! We shall hang him, though; we can hang him for the conspiracy. Would the fool's, Tom Steeples', evidence be taken, do you think?"

"I fear not, sir, " replied Reilly. "In the meantime, don't think of it, don't further distress yourself about it. "

"To think of attacking my house, though; and if it were only I myselfthat--however, we are prepared, that's one comfort; we are prepared, andlet them--hem!--Helen, my darling, now that we've had our tea, willyou retire to your own room. I wish to talk to Mr. Reilly here, ona particular and important subject, in which you yourself are deeplyconcerned. Withdraw, my love, but don't go to bed until I see youagain. "

Helen went upstairs with a light foot and a bounding heart. A certainhope, like a dream of far-off and unexpected happiness, rushed intoand filled her bosom with a crowd of sensations so delicious that, onreaching her own room, she felt completely overpowered by them, and wasonly relieved by a burst of tears. There was now but one image beforeher imagination, but one image impressed upon her pure and ferventheart; that image was the first that love had ever stamped there, andthe last that suffering, sorrow, madness, and death were ever able totear from it. 

When the night had advanced to the usual hour for retiring to rest, it was deemed necessary to make Helen acquainted with the meditatedoutrage, in order to prevent the consequences of a nocturnal alarm forwhich she might be altogether unprepared. This was accordingly done, andher natural terrors were soothed and combated by Reilly and herfather, who succeeded in reviving her courage, and in enabling her tocontemplate what was to happen with tolerable composure. 

Until about the hour of two o'clock every thing regained silent. Nobodywent to bed--the male servants were all prepared--the females, somein tears, and others sustaining and comforting those who were morefeeble-hearted. Miss Folliard was in her own room, dressed. At abouthalf past two she heard a stealthy foot, and having extinguished thelight in her apartment, with great presence of mind she rang the bell, whilst at the same moment her door was broken in, and a man, as she knewby his step, entered. In the meantime the house was alarmed; the manhaving hastily projected his arms about in several directions, as ifsearching for her, instantly retreated, a scuffle was heard outside onthe lobby, and when lights and assistance appeared, there were foundeight or ten men variously armed, all of whom proved to be a portion ofthe guard selected by Reilly to protect the house and family. These menmaintained that they had seen the Red Rapparee on the roof of the house, through which he had descended, and that having procured a ladder fromthe farmyard, they entered a back window, at a distance of about fortyfeet from the ground, in hope of securing his person--that they came incontact with some powerful man in the dark, who disappeared from amongthem--but by what means he had contrived to escape they could not guess. This was the substance of all they knew or understood upon the subject. 

The whole house was immediately and thoroughly searched, and no trace ofhim could be found until they came to the skylight, which was discoveredto be opened--wrenched off the hinges--and lying on the roof at adistance of two or three yards from its place. 

It soon became evident that the Rapparee and his party had taken thealarm. In an instant those who were outside awaiting to pounce upon themin the moment of attack got orders to scour the neighborhood, and ifpossible to secure the Rapparee at every risk; and as an inducement thesquire himself offered to pay the sum of five hundred pounds to anyone who should bring him to Corbo Castle, which was the name of hisresidence. This was accordingly attempted, the country far and wide wassearched, pursuit given in every direction, but all to no purpose. Notonly was the failure complete, but, what was still more unaccountableand mysterious, no single mark or trace of them could be found. Thisescape, however, did not much surprise the inhabitants of the countryat large, as it was only in keeping with many of a far more difficultcharacter which the Rapparee had often effected. The only cause to whichit could be ascribed was the supposed fact of his having taken suchadmirable precautions against surprise as enabled his gang to disappearupon a preconcerted plan the moment the friendly guards were discovered, whilst he himself daringly attempted to secure the squire's cash and hisdaughter. 

Whether the supposition was right or wrong will appear subsequently;but, in the meantime, we may add here, that the event in question, andthe disappearance of the burglars, was fatal to the happiness of ourlovers, for such they were in the tenderest and most devoted sense ofthat strange and ungovernable passion. 

Early the next morning the squire was so completely exhausted by theconsequences of watching, anxiety, and want of rest, that he felthimself overcome by sleep, and was obliged to go to bed. Before hewent, however, he made Reilly promise that he would not go until he hadbreakfasted, then shook him cordially by the hand, thanked him again andagain for the deep and important obligations he had imposed upon himand his child, and concluded by giving him a general invitation to hishouse, the doors of which, he said, as well as the heart of its owner, should be ever ready to receive him. 

"As for Helen, here, " said he, "I leave her to thank you herself, which I am sure she will do in a manner becoming the services you haverendered her, before you go. "

She then kissed him tenderly and he retired to rest. 

At breakfast, Reilly and Miss Folliard were, of course, alone, if we maysay so. Want of rest and apprehension had given a cast of paleness toher features that, so far from diminishing, only added a new and tendercharacter to her beauty. Reilly observed the exquisite loveliness of herhand as she poured out the tea; and when he remembered the gentle butsignificant pressure which it had given to his, more than once or twice, on the preceding night, he felt as if he experienced a personal interestin her fate--as if their destinies were to be united--as if his growingspirit could enfold hers, and mingle with it forever. The love he feltfor her pervaded and softened his whole being with such a feeling oftenderness, timidity, and ecstasy, that his voice, always manly andfirm, now became tremulous in its tones; such, in truth, as is alwaysoccasioned by a full and overflowing heart when it trembles at the veryopportunity of pouring forth the first avowal of its affection. 

"Miss Folliard, " said he, after a pause, and with some confusion, "doyou believe in Fate?"

The question appeared to take her somewhat by surprise, if one couldjudge by the look she bestowed upon him with her dark, flashing eyes. 

"In Fate, Mr. Reilly? that is a subject, I fear, too deep for a girllike me. I believe in Providence. "

"All this morning I have been thinking of the subject. Should it be Fatethat brought me to the rescue of your father last night, I cannot butfeel glad of it; but though it be a Fate that has preserved him--and Ithank Almighty God for it--yet it is one that I fear has destroyed myhappiness. "

"Destroyed your happiness, Mr. Reilly! why, how could the service yourendered papa last night have such an effect?"

"I will be candid, and tell you, Miss Folliard. I know that what I amabout to say will offend you--it was by making me acquainted with hisdaughter, and by bringing me under the influence of beauty which hasunmanned--distracted me--beauty which I could not resist--which hasovercome me--subdued me--and which, because it is beyond my reach and mydeserts, will occasion me an unhappy life--how long soever that life mylast. "

"Mr. Reilly, " exclaimed the _Cooleen Bawn_, "this--this--is--I am quiteunprepared for--I mean--to hear that such noble and generous conduct tomy father should end in this. But it cannot be. Nay, I will not pretendto misunderstand you. After the service you have rendered to him and tomyself, it would be uncandid in me and unworthy of you to conceal thedistress which your words have caused me. "

"I am scarcely in a condition to speak reasonably and calmly, " repliedReilly, "but I cannot regret that I have unconsciously sacrificed myhappiness, when that sacrifice has saved you from distress and grief andsorrow. Now that I know you, I would offer--lay down--my life, if thesacrifice could save yours from one moment's care. I have often heard ofwhat love--love in its highest and noblest sense--is able to do and tosuffer for the good and happiness of its object, but now I know it. "

She spoke not, or rather she was unable to speak; but as she pulledout her snow-white handkerchief, Reilly could observe the extraordinarytremor of her hands; the face, too, was deadly pale. 

"I am not making love to you, Miss Folliard, " he added. "No, myreligion, my position in life, a sense of my own unworthiness, wouldprevent that; but I could not rest unless you knew that there is oneheart which, in the midst of unhappiness and despair, can understand, appreciate, and love you. I urge no claim. I am without hope. "

The fair girl (_Cooleen Bawn_) could not restrain her tears; butwept--yes, she wept. "I was not prepared for this, " she replied. "I didnot think that so short an acquaintance could have--Oh, I know not whatto say--nor how to act. My father's prejudices. You are a Catholic. "

"And will die one, Miss Folliard. "

"But why should you be unhappy? You do not deserve to be so. "

"That is precisely what made me ask you just now if you believed infate. "

"Oh, I know not. I cannot answer such a question; but why should you beunhappy, with your brave, generous, and noble heart? Surely, surely, youdo not deserve it. "

"I said before that I have no hope, Miss Folliard. I shall carry withme my love of you through life; it is my first, and I feel it will be mylast--it will be the melancholy light that will burn in the sepulchreof my heart to show your image there. And now, Miss Folliard, I will bidyou farewell. Your father has proffered me hospitality, but I have notstrength nor resolution to accept it. You now know my secret--a hopelesspassion. "

"Reilly, " she replied, weeping bitterly, "our acquaintance has beenshort--we have not seen much of each other, yet I will not deny thatI believe you to be all that any female heart could--pardon me, I amwithout experience--I know not much of the world. You have travelled, papa told me last night; I do not wish that you should be unhappy, and, least of all, that I, who owe you so much, should be the occasion of it. No, you talk of a hopeless passion. I know not what I ought to say--butto the preserver of my father's life, and, probably my own honor, Iwill say, be not--but why should love be separated from truth?" shesaid--"No, Reilly, be not hopeless. "

"Oh, " replied Reilly, who had gone over near her, "but my soul will notbe satisfied without a stronger affirmation. This moment is the greatcrisis of my life and happiness. I love you beyond all the power oflanguage or expression. You tremble, dear Miss Folliard, and you weep;let me wipe those precious tears away. Oh, would to God that you lovedme!"

He caught her hand--it was not withdrawn--he pressed it as he had donethe evening before. The pressure was returned--his voice melted intotenderness that was contagious and irresistible: "Say, dearest Helen, star of my life and of my fate, oh, only say that I am not indifferentto you. "

They were both standing near the chimney-piece as he spoke--"only say, "he repeated, "that I am not indifferent to you. "

"Well, then, " she replied, "you are not indifferent to me. "

"One admission more, my dearest life, and I am happy forever. You loveme? say it, dearest, say it--or, stay, whisper it, whisper it--you loveme!"

"I do, " she whispered in a burst of tears. 

CHAPTER IV. --His Rival makes his Appearance, and its Consequences

--A Sapient Project for our Hero's Conversion

We will not attempt to describe the tumult of delight which agitatedReilly's heart on his way home, after this tender interview with themost celebrated Irish beauty of that period. The term _Cooleen Bawn_, in native Irish, has two meanings, both of which were justly applied toher, and met in her person. It signifies _fair locks_, or, as it may bepronounced _fair girl_; and in either sense is peculiarly applicable toa blonde beauty, which she was. The name of _Cooleen Bawn_ was appliedto her by the populace, whose talent for finding out and bestowingepithets indicative either of personal beauty or deformity, or ofthe qualities of the mind or character, be they good or evil, is, inIreland, singularly felicitous. In the higher ranks, however, she wasknown as "The Lily of the Plains of Boyne, " and as such she was toastedby all parties, not only in her own native county, but throughoutIreland, and at the viceregal entertainments in the Castle of Dublin. Atthe time of which we write, the penal laws were in operation against theRoman Catholic population of the country, and her father, a good-heartedman by nature, was wordy and violent by prejudice, and yet secretly kindand friendly to many of that unhappy creed, though by no means to all. It was well known, however, that in every thing that was generous andgood in his character, or in the discharge of his public duties as amagistrate, he was chiefly influenced by the benevolent and liberalprinciples of his daughter, who was a general advocate for theoppressed, and to whom, moreover, he could deny nothing. This accountedfor her popularity, as it does for the extraordinary veneration andaffection with which her name and misfortunes are mentioned down to thepresent day. The worst point in her father's character was that he nevercould be prevailed on to forgive an injury, or, at least, any act thathe conceived to be such, a weakness or a vice which was the means of allhis angelic and lovely daughter's calamities. 

Reilly, though full of fervor and enthusiasm, was yet by no meansdeficient in strong sense. On his way home he began to ask himselfin what this overwhelming passion for _Cooleen Bawn_ must end. Hisreligion, he was well aware, placed an impassable gulf between them. Was it then generous or honorable in him to abuse the confidence andhospitality of her father by engaging the affections of a daughter, onwhose welfare his whole happiness was placed, and to whom, moreover, hecould not, without committing an act of apostasy that he abhorred, everbe united as a husband? Reason and prudence, moreover, suggested tohim the danger of his position, as well as the ungenerous nature of hisconduct to the grateful and trusting father. But, away with reasonand prudence--away with everything but love. The rapture of his hearttriumphed over every argument; and, come weal or woe, he resolved towin the far-famed "Star of Connaught, " another epithet which she derivedfrom her wonderful and extraordinary beauty. 

On approaching his own house he met a woman named Mary Mahon, whosecharacter of a fortune-teller was extraordinary in the country, andwhose predictions, come from what source they might, had gained her areputation which filled the common mind with awe and fear. 

"Well, Mary, " said he, "what news from futurity? And, by the way, whereis futurity? Because if you don't know, " he proceeded, laughing, "Ithink I could tell you. "

"Well, " replied Mary, "let me hear it. Where is it, Mr. Reilly?"

"Why, " he replied, "just at the point of your own nose, Mary, and youmust admit it is not a very long one; pure Milesian, Mary; a good dealof the saddle in its shape. "

The woman stood and looked at him for a few moments. 

"My nose may be short, " she replied, "but shorter will be the course ofyour happiness. "

"Well, Mary, " he said, "I think as regards my happiness that you know aslittle of it as I do myself. If you tell me any thing that has passed, Imay give you some credit for the future, but not otherwise. "

"Do you wish to have your fortune tould, then, " she asked, "upon themterms?"

"Come, then, I don't care if I do. What has happened me, for instance, within the last forty-eight hours?"

"That has happened you within the last forty-eight hours that will makeher you love the pity of the world before her time. I see how it willhappen, for the complaint I speak of is in the family. A living deathshe will have, and you yourself during the same time will have littleless. "

"But what has happened me, Mary?"

"I needn't tell you--you know--it. A proud heart, and a joyful heart, and a lovin' heart, you carry now, but it will be a broken heart beforelong. "

"Why, Mary, this is an evil prophecy; have you nothing good toforetell?"

"If it's a satisfaction to you to know, I will tell you: her lovefor you is as strong, and stronger, than death itself; and it is thesuffering of what is worse than death, Willy Reilly, that will unite youboth at last. "

Reilly started, and after a pause, in which he took it for granted thatMary spoke merely from one of those shrewd conjectures which practisedimpostors are so frequently in the habit of hazarding, replied, "Thatwon't do, Mary; you have told me nothing yet that has happened withinthe last forty-eight hours. I deny the truth of what you say. "

"It won't be long so, then, Mr. Reilly; you saved the life of the oldhalf-mad squire of Corbo. Yes, you saved his life, and you have takenhis daughter's! for indeed it would be better for her to die at wanstthan to suffer what will happen to you and her. "

"Why, what is to happen?"

"You'll know it too soon, " she replied, "and there's no use in makingyou unhappy. Good-by, Mr. Reilly; if you take a friend's advice you'llgive her up; think no more of her. It may cost you an aching heart todo so, but by doin' it you may save her from a great deal of sorrow, andboth of you from a long and heavy term of suffering. "

Reilly, though a young man of strong reason in the ordinary affairs oflife, and of a highly cultivated intellect besides, yet felt himselfinfluenced by the gloomy forebodings of this notorious woman. It is truehe saw, by the force of his own sagacity, that she had uttered nothingwhich any person acquainted with the relative position of himself and_Cooleen Bawn_, and the political circumstances of the country, mightnot have inferred as a natural and probable consequence. In fact he had, on his way home, arrived at nearly the same conclusion. Marriage, as thelaws of the country then stood, was out of the question, and couldnot be legitimately effected. What, then, must the consequence of thisirresistible but ill-fated passion be? An elopement to the Continentwould not only be difficult but dangerous, if not altogether impossible. It was obviously evident that Mary Mahon had drawn her predictions fromthe same circumstances which led himself to similar conclusions;yet, notwithstanding all this, he felt that her words had thrown aforeshadowing of calamity and sorrow over his spirit, and he passed upto his own house in deep gloom and heaviness of heart. It is true heremembered that this same Mary Mahon belonged to a family that had beeninimical to his house. She was a woman who had, in her early life, been degraded by crime, the remembrance of which had been by no meansforgotten. She was, besides, a paramour to the Red Rapparee, and heattributed much of her dark and ill-boding prophecy to a hostile andmalignant spirit. 

On the evening of the same day, probably about the same hour, theold squire having recruited himself by sleep, and felt refreshed andinvigorated, sent for his daughter to sit with him as was her wont; forindeed, as the reader may now fully understand, his happiness altogetherdepended upon her society, and those tender attentions to him whichconstituted the chief solace of his life. 

"Well, my girl, " said he, when she entered the dining-room, for heseldom left it unless when they had company, "Well, darling, what do youthink of this Mr. Mahon--pooh!--no--oh, Reilly--he who saved my life, and, probably, was the means of rescuing you from worse than death?Isn't he a fine--a noble young fellow?"

"Indeed, I think so, papa; he appear's to be a perfect gentleman. "

"Hang perfect gentlemen, Helen! they are, some of them, the mostcontemptible whelps upon earth. Hang me, but any fellow with along-bodied coat, tight-kneed breeches, or stockings and pantaloons, with a watch in each fob, and a frizzled wig, is considered a perfectgentleman--a perfect puppy, Helen, an accomplished trifle. Reilly, however, is none of these, for he is not only a perfect gentleman, but abrave man, who would not hesitate to risk his life in order to savethat of a fellow-creature, even although he is a Papist, and thatfellow-creature a Protestant. "

"Well, then, papa, I grant you, " she replied with a smile, which ourreaders will understand, "I grant you that he is a--ahem!--all yousay. "

"What a pity, Helen that he is a Papist. "

"Why so, papa?"

"Because, if he was a staunch Protestant, by the great Deliverer thatsaved us from brass money, wooden shoes, and so forth, I'd marry you andhim together. I'll tell you what, Helen, by the memory of Schomberg, Ihave a project, and it is you that must work it out. "

"Well, papa, " asked his daughter, putting the question with a smile anda blush, "pray what is this speculation?"

"Why, the fact is, I'll put him into your hands to convert him--make hima staunch Protestant, and take him for your pains. Accomplish this, andlet long-legged, knock-kneed Whitecraft, and his twelve thousand a year, go and bite some other fool as he bit me in 'Hop-and-go-constant. '"

"What are twelve thousand a year, papa, when you know that they couldnot secure me happiness with such a wretch? Such a union, sir, couldnot be--cannot be--must not be, and I will add, whilst I am in thepossession of will and reason, shall not be. "

[Illustration: PAGE 28 (and Frontispiece)--You must endeavor to converthim from Popery]

"Well, Helen, " said her father, "if you are obstinate, so am I; but Itrust we shall never have to fight for it. We must have Reilly here, andyou must endeavor to convert him from Popery. If you succeed, I'll givelong-shanks his _nunc dimittis_, and send him home on a trot. "

"Papa, " she replied, "this will be useless--it will be ruin--I knowReilly. "

"The devil you do! When, may I ask, did you become acquainted?"

"I mean, " she replied, blushing, "that I have seen enough of him duringhis short stay here to feel satisfied that no earthly persuasion, noargument, could induce him, at this moment especially, to change hisreligion. And, sir, I will add myself--yes, I will say for myself, dearpapa, and for Reilly too, that if from any unbecoming motive--if for thesake of love itself, I felt satisfied that he could give up and abandonhis religion, I would despise him. I should feel at once that his heartwas hollow, and that he was unworthy either of my love or my respect. "

"Well, by the great Boyne, Helen, you have knocked my intellects up. Ihope in God you have no Papist predilections, girl. However, it's onlyfair to give Reilly a trial; long-legs is to dine with us the day aftertomorrow--now, I will ask Reilly to meet him here--perhaps, if I getan opportunity, I will sound him on the point myself--or, perhaps, youwill. Will you promise to make the attempt? I'll take care that you andhe shall have an opportunity. "

"Indeed, papa, I shall certainly mention the subject to him. "

"By the soul of Schomberg, Helen, if you do you'll convert him. "

Helen was about to make some good-natured reply, when the noise ofcarriage wheels was heard at the hall-door, and her father, going tothe window, asked, "What noise is that? A carriage!--who can it be?Whitecraft, by the Boyne! Well, it can't be helped. "

"I will leave you, papa, " she said; "I do not wish to see this unfeelingand repulsive man, unless when it is unavoidable, and in your presence. "

She then withdrew. 

Before we introduce Sir Robert Whitecraft, we must beg our readers toaccompany us to the residence of that worthy gentleman, which was notmore than three miles from that of Reilly. Sir Robert had large estatesand a sumptuous residence in Ireland, as well as in England, and hadmade the former principally his place of abode since he became enamoredof the celebrated _Cooleen Bawn_. On the occasion in question he waswalking about through his grounds when a female approached him; whomwe beg the reader to recognize as Mary Mahon. This mischievous woman, implacable and without principle, had, with the utmost secrecy, servedSir Robert, and many others, in a capacity discreditable alike to virtueand her sex, by luring the weak or the innocent within their toils. 

"Well, Mary, " said he, "what news in the country? You, who are always onthe move, should know. "

"No very good news for you, Sir Robert, " she replied. 

"How is that, Mary?"

"Why, sir, Willy Reilly--the famous Willy Reilly--has got a footing inthe house of old Squire Folliard. "

"And how can that be bad news to me, Mary?"

"Well, I don't know, " said she, with a cunning leer; "but this I know, that they had a love scene together this very morning, and that hekissed her very sweetly near the chimney-piece. "

Sir Robert Whitecraft did not get into a rage; he neither cursed norswore, nor even looked angrily, but he gave a peculiar smile, whichshould be seen in order to be understood. "Where is your--ahem--yourfriend now?" he asked; and as he did so he began to whistle. 

"Have you another job for him?" she inquired, in her turn, with apeculiar meaning. "Whenever I fail by fair play, he tries it by foul. "

"Well, and have not I often saved his neck, as well by my influenceas by allowing him to take shelter under my roof whenever he was hardpressed?"

"I know that, your honor; and hasn't he and I often sarved you, on theother hand?"

"I grant it, Molly; but that is a matter known only to ourselves. Youknow I have the reputation of being very correct and virtuous. "

"I know you have, " said Molly, "with most people, but not with all. "

"Well, Molly, you know, as far as we are concerned, one good turndeserves another. Where is your friend now, I ask again?"

"Why, then, to tell you the truth, it's more than I know at the presentspeaking. "

"Follow me, then, " replied the wily baronet; "I wish you to see him; heis now concealed in my house; but first, mark me, I don't believe a wordof what you have just repeated. "

"It's as true as Gospel for all that, " she replied; "and if you wish tohear how I found it out I'll tell you. "

"Well, " said the baronet calmly, "let us hear it. "

"You must know, " she proceeded, "that I have a cousin, one Betty Beatty, who is a housemaid in the squire's. Now, this same Betty Beatty was inthe front parlor--for the squire always dines in the back--and, from akind of natural curiosity she's afflicted with, she puts her ear to thekeyhole, and afterwards her eye. I happened to be at the squire's atthe time, and, as blood is thicker that wather, and as she knew I wasa friend of yourrs, she tould me what she had both heard and seen, whatthey said, and how he kissed her. "

Sir Robert seemed very calm, and merely said, "Follow me into thehouse, " which she accordingly did, and remained in consultation with himand the Red Rapparee for nearly an hour, after which Sir Robert orderedhis carriage, and went to pay a visit, as we have seen, at Corbo Castle. 

Sir Robert Whitecraft, on entering the parlor, shook hands as a matterof course with the squire. At this particular crisis the vehement butwhimsical old man, whose mind was now full of another project withreference to his daughter, experienced no great gratification from thisvisit, and, as the baronet shook hands with him, he exclaimed somewhattestily. 

"Hang it, Sir Robert, why don't you shake hands like a man? You put thatlong yellow paw of yours, all skin and bones, into a man's hand, andthere you let it lie. But, no matter, every one to his nature. Beseated, and tell me what news. Are the Papists quiet?"

"There is little news stirring, sir; at least if there be, it does notcome my way, with the exception of this report about yourself, which Ihope is not true; that there was an attempt made on your life yesterdayevening?"

Whilst Sir Robert spoke he approached a looking-glass, before which hepresented himself, and commenced adjusting his dress, especially hiswig, a piece of vanity which nettled the quick and irritable feelingsof the squire exceedingly. The inference he drew was, that this wealthysuitor of his daughter felt more about his own personal appearancebefore her than about the dreadful fate which he himself had so narrowlyescaped. 

"What signifies that, my dear fellow, when your wig is out of balance?it's a little to the one side, like the ear of an empty jug, as theysay. "

"Why, sir, " replied the baronet, "the fact is, that Ifelt--hum!--hum--so much--so much--a--anxiety--hum!--to see youand--a--a--to know all about it--that--a--I didn't take time to--a--lookto my dress. And besides, as I--hum!--expect to have--a--the pleasureof an interview with Miss Folliard--a--hum!--now that I'm here--I feelanxious to appear to the best advantage--a--hum!"

[Illustration: PAGE 29--Readjustment of his toilet, at the large mirror]

While speaking he proceeded with the readjustment of his toilet at thelarge mirror, an operation which appeared to constitute the great objecton which his mind was engaged, the affair of the squire's life ordeath coming in only parenthetically, or as a consideration of minorimportance. 

In height Sir Robert Whitecraft was fully six feet two; but beingextremely thin and lank, and to all appearance utterly devoid ofsubstance, and of every thing like proportion, he appeared much tallerthan even nature had made him. His forehead was low, and his wholecharacter felonious; his eyes were small, deep set, and cunning; hisnose was hooked, his mouth was wide, but his lips thin to a miracle, and such as always--are to be found under the nose of a miser; as for achin, we could not conscientiously allow him any; his under-lip slopedoff until it met the throat with a curve not larger than that ofan oyster-shell, which when open to the tide, his mouth very muchresembled. As for his neck, it was so long that no portion of dress atthat time discovered was capable of covering more than one third of it;so that there were always two parts out of three left stark naked, andhelplessly exposed to the elements. Whenever he smiled he looked asif he was about to weep. As the squire said, he was dreadfullyround-shouldered--had dangling arms, that kept napping about him asif they were moved by some machinery that had gone out of order--wasclose-kneed--had the true telescopic leg--and feet that brought a verylarge portion of him into the closest possible contact with the earth. 

"Are you succeeding, Sir Robert?" inquired the old man sarcastically, "because, if you are, I swear you're achieving wonders, considering theslight materials you have to work upon. "

"Ah! sir, " replied the baronet, "I perceive you are in one of yourbiting humors to-day. "

"Biting!" exclaimed the other. "Egad, it's very well for most of yoursporting acquaintances that you're free from hydrophobia; if you werenot, I'd have died pleasantly between two feather beds, leaving my childan orphan long before this. Egad, you bit me to some purpose. "

"Oh, ay, you allude to the affair of 'Hop-and-go-constant' and 'Pat theSpanker;' but you know, my dear sir, I gave you heavy boot;" and as hespoke, he pulled up the lapels of his coat, and glanced complacently atthe profile of his face and person in the glass. 

"Pray, is Miss Folliard at home, sir?"

"Again I'm forgotten, " thought the squire. "Ah, what an affectionateson-in-law he'd make! What a tender husband for Helen! Why, hang thefellow, he has a heart for nobody, but himself. She is at home, SirRobert, but the truth is, I don't think it would become me, as a fatheranxious for the happiness of his child, and that child, an only one, tosacrifice her happiness--the happiness of her whole life--to wealth orambition. You know she herself entertains a strong prejudice--no, that'snot the word--"

"I beg your pardon, sir; that is the word; her distaste to me is aprejudice, and nothing else. "

"No, Sir Robert; it is not the word. Antipathy is the word. Now I tellyou, once for all, that I will not force my child. "

"This change, Mr. Folliard, " observed the baronet, "is somewhat of thesuddenest. Has any thing occurred on my part to occasion it?"

"Perhaps I may have other views for her, Sir Robert. "

"That may be; but is such conduct either fair or honorable towards me, Mr. Folliard? Have I got a rival, and if so, who is he?"

"Oh, I wouldn't tell you that for the world. "

"And why not, pray?"

"Because, " replied the squire, "if you found out who he was, you'd behanged for cannibalism. "

"I really don't understand you, Mr. Folliard. Excuse me, but it wouldseem to me that something has put you into no very agreeable humorto-day. "

"You don't understand me! Why, Sir Robert, " replied the other, "I knowyou so well that if you heard the name of your rival you would firstkill him, then powder him, and, lastly, eat him. You are such a terriblefellow that you care about no man's life, not even about mine. "

Now it was to this very point that the calculating baronet wished tobring him. The old man, he knew, was whimsical, capricious, and in thehabit of taking all his strongest and most enduring resolutions fromsudden contrasts produced by some mistake of his own, or from somediscovery made to him on the part of others. 

"As to your life, Mr. Folliard, let me assure you, " replied Sir Robert, "that there is no man living prizes it, and, let me add, you charactertoo, more highly than I do; but, my dear sir, your life was never indanger. "

"Never in danger! what do you mean, Sir Robert? I tell you, sir, thatthe murdering miscreant, the Red Rapparee, had a loaded gun levelled atme last evening, after dark. "

"I know it, " replied the other; "I am well aware of it, and you wererescued just in the nick of time. "

"True enough, " said the squire, "just in the nick of time; by thatglorious young fellow--a--a--yes--Reilly--Willy Reilly. "

"This Willy Reilly, sir, is a very accomplished person, I think. "

"A gentleman, Sir Robert, every inch of him, and as handsome andfine-looking a young fellow as ever I laid my eyes upon. "

"He was educated on the Continent by the Jesuits. "

"No!" replied the squire, dreadfully alarmed at this piece ofinformation, "he was not; by the great Boyne, he wasn't. "

This mighty asseveration, however, was exceedingly feeble in moralstrength and energy, for, in point of fact, it came out of the squire'slips more in the shape of a question than an oath. 

"It is unquestionably true, sir, " said the baronet; "ask himself, and hewill admit it. "

"Well, and granting that he was, " replied the squire, "what else couldhe do, when the laws would not permit of his being educated here? Ispeak not against the laws, God forbid, but of his individual case. "

"We are travelling from the point, sir, " returned the baronet. "I wasobserving that Reilly is an accomplished person, as indeed every Jesuitis. Be that as it may, I again beg to assure you that your life stood inno risk. "

"I don't understand you, Sir Robert. You're a perfect oracle; by thegreat Deliverer from Pope and Popery, wooden shoes, and so forth, onlythat Reilly made his appearance at that moment I was a dead man. "

"Not the slightest danger, Mr. Folliard. I am aware of that, and ofthe whole Jesuitical plot from the beginning, base, ingenious, butdiabolical as it was. "

The squire rose up and looked at him for a minute, without speaking, then sat down again, and, a second time, was partially up, but resumedhis seat. 

"A plot!" he exclaimed; "a plot, Sir Robert! What plot?"

"A plot, Mr. Folliard, for the purpose of creating an opportunity tomake your acquaintance, and of ingratiating himself into the goodgraces and affections of your lovely daughter; a plot for the purpose ofmarrying her. "

The Squire seemed for a moment thunderstruck, but in a little time herecovered. "Marrying her!" he exclaimed; "that, you know, could not bedone, unless he turned Protestant. "

It was now time for the baronet to feel thunderstricken. 

"He turn Protestant! I don't understand you, Mr. Folliard. Could anychange on Reilly's part involve such a probability as a marriage betweenhim and your daughter?"

"I can't believe it was a plot, Sir Robert, " said the squire, shiftingthe question, "nor I won't believe it. There was too much truth andsincerity in his conduct. And, what is more, my house would have beenattacked last night; I myself robbed and murdered, and my daughter-mychild, carried off, only for him. Nay, indeed, it was partiallyattacked, but when the villainy found us prepared they decamped; but, asfor marriage, he could not marry my daughter, I say again, so long as heremains a Papist. "

"Unless he might prevail on her to turn Papist. "

"By the life of my body, Sir Robert, I won't stand this. Did you comehere, sir, to insult me and to drive me into madness? What devil couldhave put it into your head that my daughter, sir, or any one with a dropof my blood in their veins, to the tenth generation, could ever, for asingle moment, think of turning Papist? Sir, I hoped that you would haverespected the name both of my daughter and myself, and have foreborne toadd this double insult both to her and me. The insolence even to dreamof imputing such an act to her I cannot overlook. You yourself, if youcould gain a point or feather your nest by it, are a thousand times muchmore likely to turn Papist than either of us. Apologize instantly, sir, or leave my house. "

"I can certainly apologize, Mr. Folliard, " replied the baronet, "andwith a good conscience, inasmuch as I had not the most remote intentionof offending you, much less Miss Folliard--I accordingly do so promptlyand at once; but as for my allegations against Reilly, I am in aposition to establish their truth in the clearest manner, and to proveto you that there wasn't a. Single robber, nor Rapparee either, at orabout your house last night, with the exception of Reilly and his gang. If there were, why were they neither heard nor seen?"

"One of them was--the Red Rapparee himself. "

"Do not be deceived, Mr. Folliard; did you yourself, or any of yourfamily or household, see him?"

"Why, no, certainly, we did not; I admit that. "

"Yes, and you will admit more soon. I shall prove the whole conspiracy. "

"Well, why don't you then?"

"Simply because the matter must be brought about with great caution. You--must allow me a few days, say three or four, and the proofs shallbe given. "

"Very well, Sir Robert, but in the meantime I shall not throw Reillyoverboard. "

"Could I not be permitted to pay my respects to Miss Folliard before Igo, sir?" asked Sir Robert. 

"Don't insist upon it, " replied her father; "you know perfectly wellthat she--that you are no favorite with her. "

"Nothing on earth, sir, grieves me so much, " said the baronet, affectinga melancholy expression of countenance, which was ludicrous to look at. 

"Well, well, " said the old man, "as you can't see her now, come and meetReilly here at dinner the day after to-morrow, and you shall have thatpleasure. "

"It will be with pain, sir, that I shall force myself into that person'ssociety; however, to oblige you, I shall do it. "

"Consider, pray consider, Sir Robert, " replied the old squire, all hispride of family glowing strong within him, "just consider that my table, sir, and my countenance, sir, and my sense of gratitude, sir, are asufficient guarantee to the worth and respectability of any one whom Imay ask to my house. And, Sir Robert, in addition to that, just reflectthat I ask him to meet my daughter, and, if I don't mistake, I think Ilove, honor, and respect her nearly as much as I do you. Will you comethen, or will you not?"

"Unquestionably, sir, I shall do myself the honor. "

"Very well, " replied the old squire, clearing up at once--undergoing, infact, one of those rapid and unaccountable changes which constitutedso prominent a portion of his character. "Very well, Bobby; good-by, myboy; I am not angry with you; shake hands, and curse Popery. "

Until the morning of the day on which the two rivals were to meet, MissFolliard began to entertain a dreadful apprehension that the fright intowhich the Red Rapparee had thrown her father was likely to terminate, ere long, in insanity. The man at best was eccentric, and full of themost unaccountable changes of temper and purpose, hot, passionate, vindictive, generous, implacable, and benevolent. What he had seldombeen accustomed to do, he commenced soliloquizing aloud, and talking tohimself in such broken hints and dark mysterious allusions, drawing fromunknown premises such odd and ludicrous inferences; at one time brushinghimself up in Scripture; at another moment questioning his daughterabout her opinion on Popery--sometimes dealing about political andreligious allusions with great sarcasm, in which he was a master when hewished, and sometimes with considerable humor of illustration, so far, at least, as he could be understood. 

"Confound these Jesuits, " said he; "I wish they were scourged out ofEurope. Every man of them is sure to put his finger in the pie and theninto his mouth to taste what it's like; not so the parsons--Hallo! wheream I? Take care, old Folliard; take care, you old dog; what have you tosay in favor of these same parsons--lazy, negligent fellows, who snoreand slumber, feed well, clothe well, and think first of number one?Egad, I'm in a mess between them. One makes a slave of you, and theother allows you to play the tyrant. A plague, as I heard a fellow sayin a play once, a plague o' both your houses: if you paid more attentionto your duties, and scrambled less for wealth and power, and thisworld's honors, you would not turn it upside down as you do. Helen!"

"Well, papa. "

"I have doubts whether I shall allow you to sound Reilly on. Popery. "

"I would rather decline it, sir. "

"I'll tell you what; I'll see Andy Cummiskey--Andy's opinion is goodon any thing. " And accordingly he proceeded to see his confidentialold servant. With this purpose, and in his own original manner, he wentabout consulting every servant under his roof upon their respectivenotions of Popery, as he called it, and striving to allure them, at onetime by kindness, and at another by threatening them, into an avowalof its idolatrous tendency. Those to whom he spoke, however, knew verylittle about it, and, like those of all creeds in a similar predicament, he found that, in proportion to their ignorance of its doctrines, arosethe vehemence and sincerity of their defence of it. This, however, ishuman nature, and we do not see how the learned can condemn it. Upon theday appointed for dinner only four sat down to it--that is to say, thesquire, his daughter, Sir Robert Whitecraft, and Reilly. They had met inthe drawing-room some time before its announcement, and as the old manintroduced the two latter, Reilly's bow was courteous and gentlemanly, whilst that of the baronet, who not only detested Reilly with the hatredof a demon, but resolved to make him feel the superiority of rank andwealth, was frigid, supercilious, and offensive. Reilly at once sawthis, and, as he knew not that the baronet was in possession of hissecret, he felt his ill-bred insolence the more deeply. He was too muchof a gentleman, however, and too well acquainted with the principles andforms of good breeding, to seem to notice it in the slightest degree. The old squire at this time had not at all given Reilly up, but stillhis confidence in him was considerably shaken. He saw, moreover, that, notwithstanding what had occurred at their last interview, the baronethad forgotten the respect due both to himself and his daughter; and, ashe had, amidst all his eccentricities, many strong touches of theold Irish gentleman about him, he resolved to punish him for hisungentlemanly deportment. Accordingly, when dinner was announced, hesaid:

"Mr. Reilly, you will give Miss Folliard your arm. "

We do not say that the worthy baronet squinted, but there was a bad, vindictive look in his small, cunning eyes, which, as they turned uponReilly, was ten times more repulsive than the worst squint that everdisfigured a human countenance. To add to his chagrin, too, the squirecame out with a bit of his usual sarcasm. 

"Come, baronet, " said he, "here's my arm. I am the old man, and you arethe old lady; and now for dinner. "

In the meantime Reilly and the Cooleen Bawn had gone far enough inadvance to be in a condition to speak without being heard. 

"That, " said she, "is the husband my father intends for me, or, rather, did intend; for, do you know, that you have found such favor in hissight that--that--" she hesitated, and Reilly, looking into her face, saw that she blushed deeply, and he felt by her arm that her whole frametrembled with emotion. 

"Proceed, dearest love, " said he; "what is it?"

"I have not time to tell you now, " she replied, "but he mentioned aproject to me which, if it could be accomplished, would seal both yourhappiness and mine forever. Your religion is the only obstacle. "

"And that, my love, " he replied, "is an insurmountable one. "

"Alas! I feared as much, " she replied, sighing bitterly as she spoke. 

The old squire took the head of the table, and requested Sir Robert totake the foot; his daughter was at his right hand, and Reilly oppositeher, by which means, although denied any confidential use of the tongue, their eyes enjoyed very gratifying advantages, and there passed betweenthem occasionally some of those rapid glances which, especially whenlovers are under surveillance, concentrate in their lightning flash moresignificance, more hope, more joy, and more love, than ever wasconveyed by the longest and tenderest gaze of affection under othercircumstances. 

"Mr. Reilly, " said the squire, "I'm told that you are a very welleducated man; indeed, the thing is evident. What, let me ask, is youropinion of education in general?"

"Why, sir, " replied Reilly, "I think there can be but one opinion aboutit. Without education a people can never be moral, prosperous, or happy. Without it, how are they to learn the duties of this life, or thosestill more important ones that prepare them for a better?"

"You would entrust the conduct and control of it, I presume, sir, to theclergy?" asked Sir Robert insidiously. 

"I would give the priest such control in education as becomes hisposition, which is not only to educate the youth, but to instruct theman, in all the duties enjoined by religion. "

The squire now gave a triumphant look at the baronet, and a very kindand gracious one at Reilly. 

"Pray, sir, " continued the baronet, in his cold, supercilious manner, "from the peculiarity of your views, I feel anxious, if you will pardonme, to ask where you yourself have received your very accomplishededucation. "

"Whether my education, sir, has been an accomplished one or otherwise, "replied Reilly, "is a point, I apprehend, beyond the reach of anyopportunity you ever had to know. I received my education, sir, such asit is, and if it be not better the fault is my own, in a Jesuit seminaryon the Continent. "

It was now the baronet's time to triumph; and indeed the bitter glancinglook he gave at the squire, although it was intended for Reilly, resembled that which one of the more cunning and ferocious beasts ofprey makes previous to its death-spring upon its victim. The old man'scountenance instantly fell. He looked with surprise, not unmingled withsorrow and distrust, at Reilly, a circumstance which did not escape hisdaughter, who could not, for the life of her, avoid fixing her eyes, lovelier even in the disdain they expressed, with an indignant look atthe baronet. 

The latter, however, felt resolved to bring his rival still furtherwithin the toils he was preparing for him, an object which Reilly'scandor very much facilitated. 

"Mr. Reilly, " said the squire, "I was not prepared tohear--a--a--hem--God bless me, it is very odd, very deplorable, verymuch to be regretted indeed!"

"What is, sir?" asked Reilly. 

"Why, that you should be a Jesuit. I must confess I was not--ahem!--Godbless me. I can't doubt your own word, certainly. "

"Not on this subject, " observed the baronet coolly. 

"On no subject, sir, " replied Reilly, looking him sternly, and withan indignation that was kept within bounds only by his respect for theother parties, and the roof that covered him; "On no subject, Sir RobertWhitecraft, is my word to be doubted. "

"I beg your pardon, sir, " replied the other, "I did not say so. "

"I will neither have it said, sir, nor insinuated, " rejoined Reilly. "Ireceived my education on the Continent because the laws of this countryprevented me from receiving it here. I was placed in a Jesuit seminary, not by my own choice, but by that of my father, to whom I owedobedience. Your oppressive laws, sir, first keep us ignorant, and thenpunish us for the crimes which that ignorance produces. "

"Do you call the laws of the country oppressive?" asked the baronet, with as much of a sneer as cowardice would permit him to indulge in. 

"I do, sir, and ever will consider them so, at least so long as theydeprive myself and my Catholic fellow-countrymen of their civil andreligious rights. "

"That is strong language, though, " observed the other, "at this time ofday. "

"Mr. Reilly, " said the squire, "you seem to be very much attached toyour religion. "

"Just as much as I am to my life, sir, and would as soon give up the oneas the other. "

The squire's countenance literally became pale, his last hope was gone, and so great was his agitation that, in bringing a glass of wine to hislips, his hand trembled to such a degree that he spilled a part of it. This, however, was not all. A settled gloom--a morose, dissatisfiedexpression--soon overshadowed his features, from which disappeared alltrace of that benignant, open, and friendly hospitality towards Reillythat had hitherto obtained from them. He and the baronet exchangedglances of whose import, if Reilly was ignorant, not so his beloved_Cooleen Bawn_. For the remainder of the evening the squire treatedReilly with great coolness; always addressing him as Mister, andevidently contemplating him in a spirit which partook of the feelingthat animated Sir Robert Whitecraft. 

Helen rose to withdraw, and contrived, by a sudden glance at the door, and another as quick in the direction of the drawing-room, to let herlover know that she wished him to follow her soon. The hint was notlost, for in less than half an hour Reilly, who was of very temperatehabits, joined her as she had hinted. 

"Reilly, " said she, as she ran to him, "dearest Reilly! there is littletime to be lost. I perceive that a secret understanding respectingyou exists between papa and that detestable baronet. Be on your guard, especially against the latter, who has evidently, ever since we sat downto dinner, contrived to bring papa round to his own way of thinking, ashe will ultimately, perhaps, to worse designs and darker purposes. Aboveall things, speak nothing that can be construed against the existinglaws. I find that danger, if not positive injury, awaits you. I shall, at any risk, give you warning. "

"At no risk, beloved!"

"At every risk--at all risks, dearest Reilly! Nay, more--whatever dangermay encompass you shall be shared by me, even at the risk of my life, orI shall extricate you out of it. But perhaps you will not be faithful tome. If so, I shudder to think what might happen. "

"Listen, " said Reilly, taking her by the hand, "In the presence ofheaven, I am yours, and yours only, until death!"

She repeated his words, after which they had scarcely taken their seatswhen the squire and Sir Eobert entered the drawing-room. 

CHAPTER V. --The Plot and the Victims. 

Sir Robert, on entering the room along with the squire, found the_Cooleen Bawn_ at the spinnet. Taking his place at the end of it, so asthat he could, gain a full view of her countenance, he thought he couldobserve her complexion considerably heightened in color, and from herhis glance was directed to Reilly. The squire, on the other hand, satdull, silent, and unsociable, unless when addressing himself to thebaronet, and immediately his genial manner returned to him. 

With his usual impetuosity, however, when laboring under what hesupposed to be a sense of injury, he soon brought matters to a crisis. 

"Sir Robert, " said he, "are the Papists quiet now?"

"They are quiet, sir, " replied the other, "because they dare not beotherwise. "

"By the great Deliverer, that saved us from Pope and Popery, brass moneyand wooden shoes, I think the country will never be quiet till they arebanished out of it. "

"Indeed, Mr. Folliard, I agree with you. "

"And so do I, Sir Robert, " said Reilly. "I wish from my soul there wasnot a Papist, as you call them, in this unfortunate country! In anyother country beyond the bounds of the British dominions they couldenjoy freedom. But I wish it for another reason, gentlemen; if they weregone, you would then be taught to your cost the value of your estatesand the source of your incomes. And now, Mr. Folliard, I am notconscious of having given you any earthly offence, but I cannotpossibly pretend to misunderstand the object of your altered conduct andlanguage. I am your guest, at your own express invitation. You know I ama Roman Catholic--Papist, if you will--yet, with the knowledge of this, you have not only insulted me personally, but also in the creed to whichI belong. As for that gentleman, I can only say that this roof and thepresence of those who are under it constitute his protection. But I envynot the man who could avail himself of such a position, for thepurpose of insinuating an insult which he dare not offer under othercircumstances. I will not apologize for taking my departure, for I feelthat I have been too long here. "

_Cooleen Bawn_ arose in deep agitation. "Dear papa, what is this?"she exclaimed. "What can be the cause of it? Why forget the laws ofhospitality? Why, above all things, deliberately insult the man to whomyou and I both owe so much? Oh, I cannot understand it. Some demon, equally cowardly and malignant, must have poisoned your own naturallygenerous mind. Some villain, equally profligate and hypocritical, has, for some dark purpose, given this unworthy bias to your mind. "

"You know nothing of it, Helen. You're altogether in the dark, girl; butin a day or two it will all be made clear to you. "

"Do not be discomposed, my dear Miss Folliard, " said Sir Robert, striding over to her. "Allow me to prevail upon you to suspend yourjudgment for a little, and to return to the beautiful air you wereenchanting us with. "

As he spoke he attempted to take her hand. Reilly, in the meantime, waswaiting for an opportunity to bid his love goodnight. 

[Illustration: PAGE 35--Touch me not, sir]

"Touch me not, sir, " she replied, her glorious eyes flashing withindignation. "I charge you as the base cause of drawing down thedisgrace of shame, the sin of ingratitude, on my father's head. But herethat father stands, and there you, sir, stand; and sooner than becomethe wife of Sir Robert Whitecraft I would dash myself from thebattlements of this castle. William Reilly, brave and generous youngman, goodnight! It matters not who may forget the debt of gratitudewhich this family owe you--I will not. No cowardly slanderer shallinstil his poisonous calumnies against you into my ear. My opinion ofyou is unchanged and unchangeable. Farewell! William Relly!"

We shall not attempt to describe the commotions of love, of happiness, of rapture, which filled Reilly's bosom as he took his departure. Asfor _Cooleen Bawn_, she had now passed the Rubicon, and there remainednothing for her but constancy to the truth of her affection, be theresult what it might. She had, indeed, much of the vehemence of herfather's character in her; much of his unchangeable purpose, when shefelt or thought she was right; but not one of his unfounded whims orprejudices; for she was too noble-minded and sensible to be influencedby unbecoming or inadequate motives. With an indignant but beautifulscorn, that gave grace to resentment, she bowed to the baronet, thenkissed her father affectionately and retired. 

The old man, after she had gone, sat for a considerable time silent. In fact, the superior force of his daughter's character had not onlysurprised, but overpowered him for the moment. The baronet attempted toresume the conversation, but he found not his intended father-in-law inthe mood for it. The light of truth, as it flashed from the spirit ofhis daughter, seemed to dispel the darkness of his recent suspicions; hedwelt upon the possibility of ingratitude with a temporary remorse. 

"I cannot speak to you, Sir Robert, " he said; "I am confused, disturbed, distressed. If I have treated that young man ungratefully, God mayforgive me, but I will never forgive myself. "

"Take care, sir, " said the baronet, "that you are not under the spell ofthe Jesuit and your daughter too. Perhaps you will find, when it is toolate, that she is the more spellbound of the two. If I don't mistake, the spell begins to work already. In the meantime, as Miss Folliard willhave it, I withdraw all claims upon her hand and affections. Good-night, sir;" and as he spoke he took his departure. 

For a long time the old man sat looking into the fire, where he begangradually to picture to himself strange forms and objects in the glowingembers, one of whom he thought resembled the Red Rapparee about to shoothim; another, Willy Reilly making love to his daughter; and behindall, a high gallows, on which he beheld the said Reilly hanging for hiscrime. 

In about an hour afterwards Miss Folliard returned to the drawing-room, where she found her father asleep in his arm-chair. Having awakened himgently from what appeared a disturbed dream, he looked about him, and, forgetting for a moment all that had happened, inquired in his usualeager manner where Reilly and Whitecraft were, and if they had gone. Ina few moments, however, he recollected the circumstances that hadtaken place, and after heaving a deep sigh, he opened his arms for hisdaughter, and as he embraced her burst into tears. 

"Helen, " said he, "I am unhappy; I am distressed; I know not whatto do!--may God forgive me if I have treated this young man withingratitude. But, at all events, a few days will clear it all up. "

His daughter was melted by the depth of his sorrow, and the more so asit was seldom she had seen him shed tears before. 

"I would do every thing--anything to make you happy, my dear treasure, "said he, "if I only knew how. "

"Dear papa, " she replied, "of that I am conscious; and as a proof thatthe heart of your daughter is incapable of veiling a single thought thatpasses in it from a parent who loves her so well, I will place its mostcherished secret in your own keeping. I shall not be outdone even byyou, dear papa, in generosity, in confidence, in affection. Papa, " sheadded, placing her head upon his bosom, whilst the tears flowed fastdown her cheeks, "papa, I love William Reilly--love him with a pureand disinterested passion!--with a passion which I feel constitutes mydestiny in this life--either for happiness or misery. That passion isirrevocable. It is useless to ask me to control or suppress it, for Ifeel that the task is beyond my power. My love, however, is not base norselfish, papa, but founded on virtue and honor. It may seem strange thatI should make such a confession to you, for I know it is un--usual inyoung persons like me to do so; but remember, dear papa, that exceptyourself I have no friend. If I had a mother, or a sister, or a cousinof my own sex, to whom I might confide and unburden my feelings, thenindeed it is not probable I would make to you the confession which Ihave made; but we are alone, and you are the only being left me on whomcan rest my sorrow--for indeed my heart is full of sorrow. "

"Well, well, I know not what to say. You are a true girl, Helen, andthe very error, if it be one, is diminished by the magnanimity and truthwhich prompted you to disclose it to me. I will go to bed, dearest, andsleep if I can. I trust in God there is no calamity about to overshadowour house or destroy our happiness. "

He then sought his own chamber; and _Cooleen Bawn_, after attending himthither, left him to the care of his attendant and retired herself toher apartment. 

On reaching home Reilly found Fergus, one of his own relatives, as wehave said, the same who, warned by his remonstrances, had abandoned thegang of the Red Rapparee, waiting to see him. 

"Well, Fergus, " said he, "I am glad that you have followed my advice. You have left the lawless employment of that blood-stained man?"

"I have, " replied the other, "and I'm here to tell you that you can nowsecure him if you like. I don't look upon sayin' this as treachery tohim, nor would I mention it only that Pavideen, the smith, who shoes anddoctors his horses, tould me something that you ought to know. "

"Well, Fergus, what is it?"

"There's a plot laid, sir, to send you out o' the country, and the RedRapparee has a hand in it. He is promised a pardon from government, andsome kind of a place as thief-taker, if he'll engage in it against you. Now, you know, there's a price upon his head, and, if you like, you canhave it, and get an enemy put out of your way at the same time. "

"No, Fergus, " replied Keilly; "in a moment of indignation I threatenedhim in order to save the life of a fellow-creature. But let the lawsdeal with him. As for me, you know what he deserves at my hands, butI shall never become the hound of a government which oppresses meunjustly. No, no, it is precisely because a price is laid upon theunfortunate miscreant's head that I would not betray him. "

"He will betray you, then. "

"And let him. I have never violated any law, and even though he shouldbetray me, Fergus, he cannot make me guilty. To the laws, to God, andhis own conscience, I leave him. No, Fergus, all sympathy between me andthe laws that oppress us is gone. Let them vindicate themselves againstthieves and robbers and murderers, with as much vigilance and energyas they do against the harmless forms of religion and the rights ofconscience, and the country will soon be free from such licentious pestsas the Red Rapparee and his gang. "

"You speak warmly, Mr. Reilly. "

"Yes, " replied Keilly, "I am warm, I am indignant at my degradation. Fergus, Fergus, I never felt that degradation and its consequences sodeeply as I do this unhappy night. "'

"Well, will you listen to me?"

"I will strive to do so; but you know not the--you know not--alas! Ihave no language to express what I feel. Proceed, however, " he added, attempting to calm the tumult that agitated his heart; "what about thisplot or plan for putting me out of the country?"

"Well, sir, it's determined on to send you, by the means of the samelaws you speak of, out of the country. The red villain is to come inwith a charge against you and surrender himself to government asa penitent man, and the person who is to protect him is Sir RobertWhitecraft. "

"It's all time, Fergus, " said Reilly; "I see it at a glance, andunderstand it a great deal better than you do. They may, however, bedisappointed. Fergus, I have a friend--friend--oh, such a friend! and itwill go hard with that friend, or I shall hear of their proceedings. Inthe meantime, what do you intend to do?"

"I scarcely know, " replied the other. "I must lie quiet for a while, atany rate. "

"Do so, " said Reilly; "and listen, Fergus. See Paudeen, the smith, fromtime to time, and get whatever he knows out of him. His father was atenant of ours, and he ought to remember our kindness to him and his. "

"Ay, " said Fergus, "and he does too. "

"Well, it is clear he does. Get from him all the information you can, and let me hear it. I would give you shelter in my house, but that nowwould be dangerous both to you and me. Do you want money to supportyou?"

"Well, indeed, Mr. Reilly, I do and I do not. I can--"

"That's enough, " said Reilly; "you want it. Here, take this. I wouldrecommend you, as I did before, to leave this unhappy country; but ascircumstances have turned out, you may for some time yet be useful tome. Good-night, then, Fergus. Serve me in this matter as far as you can, for I stand in need of it. "

As nothing like an organized police existed in Ireland at the period ofwhich we speak, an outlaw or Rapparee might have a price laid upon hishead for months--nay, for years--and yet continue his outrages and defythe executive. Sometimes it happened that the authorities, feeling theweakness of their resources and the inadequacy of their power, did nothesitate to propose terms to the leaders of these banditti, and, byaffording them personal protection, succeeded in inducing them to betraytheir former associates. Now Reilly was well aware of this, and ourreaders need not be surprised that the communication made to him by hiskinsman filled him not only with anxiety but alarm. A very slight chargeindeed brought forward by a man of rank and property--such a charge, forinstance, as the possession of firearms--was quite sufficient to get aRoman Catholic banished the country. 

On the third evening after this our friend Tom Steeple was met by itsproprietor in the avenue leading to Corbo Castle. 

"Well, Tom, " said the squire, "are you for the Big House?" for such isthe general term applied to all the ancestral mansions of the country. 

Tom stopped and looked at him--for we need scarcely observe here thatwith poor Tom there was no respect of persons; he then shook his headand replied, "Me don't know whether you tall or not. Tom tall--will Tomgo to Big House--get bully dinnel--and Tom sleep under the stairs--eh?Say aye, an' you be tall too. "

"To be sure, Tom; go into the house, and your cousin Larry Lanigan, thecook, will give you a bully dinner; and sleep where you like. "

The squire walked up and down the avenue in a thoughtful mood for somemoments until another of our characters met him on his way towards theentrance gate. This person was no other than Molly Mahon. 

"Ha!" said he, "here is another of them--well, poor devils, they mustlive. This, though, is the great fortune-teller. I will try her. "

"God save your honor, " said Molly, as she approached him and dropped acourtesy. 

"Ah, Molly, " said he, "you can see into the future, they say. Well, come now, tell me my fortune; but they say one must cross your palm withsilver before you can manage the fates; here's a shilling for you, andlet us hear what you have to say. "

"No, sir, " replied Molly, putting back his hand, "imposthors may dothat, because they secure themselves first and tell you nothing worthknowin' afterwards. I take no money till I first tell the fortune. "

"Well, Molly, that's honest at all events; let me hear what you have totell me. "

"Show me your hand, sir, " said she, and taking it, she looked into itwith a solemn aspect. "There, sir, " she said, "that will do. I am sorryI met you this evening. "

"Why so, Molly?"

"Because I read in your hand a great deal of sorrow. "

"Pooh, you foolish woman--nonsense!"

"There's a misfortune likely to happen to one of your family; but Ithink it may be prevented. "

"How will it be prevented?"

"By a gentleman that has a title and great wealth, and that loves themember of your family that the misfortune is likely to happen to. "

The squire paused and looked at the woman, who seemed to speakseriously, and even with pain. 

"I don't believe a word of it, Molly; but granting that it be true, howdo you know it?"

"That's more than I can tell myself, sir, " she replied. "A feelin' comesover me, and I can't help speakin' the words as they rise to my lips. "

"Well, Molly, here's a shilling for you now; but I want you to see mydaughter's hand till I hear what you have to say for her. Are you aPapist, Molly?"

"No, your honor, I was one wanst; but the moment we take to this way oflife we mustn't belong to any religion, otherwise we couldn't tell thefuture. "

"Sell yourself to the devil, eh?"

"Oh, no, sir; but--"

"But what? Out with it. "

"I can't, sir; if I did, I never could tell a fortune agin. "

"Well--well; come up; I have taken a fancy that you shall tell mydaughter's for all that. "

"Surely there can be nothing but happiness before her, sir; she that isso good to the poor and distressed; she that has all the world admirin'her wonderful beauty. Sure, they say, her health was drunk in the LordLieutenant's house in the great Castle of Dublin, as the Lily of thePlains of Boyle and the Star of Ireland. "

"And so it was, Molly, and so it was; there's another shilling foryou. Come now, come up to the house, and tell her fortune; and mark me, Molly, no flattery now--nothing but the truth, if you know it. "

"Did I flatter you, sir?"

"Upon my honor, any thing but that, Molly; and all I ask is that youwon't flatter her. Speak the truth, as I said before, if you know it. "

Miss Folliard, on being called down by her father to have her fortunetold, on seeing Molly, drew back and said, "Do not ask me to come indirect contact with this woman, papa. How can you, for one moment, imagine that a person of her life and habits could be gifted with thatwhich has never yet been communicated to mortal (the holy prophetsexcepted)--a knowledge of futurity?"

"No matter, my darling, no matter; give her your hand; you will obligeand gratify me. "

"Here, then, dear papa, to please you--certainly. "

Molly took her lovely hand, and having looked into it, said, turning tothe squire, "It's very odd, sir, but here's nearly the same thing that Itould to you awhile ago. "

"Well, Molly, " said he, "let us hear it. "

Miss Folliard stood with her snowy hand in that of the fortune-teller, perfectly indifferent to her art, but not without strong feelings ofdisgust at the ordeal to which she submitted. 

"Now, Molly, " said the squire, "what have you to say?"

"Here's love, " she replied, "love in the wrong direction--a false stepis made that will end in misery--and--and--and--"

"And what, woman?" asked Miss Folliard, with an indignant glance at thefortune-teller. "What have you to add?"

"No!" said she, "I needn't speak it, for it won't come to pass. I see aman of wealth and title who will just come in in time to save you fromshame and destruction, and with him you will be happy. "

"I could prove to you, " replied the _Cooleen Dawn_, her face mantlingwith blushes of indignation, "that I am a better prophetess than youare. Ask her, papa, where she last came from. "

"Where did you come from last, Molly?" he asked. 

"Why, then, " she replied, "from Jemmy Hamilton's at the foot ofCullaniore. "

"False prophetess, " replied the _Cooleen Bawn_, "you have told anuntruth. I know where you came from last. "

"Then where did I come from, Miss Folliard?" said the woman, withunexpected effrontery. 

"From Sir Robert Whitecraft, " replied Miss Folliard, "and the wages ofyour dishonesty and his corruption are the sources of your inspiration. Take the woman away, papa. "

"That will do, Molly--that will do, " exclaimed the squire, "there issomething' additional for you. What you have told us is very odd--veryodd, indeed. Go and get your dinner in the kitchen. "

Miss Folliard then withdrew to her own room. 

Between eleven and twelve o'clock that night a carriage drew up atthe grand entrance of Corbo Castle, out of which stepped Sir RobertWhitecraft and no less a personage than the Red Rapparee. Theyapproached the hall door, and after giving a single knock, it was openedto them by the squire himself, who it would seem had been waiting toreceive them privately. They followed him in silence to his study. 

Mr. Folliard, though a healthy-looking man, was, in point of fact, byno means so. Of a nervous and plethoric habit, though brave, and evenintrepid, yet he was easily affected by anything or any person thatwas disagreeable to him. On seeing the man whose hand had been raisedagainst his life, and what was still more atrocious, whose criminaldesigns upon the honor of his daughter had been proved by his violentirruption into her chamber, he felt a suffocating sensation of rage andhorror that nearly overcame him. 

"Sir Robert, " he said, "excuse me; the sight of this man has sickenedme. I got your note, and in your society and at your request I havesuffered him to come here; under your protection, too. May God forgiveme for it! The room is too close--I feel unwell--pray open the door. "

"Will there be no risk, sir, in leaving the door open?" said thebaronet. 

"None in the world! I have sent the servants all to bed nearly an hourago. Indeed, the fact is, they are seldom up so late, unless when I havecompany. "

Sir Robert then opened the door--that is to say, he left it a littlemore than ajar, and returning again took his seat. 

"Don't let the sight of me frighten you, sir, " said the Rapparee. "Inever was your enemy nor intended you harm. "

"Frighten me!" replied the courageous old squire; "no, sir, I am not aman very easily frightened; but I will confess that the sight of you hassickened me and filled me with horror. "

"Well, now, Mr. Folliard, " said the baronet, "let this matter, thismisunderstanding, this mistake, or rather this deep and diabolical ploton the part of the Jesuit, Reilly, be at once cleared up. We wish, thatis to say I wish, to prevent your good nature from being played upon bya designing villain. Now, O'Donnel, relate, or rather disclose, candidlyand truly, all that took place with respect to this damnable plotbetween you and Reilly. "

"Why, the thing, sir, " said the Rapparee, addressing himself to thesquire, "is very plain and simple; but, Sir Robert, it was not a plotbetween me and Reilly--the plot was his own. It appears that he saw yourdaughter and fell desperately in love with her, and knowin' your strongfeeling against Catholics, he gave up all hopes of being made acquaintedwith Miss Folliard, or of getting into her company. Well, sir, awarethat you were often in the habit of goin' to the town of Boyle, he comesto me and says in the early part of the day, 'Randal, I will give youfifty goolden guineas if you help me in a plan I have in my head. ' Now, fifty goolden guineas isn't easily earned; so I, not knowing what theplan was at the time, tould him I could not say nothing till I heardit. He then tould me that he was over head and ears in love with yourdaughter, and that have her he should if it cost him his life. 'Well, 'says I, 'and how can I help you?' 'Why, ' said he, 'I'll show you that:her ould persecuting scoundrel of a father'--excuse me, sir--I'm givin'his own words--"

"I believe it, Mr. Folliard, " said the baronet, "for these arethe identical terms in which he told me the story before; proceed, O'Donnel. "

"'The ould scoundrel of a father, ' says he, 'on his return from Boyle, generally comes by the ould road, because it is the shortest cut. Do youand your men lie in wait in the ruins of the ould chapel, near Loch naGarran'--it is called so, sir, because they say there's a wild horse init that comes out of moonlight nights to feed on the patches of greenthat are here and there among the moors--'near Loch na Gaitan, ' sayshe; 'and when he gets that far turn out upon him, charge him withtransportin' your uncle, and when you are levellin' your gun at him, Iwill come, by the way, and save him. You and I must speak angry to oneanother, you know; then, of course, I must see him home, and he can't doless than ask me to dine with him. At all events, thinkin' that I savedhis life, we will become acquainted. '"

The squire paused and mused for some time, and then asked, "Was there nomore than this between you and him?"

"Nothing more, sir. "

"And tell me, did he pay you the money?"

"Here it is, " replied the Rapparee, pulling out a rag in which were theprecise number of guineas mentioned. 

"But, " said the squire, "we lost our way in the fog. "

"Yes, sir, " said the Rapparee. "Everything turned out in his favor. Thatmade very little difference. You would have been attacked in or aboutthat place, whether or not. "

"Yes, but did you not attack my house that night? Did not you yourselfcome down by the skylight, and enter, by violence, into my daughter'sapartment?"

"Well, when I heard of that, sir, I said, 'I give Reilly up foringenuity. ' No, sir, that was his own trick; but afther all it was a badone, and tells aginst itself. Why, sir, neither I nor any of my men havethe power of makin' ourselves invisible. Do you think, sir--I put it toyour own common-sense--that if we had been there no one would have seenus? Wasn't the whole country for miles round searched and scoured, and Iask you, sir, was there hilt or hair of me or any one of my men seenor even heard of? Sir Robert, I must be going now, " he added. "I hopeSquire Folliard understands what kind of a man Reilly is. As for myself, I have nothing more to say. "

"Don't go yet, O'Donnel, " said Whitecraft; "let us determine what is tobe done with him. You see clearly it is necessary, Mr. Folliard, thatthis deep-designing Jesuit should be sent out of the country. "

"I would give half my estate he was fairly out of it, " said the squire. "He has brought calamity and misery into my family. Created world! how Iand mine have been deceived and imposed upon! Away with him--a thousandleagues away with him! And that quickly too! Oh, the plausible, deceitful villain! My child! my child!" and here the old man burst intotears of the bitterest indignation. "Sir Robert, that cursed villain wasborn, I fear, to be the shame and destruction of my house and name. "

"Don't dream of such a thing, " said the baronet. "On the day he dinedhere--and you cannot forget my strong disinclination to meet him--buteven on that day you will recollect the treasonable language he usedagainst the laws of the realm. After my return home I took a note ofthem, and I trust that you, sir, will corroborate, with respect to thisfact, the testimony which it is my purpose to give against him. I saythis the rather, Mr. Folliard, because it might seriously compromiseyour own character with the Government, and as a magistrate, too, tohear treasonable and seditious language at your own table, from a PapistJesuit, and yet decline to report it to the authorities. "

"The laws, the authorities, and you be hanged, sir!" replied the squire;"my table is, and has been, and ever shall be, the altar of confidenceto my guests; I shall never violate the laws of hospitality. Treatthe man fairly, I say, concoct no plot against him, bribe no falsewitnesses, and if he is justly amenable to the law I will spend tenthousand pounds to have him sent anywhere out of the country. "

"He keeps arms, " observed Sir Robert, "contrary to the penalenactments. "

"I think not, " said the squire; "he told me he was on a duck-shootingexpedition that night, and when I asked him where he got his arms, hesaid that his neighbor, Bob Gosford, always lent him his gun wheneverhe felt disposed to shoot, and, to my own knowledge, so did many otherProtestant magistrates in the neighborhood, for this wily Jesuit is afavorite with most of them. "

"But I know where he has arms concealed, " said the Rapparee, lookingsignificantly at the baronet, "and I will be able to find them, too, when the proper time comes. "

"Ha! indeed, O'Donnel, " said Sir Robert, with well-feigned surprise;"then there will be no lack of proof against him, you may rest assured, Mr. Folliard; I charge myself with the management of the whole affair. I trust, sir, you will leave it to me, and I have only one favor to ask, and that is the hand of your fair daughter when he is disposed of. "

"She shall be yours, Sir Robert, the moment that this treacherousvillain can be removed by the fair operation of the laws; but I willnever sanction any dishonorable treatment towards him. By the laws ofthe land let him stand or fall. "

At this moment a sneeze of tremendous strength and loudness was heardimmediately outside the door; a sneeze which made the hair of thebaronet almost stand on end. 

"What the devil is that?" asked the squire. "By the great Boyne, I fearsome one has been listening after all. "

The Rapparee, always apprehensive of the "authorities, " started behinda screen, and the baronet, although unconscious of any cause for terror, stood rather undecided. The sneeze, however, was repeated, and this timeit was a double one. 

"Curse it, Sir Robert, " said the squire, "have you not the use of yourlegs? Go and see whether there has been an eavesdropper"

"Yes, Mr. Folliard, " replied the doughty baronet, "but your house hasthe character of being haunted; and I have a terror of ghosts. "

The squire himself got up, and, seizing a candle, went outside the door, but nothing in human shape was visible. 

"Come here, Sir Robert, " said he, "that sneeze came from no ghost, I'llswear. Who ever heard of a ghost sneezing? Never mind, though; for thecuriosity of the thing I will examine for myself, and return to you in afew minutes. "

He accordingly left them, and in a short time came back, assuring themthat every one in the house was in a state of the most profound repose, and that it was his opinion it must have been a cat. 

"I might think so myself, " observed the baronet, "were it not forthe double sneeze. I am afraid, Mr. Folliard, that the report is tootrue--and that the house is haunted. O'Donnel, you must come home withme to-night. "

O'Donnel, who entertained no apprehension of ghosts, finding that the"authorities" were not in question, agreed to go with him, although hehad a small matter on hand which required his presence in another partof the country. 

The baronet, however, had gained his point. The heart of the hastyand unreflecting squire had been poisoned, and not one shadow of doubtremained on his mind of Reilly's treachery. And that which convinced himbeyond all arguments or assertions was the fact that on the night of thepremeditated attack on his house not one of the Red Rapparee's gang wasseen, or any trace of them discovered. 

CHAPTER VI. --The Warning--an Escape

Reilly, in the meantime, was not insensible to his danger. About eleveno'clock the next day, as he was walking in his garden, Tom Steeplemade his appearance, and approached him with a look of caution andsignificance. 

"Well, Tom, " said he, "what's the news?"

Tom made no reply, but catching him gently by the sleeve of his coat, said, "Come wid Tom; Tom has news for you. Here it is, in de paper;" andas he spoke, he handed him a letter, the contents of which we give:

"Dearest Reilly: The dreadful discovery I have made, the danger andtreachery and vengeance by which you are surrounded, but, above all, my inexpressible love for you, will surely justify me in not losing amoment to write to you; and I select this poor creature as my messengerbecause he is least likely to be suspected. It is through him that thediscovery of the accursed plot against you has been made. It appearsthat he slept in the castle last night, as he often does, and havingobserved Sir Thomas Whitecraft and that terrible man, the Red Rapparee, coming into the house, and going along with papa into his study, evidently upon some private business, he resolved to listen. He did so, and overheard the Rapparee stating to papa that every thing which tookplace on the evening you saved his life and frustrated his other designsupon the castle, was a plan preconceived by you for the purpose ofmaking papa's acquaintance and getting introduced to the family in orderto gain my affections. Alas! if you have resorted to such a plan, youhave but too well succeeded. Do not, however, for one moment imaginethat I yield any credit to this atrocious falsehood. It has beenconcocted by your base and unmanly rival, Whitecraft, by whom all theproceedings against you are to be conducted. Some violation of the penallaws, in connection with carrying or keeping arms, is to be broughtagainst you, and unless you are on your guard you will be arrestedand thrown into prison, and if not convicted of a capital offence andexecuted like a felon, you will at least be sent forever out of thecountry. What is to be done? If you have arms in or about your house letthem be forthwith removed to some place of concealment. The Rappareeis to get a pardon from government, at least he is promised it bySir Robert, if he turns against you. In one word, dearest Reilly, youcannot, with safety to your life, remain in this country. You must flyfrom it, and immediately too. I wish to see you. Come this night, athalf-past ten, to the back gate of our garden, which you will find shut, but unlocked. Something--is it my heart?--tells me that our fates arehenceforth inseparable, whether for joy or sorrow. I ought to tell youthat I confessed my affection for you to papa on the evening you dinedhere, and he was not angry; but this morning he insisted that I shouldnever think of you more, nor mention your name; and he says that if thelaws can do it he will lose ten thousand pounds or he will have yousent out of the country. Lanigan, our cook, from what motive I knownot, mentioned to me the substance of what I have now written. He is, itseems, a cousin to the bearer of this, and got the information from himafter having had much difficulty, he says, in putting it together. I know not how it is, but I can assure you that every servant in thecastle seems to know that I am attached to you. 

"Ever, my dearest Reilly, yours, and yours only, until death, "Helen Folliard. "

We need not attempt to describe the sensations of love and indignationproduced by this letter. But we shall state the facts. 

"Here, Tom, " said Reilly, "is the reward for your fidelity, " as hehanded him some silver; "and mark me, Tom, don't breathe to a humanbeing that you have brought me a letter from the _Cooleen Bawn_. Go intothe house and get something to eat; there now--go and get one of yourbully dinners. "

"It is true, " said he, "too true I am doomed-devoted. If I remain inthis country I am lost. Yes, my life, my love, my more than life--I feelas you do, that our fates, whether for good or evil, are inseparable. Yes, I shall see you this night if I have life. "

He had scarcely concluded this soliloquy when his namesake, FergusReiliy, disguised in such a way as prevented him from being recognized, approached him, in the lowly garb of a baccah or mendicant. 

"Well, my good fellow, " said he, "what do you want? Go up to the houseand you will get food. "

"Keep quiet, " replied the other, disclosing himself, "keep quiet; getall your money into one purse, settle your affairs as quickly as youcan, and fly the country this night, or otherwise sit down and makeyour will and your peace with God Almighty, for if you are found hereby to-morrow night you sleep in Sligo jail. Throw me a few halfpence, making as it were charity. Whitecraft has spies among your ownlaborers, and you know the danger I run in comin' to you by daylight. Indeed, I could not do it without this disguise. To-morrow night you areto be taken upon a warrant from Sir Robert Whitecraft; but never mind;as to Whitecraft, leave him to me--I have a crow to pluck with him. "

"How is that, Fergus?"

"My sister, man; did you not hear of it?"

"No, Fergus, nor I don't wish to hear of it, for your sake; spare yourfeelings, my poor fellow; I know perfectly well what a hypocriticalscoundrel he is. "

"Well, " replied Fergus, "it was only yesterday I heard of it myself; andare we to bear this?--we that have hands and eyes and limbs and heartsand courage to stand nobly upon the gallows-tree for striking down thevillain who does whatever he likes, and then threatens us with the lawsof the land if we murmur? Do you think this is to be borne?"

"Take not vengeance into your own hand, Fergus, " replied Reilly, "forthat is contrary to the laws of God and man. As for me, I agree with youthat I cannot remain in this country. I know the vast influence whichWhitecraft possesses with the government. Against such a man I have nochance; this, taken in connection with my education abroad, is quitesufficient to make me a marked and suspected man. I will therefore leavethe country, and ere to-morrow night, I trust, I shall be beyond hisreach. But, Fergus, listen: leave Whitecraft to God; do not stain yoursoul with human blood; keep a pure heart, and whatever may happen beable to look up to the Almighty with a clear conscience. "

Fergus then left him, but with a resolution, nevertheless, to havevengeance upon the baronet very unequivocally expressed on hiscountenance. 

Having seriously considered his position and all the circumstances' ofdanger connected with it, Reilly resolved that his interview that nightwith his beloved _Cooleen Bawn_ should be his last. He accordinglycommunicated his apprehensions to an aged uncle of his who resided withhim, and entrusted the management of his property to him until somechange for the better might take place. Having heard from Fergus Reillythat there were spies among his own laborers, he kept moving about and. Making such observations as he could for the remainder of the day. When the night came he prepared himself for his appointment, and at, orrather before, the hour of half-past ten, he had reached the backgate, or rather door of the garden attached to Corbo Castle. Havingascertained that it was unlocked, he entered with no difficulty, andtraversed the garden without being able to perceive her whose lovewas now, it might be said, all that life had left him. After havingsatisfied himself that she was not in the garden, he withdrew to anarbor or summer-house of evergreens, where he resolved to await untilshe should come. He did not wait long. The latch of the entrance gatefrom the front made a noise; ah, how his heart beat! what a commotionagitated his whole frame! In a few moments she was with him. 

"Reilly, " said _Cooleen Bawn_, "I have dreadful news to communicate. "

"I know all, " said he; "I am to be arrested to-morrow night. "

"To-night, dearest Reilly, to-night. Papa told me this evening, in oneof his moods of anger, that before to-morrow morning you would be inSligo jail. "

"Well, dearest Helen, " he replied, "that is certainly making quick workof it. But, even so, I am prepared this moment to escape. I have settledmy affairs, left the management of them to my uncle, and this interviewwith you, my beloved girl, must be our last. "

As he uttered these melancholy words the tears came to his eyes. 

"The last!" she exclaimed. "Oh, no; it must not be the last. You shallnot go alone, dearest William. My mind is made up. Be it for life or fordeath, I shall accompany you. "

"Dearest life, " he replied, "think of the consequences. "

"I think of nothing, " said Cooleen Bawn, "but my love for you. If youwere not surrounded by danger as you are, if the whoop of vengeance werenot on your trail, if death and a gibbet were not in the background, I could part with you; but now that danger, vengeance, and death, arehovering about you, I shall and must partake of them with you. Andlisten, Reilly; after all it is the best plan. Papa, if I accompanyyou--supposing that we are taken--will relent for my sake. I know hislove for me. His affection for me will overcome all his prejudicesagainst you. Then let us fly. To-night you will be taken. Your rivalwill triumph over both of us; and I--I, oh! I shall not survive it. Saveme, then, Reilly, and let me fly with you. "

"God knows, " replied Reilly, with deep emotion, "if I suffered myself tobe guided by the impulse of my heart, I would yield to wishes at onceso noble and disinterested. I cannot, however, suffer my affection, absorbing and inexpressible as it is, to precipitate your ruin. I speaknot of myself, nor of what I may suffer. When we reflect, however, my beloved girl, upon the state of the country, and of the law, as itoperates against the liberty and property of Catholics, we must bothadmit the present impossibility of an elopement without involving youin disgrace. You know that until some relaxation of the laws affectingmarriage between Catholics and Protestants takes place, an union betweenus is impossible; and this fact it is which would attach disgrace toyou, and a want of honor, principle, and gratitude to me. We shouldnecessarily lead the lives of the guilty, and seek the wildestfastnesses of the mountain solitudes and the oozy caverns of the bleakand solitary hills. "

"But I care not. I am willing to endure it all for your sake. "

"What!--the shame, the misinterpretation, the imputed guilt?"

"Neither care I for shame or imputed guilt, so long as I am innocent, and you safe. "

"Concealment, my dearest girl, would be impossible. Such a hue andcry would be raised after us as would render nothing short of positiveinvisibility capable of protecting us from our enemies. Then yourfather!--such a step might possibly break his heart; a calamity whichwould fill your mind with remorse to the last day of your life!"

She burst again into tears, and replied, "But as for you, what canbe done to save you from the toils of your unscrupulous and powerfulenemies?"

"To that, my beloved Helen, I must forthwith look. In the meantime, letme gather patience and await some more favorable relaxation in the penalcode. At present, the step you propose would be utter destruction to usboth, and an irretrievable stain upon our reputation. You will return toyour father's house, and I shall seek some secure place of concealmentuntil I can safely reach the continent, from whence I shall contrive tolet you hear from me, and in due time may possibly be able to proposesome mode of meeting in a country where the oppressive laws thatseparate us here shall not stand in the way of our happiness. In themeanwhile let our hearts be guided by hope and constancy. " After amournful and tender embrace they separated. 

It would be impossible to describe the agony of the lovers after aseparation which might probably be their last. Our readers, however, mayvery well conceive it, and it is not our intention to describe ithere. At this stage of our story, Reilly, who was, as we have said, in consequence of his gentlemanly manners and liberal principles, a favorite with all classes and all parties, and entertained noapprehensions from the dominant party, took his way homewards deeplyimpressed with the generous affections which his _Cooleen Bawn_ hadexpressed for him. He consequently looked upon himself as perfectly safein his own house. The state of society in Ireland, however, was at thatmelancholy period so uncertain that no Roman Catholic, however popular, or however innocent, could for one week calculate upon safety either tohis property or person, if he happened to have an enemy who possessedany influence in the opposing Church. Religion thus was made thestalking-horse, not only of power, but of persecution, rapacity, andselfishness, and the unfortunate Roman Catholic who considered himselfsafe to-day might find himself ruined tomorrow, owing to the cupidityof some man who turned a lustful eye upon his property, or who may haveentertained a feeling of personal ill-will against him. Be this as itmay, Reilly wended his melancholy way homewards, and had got within lessthan a quarter of a mile of his own house when he was met by Fergus inhis mendicant habit, who startled him by the information he disclosed. 

"Where are you bound for, Mr. Reilly?" said the latter. 

"For home, " replied Reilly, "in order to secure my money and the papersconnected with the family property. "

"Well, then, " said the other, "if you go home now you are a lost man. "

"How is that?" asked Reilly. 

"Your house at this moment is filled with sogers, and surrounded by themtoo. You know that no human being could make me out in this disguise;I had heard that they were on their way to your place, and afeered thatthey might catch you at home, I was goin' to let you know, in ordherthat you might escape them, but I was too late; the villains were therebefore me. I took heart o' grace, however, and went up to beg a littlecharity for the love and honor of God. Seem' the kind of creature I was, they took no notice of me; for to tell you the truth, they were too muchbent on searchin' for, and findin' you. God protect us from such men, Mr. Reilly, " and the name he uttered in alow and cautious voice; "butat all events this is no country for you to live in now. But who do youthink was the busiest and the bittherest man among them?"

"Why Whitecraft, I suppose. "

"No; he wasn't there himself--no; but that double distilled traitor andvillain, the Red Rapparee, and bad luck to him. You see, then, that ifyou attempt to go near your own house you're a lost man, as I said. "

"I feel the truth of what you say, " replied Reilly, "but are you awarethat they committed any acts of violence? Are you aware that theydisturbed my property or ransacked my house?"

"Well, that's more than I can say, " replied Fergus, "for to tell you thetruth, I was afraid to trust myself inside, in regard of that scoundrelthe Rapparee, who, bein' himself accustomed to all sorts of disguises, Idreaded might find me out. "

"Well, at all events, " said Reilly, "with respect to that I disregardthem. The family papers and other available property are too wellsecreted for them to secure them. On discovering Whitecraft's jealousy, and knowing, as I did before, his vindictive spirit and power in thecountry, I lost no time in putting them in a safe place. Unless theyburn the house they could never come at them. But as this fact is notat all an improbable one--so long as Whitecraft is my unscrupulous andrelentless enemy--I shall seize upon the first opportunity of placingthem elsewhere. "

"You ought to do so, " said Fergus, "for it is not merely Whitecraft youhave to deal wid, but ould Folliard himself, who now swears that if heshould lose half his fortune he will either hang or transport you. "

"Ah! Fergus, " replied the other, "there is an essential differencebetween the characters of these two men. The father of _Cooleen Bawn_is, when he thinks himself injured, impetuous and unsparing in hisresentment; but then he is an open foe, and the man whom he looks uponas his enemy always knows what he has to expect from him. Not sothe other; he is secret, cautious, cowardly, and consequently doublyvindictive. He is a combination of the fox and the tiger, with all thetreacherous cunning of the one, and the indomitable ferocity of theother, when he finds that he can make his spring with safety. "

This conversation took place as Reilly and his companion bent theirsteps towards one of those antiquated and obsolete roads which we havedescribed in the opening portion of this narrative. 

"But now, " asked Fergus, "where do you intend to go, or what do youintend to do with yourself?"

"I scarcely know, " replied Reilly, "but on one thing my mind isdetermined--that I will not leave this country until I know the ultimatefate of the _Cooleen Bawn_. Rather than see her become the wife of thatdiabolical scoundrel, whom she detests as she does hell, I would losemy life. Let the consequences then be what they may, I will not for thepresent leave Ireland. This resolution I have come to since I saw herto-night. I am her only friend, and, so help me God, I shall not sufferher to be sacrificed--murdered. In the course of the night we shallreturn to my house and look about us. If the coast be clear I willsecure my cash and papers as I said. It is possible that a fewstragglers may lurk behind, under the expectation of securing me whilemaking a stolen visit. However, we shall try. We are under the scourgeof irresponsible power, Fergus; and if Whitecraft should burn my houseto-night or to-morrow, who is to bring him to an account for it? or ifthey should, who is to convict him?"

The night had now become very dark, but they knew the country well, andsoon found themselves upon the old road they were seeking. 

"I will go up, " said Reilly, "to the cabin of poor widow Buckley, wherewe will stop until we think those blood-hounds have gone home. She hasa free cottage and garden from me, and has besides been a pensioner ofmine for some time back, and I know I can depend upon her discretionand fidelity. Her little place is remote and solitary, and not more thanthree quarters of a mile from us. "

They accordingly kept the old road for some time, until they reached apoint of it where there was an abrupt angle, when, to their utter alarmand consternation, they found themselves within about twenty or thirtyyards of a military party. 

"Fly, " whispered Fergus, "and leave me to deal with them--if you don'tit's all up with you. They won't know me from Adam, but they'll know youat a glance. "

"I cannot leave you in danger, " said Reilly. 

"You're mad, " replied the other. "Is it an ould beggar man they'dmeddle with? Off with you, unless you wish to sleep in Sligo jail beforemornin. "

Reilly, who felt too deeply the truth of what he said, bounded acrossthe bank which enclosed the road on the right-hand side, and which, bythe way, was a tolerably high one, but fortunately without bushes. Inthe meantime a voice cried out, "Who goes there? Stand at your peril, oryou will have a dozen bullets in your carcass. "

Fergus advanced towards them, whilst they themselves approached him at arapid pace, until they met. In a moment they were all about him. 

"Come, my customer, " said their leader, "who and what are you?Quick--give an account of yourself. "

"A poor creature that's lookin' for my bit, sir, God help me. "

"What's your name?"

"One Paddy Brennan, sir, please your honor. "

"Ay--one Paddy Brennan (hiccough), and--and--one Paddy Brennan, where doyou go of a Sunday?"

"I don't go out at all, sir, of a Sunda'; whenever I stop of a Saturdaynight I always stop until Monday mornin'. "

"I mean, are you a Papish?"

"Troth, I oughtn't to say I am, your honor--or at least a very bad one. "

"But you are, a Papish. "

"A kind of one, sir. "

"Curse me, the fellow's humbug-gin' you, sergeant, " said one of the men;"to be sure he's a Papish. "

"To be sure, " replied several of the others--"doesn't he admit he's aPapish?"

"Blow me, if--if--I'll bear this, " replied the sergeant. "I'm asenior off--off--officer conductin' the examination, and I'll sufferno--no--man to intherfare. I must have subor--or--ordination, or I'llknow what for. Leave him to me, then, and I'll work him up, never fear. George Johnston isn't the blessed babe to be imposed upon--that's what Isay. Come, my good fellow, mark--mark me now. If you let but a quarterof--of--an inch of a lie out of your lips, I you're a dead man. Are youall charged, gentlemen?"

"All charged, sergeant, with loyalty and poteen at any rate; hang thePope. "

"Shoulder arms--well done. Present arms. Where is--is--this rascal? Oh, yes, here he is. Well, you are there--are you?"

"I'm here, captain. "

"Well blow me, that's not--not--bad, my good fellow; if I'm not acaptain, worse men have been so (hiccough); that's what I say. "

"Hadn't we better make a prisoner of him at once, and bring him to SirRobert's?" observed another. 

"Simpson, hold--old--your tongue, I say. Curse me if I'll suffer any manto in--intherfere with me in the discharge of my duty. "

"How do we know, " said another, "but I he's a Rapparee in disguise?--forthat matter, he may be Reilly himself. "

"Captain and gentlemen, " said Fergus, "if you have any suspicion of me, I'm willin' to go anywhere you like; and, above all things, I'd like togo to Sir Robert's, bekaise they know me there--many a good bit and supI got in his kitchen. "

"Ho, ho!" exclaimed the sergeant; "now I have you--now I know whetheryou can tell truth or not. Answer me this. Did ever Sir Robert himselfgive you charity? Come, now. "

Fergus perceived the drift of the question at once. The penuriouscharacter of the baronet was so well known throughout the whole baronythat if he had replied in the affirmative every man of them would havefelt that the assertion was a lie, and he would consequently have beendetected. He was prepared, however. 

"Throth then, gintlemen, " he replied, "since you must have the truth, and although maybe what I'm goin' to say won't be plaisin' to you, asSir Robert's friends, I must come out wid it; devil resave the colorof his money ever I seen yet, and it isn't but I often axed him for it. No--but the sarvints often sind me up a bit from the kitchen below. "

"Well, come, " said the sergeant, "if you have been lyin' all your life, you've spoke the truth now. I think we may let him go. "

"I don't think we ought, " said one of them, named Steen, a man of aboutfifty years of age, and of Dutch descent; "as Bamet said, 'we don't knowwhat he is, ' and I agree with him. He may be a Rapparee in disguise, or, what is worse, Reilly himself. "

"What Reilly do yez mane, gintlemen, wid submission?" asked Fergus. 

"Why, Willy Reilly, the famous Papish, " replied the sergeant. (We don'twish to fatigue the reader with his drunken stutterings. ) "It has beensworn that he's training the Papishes every night to prepare them forrebellion, and there's a warrant out for his apprehension. Do you knowhim?"

"Throth I do, well; and to tell yez the truth, he doesn't stand veryhigh wid his own sort. "

"Why so, my good fellow?"

"Bekaise they think that he keeps too much company wid Prodestans, an'that he's half a Prodestan himself, and that it's only the shame thatprevents him from goin' over to them altogether. Indeed, it's thegeneral opinion among the Catholics--"

"Papishes! you old dog. "

"Well, then, Papishes--that he will--an' throth, I don't think thePapishes would put much trust in the same man. "

"Where are you bound for now? and what brings you out at an illegal houron this lonely road?" asked Steen. 

"Troth, then, I'm on my way to Mr. Graham's above; for sure, wheneverI'm near him, poor Paddy Brennan never wants for the good bit and sup, and the comfortable straw bed in the barn. May God reward him and hisfor it!"

Now, the truth was, that Graham, a wealthy and respectable Protestantfarmer, was uncle to the sergeant; a fact which Fergus well knew, inconsequence of having been a house servant with him for two or threeyears. 

"Sergeant, " said the Williamite settler, "I think this matter may beeasily settled. Let two of the men go back to your uncle's with him, andsee whether they know him there or not. "

"Very well, " replied the sergeant, "let you and Simpson go back withhim--I have no objection. If my uncle's people don't know him, why thenbring him down to Sir Roberts'. "

"It's not fair to put such a task upon a man of my age, " replied Steen, "when you know that you have younger men here. "

"It was you proposed it, then, " said the sergeant, "and I say, Steen, ifyou be a true man you have a right to go, and no right at all to shirkyour duty. But stop--I'll settle it in a word's speaking: here you--youold Papish, where are you?--oh, I see--you're there, are you? Come now, gentlemen, shoulder arms--all right--present anns. Now, you confoundedPapish, you say that you have often slept in my uncle's barn?"

"Is Mr. Graham your uncle, sir?--bekaise, if he is, I know that I'm inthe hands of a respectable man. "

"Come now--was there anything particular in the inside of thatbarn?--Gentlemen, are you ready to slap into him if we find him to be animposther?"

"All ready, sergeant. "

"Come now, you blasted Papish, answer me--"

"Troth, and I can do that, sargin'. You say Mr. Graham's your uncle, an' of coorse you have often been in that barn yourself. Very well, sir, don't you know that there's a prop on one side to keep up one of thecupples that gave way one stormy night, and there's a round hole in thelower part of the door to let the cats in to settle accounts wid themice and rats. "

"Come, come, boys, it's all right. He has described the barn to a hair. That will do, my Papish old cock. Come, I say, as every man must havea religion, and since the Papishes won't have ours, why the devilshouldn't they have one of their own?"

"That's dangerous talk, " said Steen, "to proceed from your lips, sergeant. It smells of treason, I tell you; and if you had spoken thesewords in the days of the great and good King William, you might havefelt the consequences. "

"Treason and King William be hanged!" replied the sergeant, who wasnaturally a good-natured, but out-spoken fellow--"sooner than I'd takeup a poor devil of a beggar that has enough to do to make out his bitand sup. Go on about your business, poor devil; you shan't be molested. Go to my uncle's, where you'll get a bellyfull, and a comfortable bedof straw, and a winnow-cloth in the barn. Zounds!--it would be a nicenight's work to go out for Willy Reilly and to bring home a beggar manin his place. "

This was a narrow escape upon the part of Fergus, who knew that ifthey had made' a prisoner of him, and produced him before Sir RobertWhitecraft, who was a notorious persecutor, and with whom the RedRapparee was now located, he would unquestionably have been hangedlike a dog. The officer of the party, however--to wit, the worthysergeant--was one of those men who love a drop of the native, andwhose heart besides it expands into a sort of surly kindness that hassomething comical and not disagreeable in it. In addition to this, henever felt a confidence in his own authority with half the swagger whichhe did when three quarters gone. Steen and he were never friends, norindeed was Steen ever a popular man among his acquaintances. In mattersof trade and business he was notoriously dishonest, and in the moraland social relations of life, selfish, uncandid, and treacherous. The sergeant, on the other hand, though an out-spoken and flaminganti-Papist in theory, was, in point of fact, a good friend to his RomanCatholic neighbors, who used to say of him that his bark was worse thanhis bite. 

When his party had passed on, Fergus stood for a moment uncertain asto where he should direct his steps. He had not long to wait, however. Reilly, who had no thoughts of abandoning him to the mercy of themilitary, without at least knowing his fate, nor, we may add, withouta firm determination to raising his tenantry, and rescuing the generousfellow at every risk, immediately sprung across the ditch and joinedhim. 

"Well, Fergus, " said he, clasping his hand, "I heard everything, and Ican tell you that every nerve in my body trembled whilst you were amongthem. "

"Why, " said Fergus, "I knew them at once by their voices, and only thatI changed my own as I did I won't say but they'd have nabbed me. "

"The test of the barn was frightful; I thought you were gone; but youmust explain that. "

"Ay, but before I do, " replied Fergus, "where are we to go? Do you stillstand for widow Buckley's?"

"Certainly, that woman may be useful to me. "

"Well, then, we may as well jog on in that direction, and as we go Iwill tell you. "

"How then did you come to describe the barn--or rather, was yourdescription correct?"

"Ay, as Gospel. You don't know that by the best of luck and providenceof God, I was two years and a half an inside laborer with Mr. Graham. Asis usual, all the inside men-servants slept, wintrier and summer, in thebarn; and that accounts for our good fortune this night. Only for thatscoundrel, Steen, however, the whole thing would not have signifiedmuch; but he's a black and deep villain that. Nobody likes him but hisbrother scoundrel, Whitecraft, and he's a favorite with him, bekaisehe's an active and unscrupulous tool in his hands. Many a time, whenthese men--military-militia-yeomen, or whatever they call them, are sentout by this same Sir Robert, the poor fellows don't wish to catch whatthey call the unfortunate Papish-es, and before they come to the housethey'll fire off their guns, pretinding to be in a big passion, but onlyto give their poor neighbors notice to escape as soon as they can. "

In a short time they reached widow Buckley's cabin, who, onunderstanding that it was Reilly who sought admittance, lost not amoment in opening the door and letting them in. There was no candle litwhen they entered, but there was a bright turf fire "blinkin' bonnilie"in the fireplace, from which a mellow light emanated that danced uponthe few plain plates that were neatly ranged upon her humble dresser, but which fell still more strongly upon a clean and well-swept hearth, on one side of which was an humble armchair of straw, and on the other agrave, but placid-looking cat, purring, with half-closed eyes, her usualsong for the evening. 

"Lord bless us! Mr. Reilly, is this you? Sure it's little I expectedyou, any way; but come when you will, you're welcome. And who ought tobe welcome to the poor ould widow if you wouldn't?"

"Take a stool and sit down, honest man, " she said, addressing Fergus;"and you, Mr. Reilly, take my chair; it's the one you sent me yourself, and if anybody is entitled to a sate in it, surely you are. I must lighta rush. "

"No, Molly, " replied Reilly, "I would be too heavy for your frail chair. I will take one of those stout stools, which will answer me better. "

She then lit a rush-light, which she pressed against a small cleft ofiron that was driven into a wooden shaft, about three feet long, whichstood upon a bottom that resembled the head of a churn-staff. Suchare the lights, and such the candlesticks, that are to be found in thecabins and cottages of Ireland. "I suppose, Molly, " said Reilly, "youare surprised at a visit from me just now?"

"You know, Mr. Reilly, " she replied, "that if you came in the deadesthours of the night you'd be welcome, as I said--and this poor man iswelcome too--sit over to the fire, poor man, and warm yourself. Maybeyou're hungry; if you are I'll get you something to eat. "

"Many thanks to you, ma'am, " replied Fergus, "I'm not a taste hungry, and could ait nothing now; I'm much obliged to you at the same time. "

"Mr. Reilly, maybe you'd like to ait a bit. I can give you a farrel ofbread, and a sup o' nice goat's milk. God preserve him from evil thatgave me the same goats, and that's your four quarthers, Mr. Reilly. Butsure every thing I have either came or comes from your hand; and if Ican't thank you, God will do it for me, and that's betther still. "

"No more about that, Molly--not a word more. Your long residence with mypoor mother, and your affection for her in all her trials and troubles, entitle you to more than that at the hands of her son. "

"Mrs. Buckley, " observed Fergus, "this is a quiet-looking little placeyou have here. "

"And it is for that I like it, " she replied. "I have pace here, and thenoise of the wicked world seldom reaches me in it. My only friend andcompanion here is the Almighty--praise and glory be to his name!"--andhere she devoutly crossed herself--"bar-rin', indeed, when thelight-hearted _girshas_ (young girls) comes _a kailyee_* wid theirwheels, to keep the poor ould woman company, and rise her ould heart bytheir light and merry songs, the cratures. "

 *This means to spend a portion of the day, or a few hours of the night, in a neighbor's house, in agreeable and amusing conversation. 

"That must be a relief to you, Molly, " observed Reilly, who, however, could with difficulty take any part in this little dialogue. 

"And so indeed it is, " she replied; "and, poor things, sure if theirsweethearts do come at the dusk to help them to carry home theirspinning-wheels, who can be angry with them? It's the way of life, sure, and of the world. "

She then went into another little room--for the cabin was divided intotwo--in order to find a ball of woollen thread, her principal occupationbeing the knitting of mittens and stockings, and while bustling aboutFergus observed with a smile, "Poor Molly! little she thinks that it's the bachelors, rather than anyparticular love for her company, that brings the thieves here. "

"Yes, but, " said Reilly, "you know it's the custom of the country. "

"Mrs. Buckley, " asked Fergus, "did the sogers ever pay you a visit?"

"They did once, " she replied, "about six months ago or more. "

"What in the name of wondher, " he repeated, "could bring them to you?"

"They were out huntin' a priest, " she replied, "that had done somethingcontrary to the law. "

"What did they say, Mrs. Buckley, and how did they behave themselves?"

"Why, " she answered, "they axed me if I had seen about the country atight-looking fat little man, wid black twinklin' eyes and a rosy face, wid a pair o' priest's boots upon him, greased wid hog's lard? I saidno, but to the revarse. They then searched the cabin, tossed the twobeds about--poor Jemmy's--God rest my boy's sowl!--an'--afterwards myown. There was one that seemed to hould authority over the rest, and heaxed who was my landlord? I said I had no landlord. They then saidthat surely I must pay rent to some one, but I said that I paid rentto nobody; that Mr. Reilly here, God bless him, gave me this house andgarden free. "

"And what did they say when you named Mr. Reilly?"

"Why, they said he was a dacent Papish, I think they called it; and thatthere wasn't sich another among them. They then lighted their pipes, hada smoke, went about their business, and I saw no more of them from thatday to this. "

Reilly felt that this conversation was significant, and that the widow'scabin was any thing but a safe place of refuge, even for a few hours. Wehave already said that he had been popular with all parties, which wasthe fact, until his acquaintance with the old squire and his lovelydaughter. In the meantime the loves of Willy Reilly and the far-famed_Cooleen Bawn_ had gone abroad over the whole country; and the naturalresult was that a large majority among those who were anxious toexterminate the Catholic Church by the rigor of bigoted and inhumanlaws, looked upon the fact of a tolerated Papist daring to love aProtestant heiress, and the daughter of a man who was considered such astout prop of the Establishment, as an act that deserved death itself. Reilly's affection for the _Cooleen Bawn_ was considered, therefore, not only daring but treasonable. Those men, then, he reflected, who hadcalled upon her while in pursuit of the unfortunate priest, had becomeacquainted with the fact of her dependence upon his bounty; and he tookit for granted, very naturally and very properly, as the eventwill show, that now, while "on his keeping, " it would not be at allextraordinary if they occasionally searched her remote and solitarycabin, as a place where he might be likely to conceal himself. For thisnight, however, he experienced no apprehension of a visit from them, butwith what correctness of calculation we shall soon see. 

"Molly, " said he, this poor man and I must sit with you for a couple ofhours, after which we will leave you to your rest. "

"Indeed, Mr. Reilly, " she replied, "from what I heard this day I canmake a party good guess at the raison why you are here now, insteadof bein' in your own comfortable house. You have bitther enemies; butGod--blessed be his name--is stronger than any of them. However, I wishyou'd let me get you and that poor man something to eat. "

This kind offer they declined, and as the short rush-light was nearlyburned out, and as she had not another ready, she got what is called a_cam_ or grisset, put it on the hearth-stone, with a portion of hog'slard in it; she then placed the lower end of the tongs in the fire, until the broad portion of them, with which the turf is gripped, becamered hot; she then placed the lard in the grisset between them, andsqueezed it until nothing remained but pure oil; through this she slowlydrew the peeled rushes, which were instantly saturated with the grease, after which she left them on a little table to cool. Among the poorerclasses--small farmers and others--this process is performed everyevening a little before dusk. Having thus supplied them with theselights, the pious widow left them to their own conversation and retiredto the little room in order to repeat her rosary. We also will leavethem to entertain themselves as best they can, and request our readersto follow us to a different scene. 

CHAPTER VII. --An Accidental Incident favorable to Reilly

--And a Curious Conversation

We return to the party from whom Fergus Reilly had so narrow an escape. As our readers may expect, they bent their steps to the magnificentresidence of Sir Robert Whitecraft. That gentleman was alone in hislibrary, surrounded by an immense collection of books which he neverread. He had also a fine collection of paintings, of which he knew nomore than his butler, nor perhaps so much. At once sensual, penurious, and bigoted, he spent his whole time in private profligacy--for he wasa hypocrite, too--in racking his tenantry, and exhibiting himself asa champion for Protestant principles. Whenever an unfortunate RomanCatholic, whether priest or layman, happened to infringe a harshand cruel law of which probably he had never heard, who so active incollecting his myrmidons, in order to uncover, hunt, and run down hisluckless victim? And yet he was not popular. No one, whether of his ownclass or any other, liked a bone in his skin. Nothing could infect himwith the genial and hospitable spirit of the country, whilst at thesame time no man living was so anxious to partake of the hospitalityof others, merely because it saved him a meal. All that sustained hischaracter at the melancholy period of which we write was what peoplecalled the uncompromising energy of his principles as a sound andvigorous Protestant. 

"Sink them all together, " he exclaimed upon this occasion, in a kind ofsoliloquy--"Church and bishop and parson, what are they worth unless tomake the best use we can of them? Here I am prevented from going to thatgirl to-night--and that barbarous old blockhead of a squire, who was sonear throwing me off for a beggarly Papist rebel: and doubly, trebly, quadruply cursed be that same rebel for crossing my path as he hasdone. The cursed light-headed jade loves him too--there's no doubt ofthat--but wait until I get him in my clutches, as I certainly shall, and, by ---, his rebel carcass shall feed the crows. But what noise isthat? They have returned; I must go down and learn their success. "

He was right. Our friend the tipsy sergeant and his party were at thehall-door, which was opened as he went down, and he ordered lights intothe back parlor. In a few minutes they were ushered in, where they foundhim seated as magisterially as possible in a large arm-chair. 

"Well, Johnston, " said he, assuming as much dignity as he could, "whathas been your success?"

"A bad evening's sport, sir; we bagged nothing--didn't see a feather. "

"Talk sense, Johnston, " said he sternly, "and none of this cant. Did yousee or hear any thing of the rebel?"

"Why, sir, we did; it would be a devilish nice business if a partyled and commanded by George Johnston should go out without hearin' andseein' something. "

"Well, but what did you see and hear, sir?"

"Why, we saw Reilly's house, and a very comfortable one it is; and weheard from the servants that he wasn't at home. "

"You're drunk, Johnston. "

"No, sir, begging your pardon, I'm only hearty; besides, I neverdischarge my duty half so well as when I'm drunk; If feel no colorsthen. "

"Johnston, if I ever know you to get drunk on duty again I shall haveyou reduced. "

"Reduced!" replied Johnston, "curse the fig I care whether you do ornot; I'm actin' as a volunteer, and I'll resign. "

"Come, sir, " replied Sir Robert, "be quiet; I will overlook this, foryou are a very good man if you could keep yourself sober. "

"I told you before, Sir Robert, that I'm a better man when I'm drunk. "

"Silence, sir, or I shall order you out of the room. "

"Please your honor, " observed Steen, "I have a charge to make againstGeorge Johnston. "

"A charge, Steen--what is it? You are a staunch, steady fellow, I know;what is this charge?"

"Why, sir, we met a suspicious character on the old bridle road beyondReilly's, and he refused to take him prisoner. "

"A poor half-Papist beggarman, sir, " replied Johnston, "who was on hisway to my uncle's to stop there for the night. Divil a scarecrow inEurope would exchange clothes with him without boot. "

Steen then related the circumstances with which our readers areacquainted, adding that he suggested to Johnston the necessity ofsending a couple of men up with him to ascertain whether what, he saidwas true or not; but that he flatly refused to do so--and after somenonsense about a barn he let him off. 

"I'll tell you what, sir, " said Johnston, "I'll hunt a priest or aPapish that breaks the law with any man livin', but hang me if ever I'llhunt a harmless beggarman lookin' for his bit. "

At this period of the conversation the Red Rapparee, now in militaryuniform, entered the parlor, accompanied by some others of those violentmen. 

"Steen, " said the baronet, "what or who do you suppose this raggedruffian was?"

"Either a Rapparee, sir, or Reilly himself. "

"O'Donnel, " said he, addressing the Red Robber, "what description ofdisguises do these villains usually assume? Do they often go about asbeggarmen?"

"They may have changed their hand, sir, since I became a legal subject, but, before that, three-fourths of us--of them--the villains, Imane--went about in the shape of beggars. "

"That's important, " exclaimed the baronet. "Steen, take half a dozenmounted men--a cavalry party have arrived here a little while ago, andare waiting further orders--I thought if Reilly had been secured itmight have been necessary for them to escort him to Sligo. Well, takehalf a dozen mounted I men, and, as you very properly suggested, proceedwith all haste to farmer Graham's, and see whether this mendicant isthere or not; if he is there, take him into custody at all events, andif he is not, then it is clear he is a man for whom we ought to be onthe lookout. "

"I should like to go with them, your honor, " said the Red Rapparee. 

"O'Donnel, " said Sir Robert, "I have other business for you to-night. "

"Well, plaise your honor, " said O'Donnel, "as they're goin' in thatdirection, let them turn to the left after passin' the little straniethat crosses the road, I mane on their way home; if they look sharpthey'll find a little _boreen_ that--but indeed they'll scarcely makeit out in the dark, for it's a good way back in the fields--I mane thecabin of widow Buckley. If there's one house more than another in thewhole countryside where! Reilly is likely to take shelter in, that's it. He gave her that cabin and a large garden free, and besides allows hera small yearly pension. But remember, you can't bring your horseswid you--you must lave some of the men to take charge of them in the_boreen_ till you come back. I wish you'd let me go with them, sir. "

"I cannot, O'Donnel; I have other occupation for you to-night. "

Three or four of them declared that they knew the cottage right well, and could find it out without much difficulty. "They had been there, "they said, "some six or eight months before upon a priest chase. " Thematter was so arranged, and the party set out upon their expedition. 

It is unnecessary to say that these men had their journey for nothing;but at the same time one fact resulted from it, which I was, that theragged mendicant they had met must have been some one well worth lookingafter. The deuce of it was, however, that, owing to the darkness of thenight, there was not one among them who could have known Fergus thenext day if they had met him. They knew, however, that O'Donnel, theRapparee, was a good authority on the subject, and the discovery of thepretended mendicant's imposture was a proof of it. On this account, whenthey had reached the _boreen_ alluded to, on their return from Graham's, they came to the resolution of leaving their horses in charge, as hadbeen suggested to them, and in silence, and with stealthy steps, pounceat once into the widow's cabin. Before they arrived there, however, weshall take the liberty of preceding them for a few minutes, and oncemore transport our readers to its bright but humble hearth. 

About three hours or better had elapsed, and our two friends were stillseated, maintaining the usual chat with Mrs. Buckley, who had finishedher prayers and once, more rejoined them. 

"Fergus, like a good fellow, " whispered Reilly, "slip out for a minuteor two; there's--a circumstance I wish to mention to Molly--I assure youit's of a very private and particular nature and only for her own ear. "

"To be sure, " replied Fergus; "I want, at all events, to stretch mylegs, and to see what the night's about. "

He accordingly left the cabin. 

"Mrs. Buckley, " said Reilly, "it was not for nothing I came hereto-night. I have a favor to ask of you. "

"Your favor's granted, sir, " she replied--"granted, Mr. Reilly, evenbefore I hear it--that is, supposin' always that it's in my power--to doit for you. "

"It is simply to carry a letter--and be certain that it shall bedelivered to the proper person. "

"Well, " she replied, "sure that's aisily done. And where am I to deliverit?" she asked. 

"That I shall let you know on some future occasion--perhaps within thecourse of a week or so. "

"Well, sir, " she replied, "I'd go twenty miles to deliver it--and willdo so wid a heart and a half. "

"Well, Molly, I can tell you your journey won't be so far; but thereis one thing you are to observe--you must never breathe it to a humancreature. "

"I thought you knew me better, Mr. Reilly. "

"It would be impossible, however, to be too strict here, because youdon't know how much depends upon it. "

At this moment Fergus put in his head, and said, "For Christ's sake, snuff out the candle, and Reilly--fly!--There are people in the nextfield!--quick!--quick!"

Reilly snatched up his hat, and whispered to the widow, "Deny that yousaw me, or that there was any one here!--Put out the candle!--they mightsee our figures darkening the light as we go out!"

Fergus and Reilly immediately planted themselves behind a whitethornhedge, in a field adjoining the cabin, in order to reconnoitre theparty, whoever they might be, which they could do in safety. This act ofreconnoitering, however, was performed by the ear, and not at all by theeye; the darkness of the night rendered that impossible. Of course thesearch in the widow's cabin was equally fruitless. 

"Now, " whispered Reilly, "we'll go in a line parallel with the road, but at a safe distance from them, until they reach the cross-roads. Ifthey turn towards my house, we are forewarned, but if they turn towardsSir Robert's, it is likely that I may have an opportunity of securingmy cash and papers. " On reaching the cross-roads alluded to, the party, much to the satisfaction of Reilly and his companion, did turn towardsthe residence of Sir Robert Whitecraft, thus giving the fugitives fullassurance that nothing further was to be apprehended from them thatnight. The men in fact felt fatigued and were anxious to get to bed. 

After approaching Reilly's house very cautiously, and with muchcircumspection--not an outhouse, or other place of concealment, havingbeen left unexamined--they were about to enter, when Reilly, thinkingthat no precaution on such an occasion ought to be neglected, said:

"Fergus, we are so far safe; but, under all circumstances, I think itright and prudent that you should keep watch outside. Mark me, I willplace Tom Corrigan--you know him--at this window, and if you happen tosee anything in the shape of a human being, or to hear, for instance, any noise, give the slightest possible tap upon the glass, and that willbe sufficient. "

It was so arranged, and Reilly entered the house; but, as it happened, Fergus's office proved a sinecure; although, indeed, when we considerhis care and anxiety, we can scarcely say so. At all events, Reillyreturned in about half an hour, bearing under his arm a large darkportfolio, which, by the way, was securely locked. 

"Is all right?" asked Fergus. 

"All is right, " replied the other. "The servants have entered into anarrangement to sit up, two in turn each night, so as to be ready to giveme instant admittance whenever I may chance to come. "

"But now where are you to place these papers?" asked his companion. "That's a difficulty. "

"It is, I grant, " replied Reilly, "but after what has happened, I thinkwidow Buckley's cabin the safest place for a day or two. Only that thehour is so unseasonable, I could feel little difficulty in finding aproper place of security for them, but as it is, we must only depositthem for the present with the widow. "

The roads of Ireland at this period--if roads they could be called--werenot only in a most shameful, but dangerous, state. In summer they werea foot deep with dust, and in winter at least eighteen inches with mud. This, however, was by no means the worst of it. They were studded, atdue intervals, with ruts so deep that if a horse! happened to get intoone of them he went down to the saddle-skirts. They were treacherous, too, and such as no caution could guard against; because, where thewhole surface of the road was one mass of mud, it was impossible todistinguish these horse-traps at all. Then, in addition to these, weredeep gullies across the roads, worn away by small rills, proceeding fromrivulets in the adjoining uplands, which were; principally dry, or atleast mere threads of | water in summer, but in winter became pigmytorrents that tore up the roads across which they passed, leaving themin the dangerous state we have described. 

As Reilly and his companion had got out upon the road, they were a gooddeal surprised, and not a little alarmed, to see a horse, withouta rider, struggling to extricate himself out of one of the ruts inquestion. "What is this?" said Fergus. "Be on your guard. "

"The horse, " observed Reilly, "is without! a rider; see what it means. "

Fergus approached with all due caution, and on examining the placediscovered a man lying apparently in a state of insensibility. 

"I fear, " said he, on returning to Reilly, "that his rider has beenhurt; he is lying senseless about two or three yards before the horse. "

"My God!" exclaimed the other, "perhaps he has been killed; let usinstantly assist him. Hold this portfolio whilst I render him whateverassistance I can. "

As he spoke they heard a heavy groan, and on approaching found the mansitting; but still unable to rise. 

"You have unfortunately been thrown, sir, " said Reilly; "I trust in Godyou are not seriously hurt. "

"I hope not, sir, " replied the man, "but I was stunned, and have beeninsensible for some time; how long I cannot say. "

"Good gracious, sir!" exclaimed Reilly, "is this Mr. Brown?"

"It is, Mr. Reilly; for heaven's sake aid me to my limbs--that is, ifI shall be able to stand upon them. " Reilly did so, but found that hecould not stand or walk without' assistance. The horse, in the meantime, had extricated himself. 

"Come, Mr. Brown, " said Reilly, "you! must, allow me to assist you home. It is very fortunate that you have not many perches to go. This poor manwill lead your horse up to the stable. "

"Thank you, Mr. Reilly, " replied the gentleman, "and in requital foryour kindness you must take a bed at my house tonight. I am aware ofyour position, " he added in a confidential voice, "and that you cannotsafely sleep in your own; with me you will be secure. "

Reilly thanked him, and said that this kind offer was most welcome andacceptable, as, in point of fact, he scarcely knew that night where toseek rest with safety. They accordingly proceeded to the parsonage--forMr. Brown was no other than the Protestant rector of the parish, a manwith whom Reilly was on the most friendly and intimate terms, and a man, we may add, who omitted no opportunity of extending shelter, protection, and countenance to such Roman Catholics as fell under the suspicion oroperation of the law. On this occasion he had been called very suddenlyto the deathbed of a parishioner, and was then on his return home, afterhaving administered to the dying man the last consolations of religion. 

On reaching the parsonage, Fergus handed the portfolio to its owner, andwithdrew to seek shelter in some of his usual haunts for the night; butMr. Brown, aided by his wife, who sat up for him, contrived that Reillyshould be conducted to a private room, without the knowledge of theservants, who were sent as soon as possible to bed. Before Reillywithdrew, however, that night, he requested Mr. Brown to take charge ofhis money and family papers, which the latter did, assuring him thatthey should be forthcoming whenever he thought proper to call for them. Mr. Brown had, not been seriously hurt, and was able in a day or two topay the usual attention to the discharge of his duties. 

Reilly, having been told where to find his bedroom, retired withconfidence to rest. Yet we can scarcely term it rest, after consideringthe tumultuous and disagreeable events of the evening. He beganto ponder upon the life of persecution to which Miss Folliard mustnecessarily be exposed, in consequence of her father's impetuous andfiery temper; and, indeed, the fact was, that he felt this reflectioninfinitely more bitter than any that touched himself. In theseaffectionate calculations of her domestic persecution he was a gooddeal mistaken, however, Sir Robert Whitecraft had now gained a completeascendancy over the disposition and passions of her father. The latter, like many another country squire--especially of that day--when his wordand will were law to his tenants and dependants, was a very great manindeed, when dealing with them. He could bluster and threaten, and evencarry his threats into execution with a confident swagger that had moreof magisterial pride and the pomp of property in it, than a sense ofeither light or justice. But, on the other hand, let him meet a man ofhis own rank, who cared nothing about his authority as a magistrate, orhis assumption as a man of large landed property, and he was nothing buta poor weak-minded tool in his hands. So far our description is correct;but when such a knave as Sir Robert Whitecraft came in his way--a knaveat once calculating, deceitful, plausible, and cunning--why, our worthyold squire, who thought himself a second Solomon, might be taken by thenose and led round the whole barony. 

There is no doubt that he had sapiently laid down his plans--to harassand persecute his daughter into a marriage with Sir Robert, and wouldhave probably driven her from under his roof, had he not received theprogramme of his conduct from Whitecraft. That cowardly caitiff had adouble motive in this. He found that if her father should "pepperher with persecution, " as the old fellow said, before marriage, itsconsequences might fall upon his own unlucky head afterwards--in otherwords, that Helen would most assuredly make him then suffer, to somepurpose, for all that his pretensions to her hand had occasioned herto undergo previous to their union; for, in truth, if there was onedoctrine which Whitecraft detested more than another--and with goodreason too--it was that of Retribution. 

"Mr. Folliard, " said Whitecraft in the very last conversation they hadon this subject, "you must not persecute your daughter on my account. "

"Mustn't I? Why hang it, Sir Robert, isn't persecution the order of theday? If she doesn't marry you quietly and willingly, we'll turn her out, and hunt her like a priest. "

"No, Mr. Folliard, violence will never do. On the contrary, you mustchange your hand, and try an opposite course. If you wish to rivet heraffections upon that Jesuitical traitor still more strongly, persecuteher; for there is nothing in this life that strengthens love so much asopposition and violence. The fair ones begin to look upon themselvesas martyrs, and in proportion as you are severe and inexorable, so inproportion are they resolved to win the crown that is before them. Iwould not press your daughter but that I believe love to be a thingthat exists before marriage--never after. There's the honeymoon, forinstance. Did ever mortal man or mortal woman hear or dream of a secondhoneymoon? No, sir, for Cupid, like a large blue-bottle, falls into, andis drowned, in the honey-pot. "

"Confound me, " replied the squire, "if I understand a word you say. However, I dare say it may be very good sense for all that, for youalways had a long noddle. Go on. "

"My advice to you then, sir, is this-make as few allusions to hermarriage with me as possible; but, in the meantime, you may praise mea little, if you wish; but, above all things, don't run down Reillyimmediately after paying either my mind or person any compliment. Allowthe young lady to remain quiet for a time. Treat her with your usualkindness and affection; for it is possible, after all, that she may domore from her tenderness and affection for you than we could expect fromany other motive; at all events, until we shall succeed in hanging ortransporting this rebellious scoundrel. "

"Very good--so he is. Good William! what a son-in-law I should have! Iwho transported one priest already!"

"Well, sir, as I was saying, until we shall have succeeded in hanging ortransporting him. The first would be the safest, no doubt: but until weshall be able to accomplish either one or the other, we have not much toexpect in the shape of compliance from your daughter. When the villainis removed, however, hope, on her part, will soon die out--love willlose its _pabulum_. "

"Its what?" asked the squire, staring at him with a pair of round eyesthat were full of perplexity and wonder. 

"Why, it means food, or rather fodder. "

"Curse you, sir, " replied the squire indignantly; "do you want to make abeast of my daughter?"

"But it's a word, sir, applied by the poets, as the food of Cupid. "

"Cupid! I thought he was drowned in the honey-pot, yet he's up again, and as brisk as ever, it appears. However, go on--let us understandfairly what you're at. I think I see a glimpse of it; and knowing yourcharacter upon the subject of persecution as I do, it's more, I mustsay, than I expected from you. Go on--I bid you. "

"I say, then, sir, that if Reilly were either hanged or out of thecountry, the consciousness of this would soon alter matters with MissFolliard. If you, then, sir, will enter into an agreement with me, Ishall undertake so to make the laws bear upon Reilly as to rid eitherthe world or the country of him; and you shall promise not to press uponyour daughter the subject of her marriage with me until then. Still, there is one thing you must do; and that is, to keep her under thestrictest surveillance. "

"What the devil's that?" said the squire. 

"It means, " returned his expected son-in-law, "that she must be wellwatched, but without feeling that she is so. "

"Would it not be better to lock her up at once?" said her father. "Thatwould be making the matter sure. "

"Not at all, " replied Whitecraft. "So sure as you lock her up, so sureshe will break prison. "

"Well, upon my soul, " replied her father. "I can't see that. A stronglock and key are certainly the best surety for the due appearance of anyyoung woman disposed to run away. I think the best way would be to makeher feel at once that her father is a magistrate, and commit her to herown room until called upon to appear. "

Whitecraft, whose object was occasionally to puzzle his friend, gave acold grin, and added:

"I suppose your next step would be to make her put in security. No--no, Mr. Folliard; if you will be advised by me, try the soothing system;antiphlogistic remedies are always the best in a case like hers. "

"Anti--what? Curse me, if I can understand every tenth word you say. However, I give you credit, Whitecraft; for upon my soul I didn't thinkyou knew half so much as you do. That last, however, is a tickler--a nutthat I can't crack. I wish I could only get my tongue about it, till Isend it among the Grand Jury, and maybe there wouldn't be wigs on thegreen in making it out. "

"Yes, I fancy it would teach them a little supererogation. "

"A little what? Is it love that has made you so learned, Whitecraft, or so unintelligible, which? Why, man, if your passion increases, inanother week there won't be three men out of Trinity College able tounderstand you. You will become a perfect oracle. But, in the meantime, let us see how the arrangement stands. _Imprimus_, you are to hang ortransport Keilly; and, until then, I am not to annoy my daughter withany allusions to this marriage: but, above all things, not to compareyou and Reilly with one another in her presence, lest it mightstrengthen her prejudices against you. "

"I beg your pardon, Mr. Folliard. I did not say so; I fear no comparisonwith the fellow. "

"No matter, Sir Robert, if you did not knock it down you staggered it. Omitting the comparison, however, I suppose that so far I am right. "

"I think so, sir, " replied the other, conscious, "after all, that he hadgot a touch of 'Roland for his Oliver'. "

Then he proceeded: "I'm to watch her closely, only she's not to knowit. Now, I'll tell you what, Sir Robert, I know you carry a long noddle, with more hard words in it than I ever gave you credit for--but withregard to what you expect from me now--"

"I don't mean that you should watch her personally yourself, Mr. Folliard. "

"I suppose you don't; I didn't think you did; but I'll tell youwhat--place the twelve labors of Hercules before me, and I'll undertaketo perform them, if you wish, but to watch a woman, Sir Robert--andthat woman keen and sharp upon the cause of such vigilance--without herknowing it in one half hour's time--that is a task that never was, can, or will be accomplished. In the meantime, we must only come as near itsaccomplishment as we can. "

"Just so, sir; we can do no more. Remember, then, that you perform yourpart of this arrangement, and, with the blessing of God, I shall leavenothing undone to perform mine. "

Thus closed this rather extraordinary conversation, after which SirRobert betook himself home, to reflect upon the best means of performinghis part of it, with what quickness and dispatch, and with what success, our readers already know. 

The old squire was one of those characters who never are so easilypersuaded as when they do not fully comprehend the argument used toconvince them. Whenever the squire found himself a little at fault, orconfounded by either a difficult word or a hard sentence, he always tookit for granted that there was something unusually profound and cleverin the matter laid before him. Sir Robert knew this, and on that accountplayed him off to a certain extent. He was too cunning, however, todarken any part of the main argument so far as to prevent its drift frombeing fully understood, and thereby defeating his own purpose. 

CHAPTER VIII. --A Conflagration--An Escape--And an Adventure

We have said that Sir Robert Whitecraft was anything but a popularman--and we might have added that, unless among his own clique ofbigots and persecutors, he was decidedly unpopular among Protestants ingeneral. In a few days after the events of the night we have described, Reilly, by the advice of Mr. Brown's brother, an able and distinguishedlawyer, gave up the possession of his immense farm, dwelling-house, andoffices to the landlord. In point of fact, this man had taken the farmfor Reilly's father, in his own name, a step which many of the liberaland generous Protestants of that period were in the habit of taking, to protect the property for the Roman Catholics, from such rapaciousscoundrels as Whitecraft, and others like him, who had accumulated thegreater portion of their wealth and estates by the blackest and mostiniquitous political profligacy and oppression. For about a month afterthe first night of the unsuccessful pursuit after Reilly, thewhole country was overrun with military parties, and such miserableinefficient police as then existed. In the meantime, Reilly escapedevery toil and snare that had been laid for him. Sir Robert Whitecraft, seeing that hitherto he had set them at defiance, resolved to gluthis vengeance on his property, since he could not arrest himself. Adescription of his person had been, almost from the commencement of theproceedings, published in the Hue-and-Cry, and he had been now outlawed. As even this failed, Sir Robert, as we said, came with a numerous partyof his myrmidons, bringing along with them a large number of horses, carts, and cars. The house at this time was in the possession only of akeeper, a poor, feeble man, with a wife and a numerous family of smallchildren, the other servants having fled from the danger in whichtheir connection with Reilly involved them. Sir Robert, however, verydeliberately brought up his cars and other vehicles, and having draggedout all the most valuable part of the furniture, piled it up, and had itconveyed to his own outhouses, where it was carefully-stowed. This act, however, excited comparatively little attention, for such outrages werenot unfrequently committed by those who had, or at least who thoughtthey had; the law in their own hands. It was now dusk, and the househad been gutted of all that had been most valuable in it--but themost brilliant part of the performance was yet to come. We mean nocontemptible pun. The young man's dwelling-house, and office-houseswere ignited at this moment by this man's military and other officialminions, and in about twenty minutes they were all wrapped in one red, merciless mass of flame. The country people, on observing this fearfulconflagration, flocked from all quarters; but a cordon of outposts wasstationed at some distance around the premises, to prevent the peasantryfrom marking the chief actors in this nefarious outrage. Two gentlemen, however, approached, who, having given their names, were at onceadmitted to the burning premises. These were Mr. Brown, the clergyman, and Mr. Hastings, the actual and legal proprietor of all that had beenconsidered Reilly's property. Both of them observed that Sir Robert wasthe busiest man among them, and upon making inquiries from the party, they were informed that they acted by his orders, and that, moreover, hewas himself the very first individual who had set fire to thepremises. The clergyman made his way to Sir Robert, on whose villainouscountenance he could read a dark and diabolical triumph. 

"Sir Robert Whitecraft, " said Mr. Brown, "how conies such a wanton andunnecessary waste of property?"

"Because, sir, " replied that gentleman, "it is the property of a popishrebel and outlaw, and is confiscated to the State. "

"But do you possess authority for this conduct?--Are you the State?"

"In the spirit of our Protestant Constitution, certainly. I am aloyal Protestant magistrate, and a man of rank, and will hold myselfaccountable for what I do and have done. Come you, there, " he added, "who have knocked down the pump, take some straw, light it up, and putit with pitchforks upon the lower end of the stable; it has not yetcaught the flames. "

This order was accordingly complied with, and in a few minutes thescene, if one could dissociate the mind from the hellish spirit whichcreated it, had something terribly sublime in it. 

Mr. Hastings, the gentleman who accompanied the clergyman, the realowner of the property, looked on with apparent indifference, but utterednot a word. Indeed, he seemed rather to enjoy the novelty of the thingthan otherwise, and passed with Mr. Brown from place to place, as if toobtain the best points for viewing the fire. 

Reilly's residence was a long, large, two-story house, deeply thatched;the kitchen, containing pantry, laundry, scullery, and all the usualappurtenances connected with it, was a continuation of the larger house, but it was a story lower, and also deeply thatched. The out-offices ranin a long line behind the dwelling house, so that both ran parallel witheach other, and stood pretty close besides, for the yard was a narrowone. In the meantime, the night, though dry, was dark and stormy. Thewind howled through the adjoining trees like thunder, roared along theneighboring hills, and swept down in savage whirlwinds to the bottom ofthe lowest valleys. The greater portion of the crowd who were standingoutside the cordon we have spoken of fled home, as the awful gusts grewstronger and stronger, in order to prevent their own houses from beingstripped or unroofed, so that very few remained to witness the rage ofthe conflagration at its full height. The Irish peasantry entertain asuperstition that whenever a strong storm of wind, without rain, arises, it has been occasioned by the necromantic spell of some guilty sorcerer, who, first having sold himself to the devil, afterwards raises him forsome wicked purpose; and nothing but the sacrifice of a black dog or ablack cock--the one without a white hair, and the other without awhite feather--can prevent him from carrying away, body and soul, theindividual who called him up, accompanied by such terrors. In factthe night, independently of the terrible accessory of the fire, wasindescribably awful. Thatch portions of the ribs and roofs of houseswere whirled along through the air; and the sweeping blast, in additionto its own howlings, was burdened with the loud screamings of women andchildren, and the stronger shoutings of men, as they attempted to makeeach other audible, amidst the roaring of the tempest. 

This was terrible indeed; but on such a night, what must not theconflagration have been, fed by such pabulum--as Sir Robert himselfwould have said--as that on which it glutted its fiery and consumingappetite. We have said that the offices and dwelling-house ran parallelwith each other, and such was the fact. What appeared singular, and notwithout the possibility of some dark supernatural causes, accordingto the impressions of the people, was, that the wind, on the night inquestion, started, as it were, along with the fire; but the truth is, it had been gamboling in its gigantic play before the fire commenced atall. In the meantime, as we said, the whole premises presented one fierymass of red and waving flames, that shot and drifted up, from time totime, towards the sky, with the rapidity, and more than the terror, of the aurora borealis. As the conflagration proceeded, the high flamesthat arose from the mansion, and those that leaped up from the offices, several times met across the yard, and mingled, as if to exult in theirfearful task of destruction, forming a long and distinct arch of flame, so exact and regular, that it seemed to proceed from the skill andeffort of some powerful demon, who had made it, as it were, a fieryarbor for his kind. The whole country was visible to an astonishingdistance, and overhead, the evening sky, into which the up-rushingpyramids seemed to pass, looked as if it had caught the conflagration, and was one red mass of glowing and burning copper. Around the house andpremises the eye could distinguish a pin; but the strong light was sofearfully red that the deep tinge it communicated to the earth seemedlike blood, and made it appear as if it had been sprinkled with it. 

It is impossible to look upon a large and extensive conflagrationwithout feeling the mind filled with imagery and comparisons, drawnfrom moral and actual life. Here, for instance, is a tyrant, in theunrestrained exercise of his power--he now has his enemy in his grip, and hear how he exults; listen to the mirthful and crackling laughterwith which the fiendish despot rejoices, as he gains the victory; markthe diabolical gambols with which he sports, and the demon glee withwhich he performs his capricious but frightful exultations. But thetyrant, after all, will become exhausted--his strength and power willfail him; he will destroy his own subjects; he will become feeble, andwhen he has nothing further on which to exercise his power, he will, like many another tyrant before him, sink, and be lost in the ruin hehas made. 

Again: Would you behold Industry? Here have its terrible spirits beenappointed their tasks. Observe the energy, the activity, the perseveringfury with which they discharge their separate duties. See how thateldest son of Apollyon, with the appetite of hell, licks into hisburning maw every thing that comes in contact with his tongue of fire. What quickness of execution, and how rapidly they pass from place toplace! how they run about in quest of employment! how diligently andeffectually they search every nook and corner, lest anything mightescape them! Mark the activity with which that strong fellow leapsacross, from beam to beam, seizing upon each as he goes. A differenttask has been assigned to another: he attacks the rafters of theroof--he fails at first, but, like the constrictor, he first licks overhis victim before he destroys it--bravo!--he is at it again--it givesway--he is upon it, and about it; and now his difficulties are over--thered wood glows, splits and crackles, and flies off in angry flakes, in order to become a minister to its active and devouring master. See!observe! What business--what a coil and turmoil of industry! Everyflame at work--no idle hand here--no lazy lounger reposing. No, no--theindustry of a hive of bees is nothing to this. Running up--runningdown--running in all directions: now they unite together to accomplishsome general task, and again disperse themselves to perform theirindividual appointments. 

But hark! what comes here? Room for another element. 'Tis the windstorm, that comes to partake in the triumph of the victory which his ministershave assisted to gain. But lo! here he comes in person; and now theyunite--or how?--Do they oppose each other? Here does the windstorm driveback the god of fire from his victim; again the fiery god attempts toreach it; and again he feels that he has met more than his match. Once, twice, thrice he has failed in getting at it. But is this conflictreal--this fierce battle between the elements? Alas, no; they are bothtyrants, and what is to be expected?

The wind god, always unsteady, wheels round, comes to the assistance ofhis opponent, and gives him new courage, new vigor, and new strength. But his inferior ministers must have a share of this dreadful repast. Off go a thousand masses of burning material, whirling along. Off gothe; glowing timbers and rafters, on the wind, by which they are bornein thousands of red meteors across the sky. But hark, again! Room forthe whirlwind! Here it comes, and addresses itself to yon tall andwaving pyramid; they embrace; the pyramid is twisted into the figure ofa gigantic corkscrew--round they go, rapid as thought; the thunder ofthe wind supplies them with the appropriate music, and continues until;this terrible and gigantic waltz of the elements is concluded. But nowthese fearful ravagers are satisfied, because they have nothing more onwhich they can glut themselves. They appear, however, to be seated. Thewind has become low, and is only able to work up a feeble effort at itsformer strength. The flames, too, are subsiding--their power is gone;occasional jets of fire I come forth, but they instantly disappear. Bydegrees, and one after another, they vanish. Nothing now is visiblebut smoke, and every thing is considered as over--when lo! like a greatgeneral, who has achieved a triumphant victory, it is deemed right to;take a last look at the position of the enemy. Up, therefore, startsan unexpected burst of flame--blazes for a while; looks about it, asit were; sees that the victory is complete, and drops down into thedarkness from which it came. The conflagration is over; the wind-stormis also appeased. Small hollow gusts, amongst the trees and elsewhere, are now all that are heard. By degrees, even these cease; and the windis now such as it was in the course of the evening, when the elementswere comparatively quiet and still. 

Mr. Brown and his friend, Mr. Hastings, having waited until they saw thelast rafter of unfortunate Reilly's house and premises sink into a blackmass of smoking ruins, turned their steps to the parsonage, which theyhad no sooner entered than they went immediately to Reilly's room, whowas still there under concealment. Mr. Brown, however, went out againand returned with some wine, which he placed upon the table. 

"Gentlemen, " said Reilly, "this has become an awful night; the wind hasbeen tremendous, and has done a good deal of damage, I fear, to yourhouse and premises, Mr. Brown. I heard the slates falling about in greatnumbers; and the inmates of the house were, as far as I could judge, exceedingly alarmed. "

"It was a dreadful night in more senses than one, " replied Mr. Brown. 

"By the by, " said Reilly, "was there not a fire somewhere in theneighborhood, I observed through the windows a strong light flickeringand vibrating, as it were, over the whole country. What must it havebeen?"

"My dear Reilly, " replied Mr. Brown, "be calm; your house and premisesare, at this moment, one dark heap of smouldering ruins. "

"Oh, yes--I understand, " replied Reilly--"Sir Robert Whitecraft. "

"Sir Robert Whitecraft, " replied Mr. Brown; "it is too true, Reilly--youare now houseless and homeless; and may God forgive him!"

Reilly got up and paced the room several times, then sat down, andfilling himself a glass of wine, drank it off; then looking at each ofthem, said, in a voice rendered hoarse by the indignation and resentmentwhich he felt himself compelled, out of respect for his kind friends, torestrain, "Gentlemen, " he repeated, "what do _you_ call this"

"Malice--persecution--vengeance, " replied Mr. Brown, whose resentmentwas scarcely less than that of Reilly himself. "In the presence ofGod, and before all the world. I would pronounce it one of the mostdiabolical acts ever committed in the history of civil society. But youhave one consolation, Reilly; your money and papers are safe. "

"It is not that, " replied Reilly; "I think not of them. It is thevindictive and persecuting spirit of that man--that monster--and thepersonal motives from which he acts, that torture me, and that plant inmy heart a principle of vengeance more fearful than his. But you do notunderstand me, gentlemen; I could smile at all he has done to myselfyet. It is of the serpent-tooth which will destroy the peace of others, that I think. All these motives being considered, what do you think thatman deserves at my hand?"

"My dear Reilly, " said the clergyman, "recollect that there is aProvidence; and that we cannot assume to ourselves the dispositionof His judgments, or the knowledge of His wisdom. Have patience. Yoursituation is one of great distress and almost unexampled difficulty. Atall events, you are, for the present, safe under this roof; and althoughI grant you have much to suffer, still you have a free conscience, and, I dare say, would not exchange your position for that of yourpersecutor. "

"No, " said Reilly; "most assuredly not--most assuredly not; no, not forworlds. Yet is it not strange, gentlemen, that that man will sleep soundand happily to-night, whilst I will lie upon a bed of thorns?"

At this moment Mrs. Brown tapped gently at the door, which wascautiously opened by her husband. 

"John, " said she, "here is a note which I was desired to give to youwithout a moment's delay. "

"Thank you, my love; I will read it instantly. ". 

He then bolted the door, and coming to the table took up one of thecandles and read the letter, which he handed to Mr. Hastings. Nowwe have already stated that this gentleman, whilst looking on at thedestruction of Reilly's property, never once opened his lips. Neitherdid he, from the moment they entered Reilly's room. He sat like a dumbman, occasionally helping himself to a glass of wine. After havingperused the note he merely nodded, but said not a word; he seemed tohave lost the faculty of speech. At length Mr. Brown spoke:

"This is really too bad, my dear Reilly; here is a note signed H. F. , which informs me that your residence, concealment, or whatever it is, has been discovered by Sir Robert Whitecraft, and that the military areon their way here to arrest you; you must instantly fly. "

Hastings then got up, and taking Reilly's hand, said:

"Yes, Reilly, you must escape--disguise yourself--take all shapes--sinceyou will not leave the country; but there is one fact I wish to impressupon you: meddle not with--injure not--Sir Robert Whitecraft. Leave himto me. "

"Go out by the back way, " said Mr. Brown, "and fly into the fields, lestthey should surround the house and render escape impossible. God blessyou and preserve you from the violence of your enemies!"

It is unnecessary to relate what subsequently occurred. Mr. Brown'spremises, as he had anticipated, were completely surrounded ere theparty in search of Reilly had demanded admittance. The whole house wassearched from top to bottom, but, as usual, without success. SirRobert Whitecraft himself was not with them, but the party were all butintoxicated, and, were it not for the calm and unshrinking firmnessof Mr. Brown, would have been guilty of a very offensive degree ofinsolence. 

Reilly, in the meantime, did not pass far from the house. On thecontrary, he resolved to watch from a safe place the motions of thosewho were in pursuit of him. In order to do this more securely, hemounted into the branches of a magnificent oak tree that stood in thecentre of a field adjoining a kind of back lawn that stretched from thewalled garden of the parsonage. The fact is, that the clergyman's househad two hall-doors--one in front, and the other in the rear--and as therooms commanded a view of the scenery behind the house, which wasmuch finer than that in front, on this account the back hall-door wasnecessary, as it gave them a free and easy egress to the lawn we havementioned, from which a magnificent prospect was visible. 

It was obvious that the party, though unsuccessful, had been veryaccurately informed. Finding, however, that the bird had flown, severalof them galloped across the lawn--it was a cavalry party, having beensent out for speed and passed into the field where the tree grew inwhich Reilly was concealed. After a useless search, however, theyreturned, and pulled up their horses under the oak. 

"Well, " said one of them, "it's a dear case that the scoundrel can makehimself invisible. We have orders from Sir Eobert to shoot him, and toput the matter upon the principle of resistance against the law, onhis side. Sir Robert has been most credibly informed that that disloyalparson has concealed him in his house for nearly the last month. Nowwho could ever think of looking for a Popish rebel in the house of aProtestant parson? What the deuce is keeping those fellows? I hope theywon't go too far into the country. "

"Any man that says Mr. Brown is a disloyal parson is a liar, " said oneof them in a stem voice. 

"And I say, " said another, with a hiccough, "that, hang me, but I thinkthis same Reilly is as loyal a man as e'er a one amongst us. My name isGeorge Johnston, and I'm not ashamed of it; and the truth is, that onlyMiss Folliard fell in love with Reilly, and refused to marry Sir Robert, Reilly would have been a loyal man still, and no ill-will against him. But, by --- it was too bad to burn his house and place--and seewhether Sir Robert will come off the better of it. I myself am a goodProtestant--show me the man that will deny that, and I'll become hisschoolmaster only for five minutes. I do say, and I'll tell it to SirRobert's face, that there's something wrong somewhere. Give me a Papishthat breaks the law, let him be priest or layman, and I'm the boy thatwill take a grip of him if I can get him. But, confound me, if I like tobe sent out to hunt innocent, inoffensive Papishes, who commit no crimeexcept that of having property that chaps like Sir Robert have their eyeon. Now suppose the Papishes had the upper hand, and that they treatedus so, what would you say?"

"All I can say is, " replied another of them, "that I'd wish to get thereward. "

"Curse the reward, " said Johnston, "I like fair play. "

"But how did Sir Robert come to know?" asked another, "that Reilly waswith the parson'?"

"Who the deuce here can tell that?" replied several. 

"The thing was a hoax, " said Johnston, "and a cursed uncomfortable onefor us. But here comes these fellows, just as they went, it seems. Well, boys, no trail of this cunning fox?"

"Trail!" exclaimed the others. "Gad, you might as well hunt for yourgrandmother's needle in a bottle of straw. The truth is, the man'snot in the country, and whoever gave the information as to the parsonkeeping him was some enemy of the parson's more than of Reilly's, I'llgo bail. Come, now, let us go back, and give an account of our luck, andthen to our barracks. "

Now at this period it was usual for men who were prominent for rank andloyalty, and whose attachment to the Constitution and Government wasindicated by such acts and principles as those which we have hithertoread in the life of Sir Robert. Whitecraft--we say, it was usual forsuch as him to be allowed a small detachment of military, whose numberswere mostly rated, according to the services he required of them, by thezeal and activity of their employer, as well as for his protection;and, in order to their accommodation, some uninhabited house in theneighborhood was converted into a barrack for the purpose. Such was thecase in the instance of Sir Robert Whitecraft, who, independently ofhis zeal for the public good, was supposed to have an eye in thisdisposition of things, to his own personal Safety. He consequently, hadhis little barrack so closely adjoining his house that a notice of fiveminutes could at any time have its inmates at his premises, or in hispresence. 

After these men went away, Reilly, having waited a few minutes, until hewas satisfied that they had actually, one and all of them, disappeared, came down from the tree, and once more betook himself to the road. Whither to go he knew not. In consequence of having received hiseducation abroad, his personal knowledge of the inhabitants belongingto the neighborhood was very limited. Go somewhere, however, he must. Accordingly, he resolved to advance, at all events, as far as he mightbe able to travel before bed-time, and then resign himself to chancefor a night's shelter. One might imagine, indeed, that his position asa wealthy Roman Catholic gentleman, suffering persecution from the tooland scourge of a hostile government, might have calculated upon shelterand secrecy from those belonging to his own creed. And so, indeed, innineteen cases out of twenty he might; but in what predicament shouldhe find himself if the twentieth proved treacherous? And against this hehad no guarantee. That age was peculiarly marked by the foulest personalperfidy, precipitated into action by rapacity, ingratitude, and theblackest ambition. The son of a Roman Catholic gentleman, for instance, had nothing more to do than change his creed, attach himself to thegovernment, become a spy and informer on his family, and he ousted hisown father at once out of his hereditary property--an ungrateful andheinous proceeding, that was too common in the time of which we write. Then, as to the people themselves, they were, in general, steeped inpoverty and ignorance, and this is certainly not surprising whenwe consider that no man durst educate them. The government rewards, therefore, assailed them with a double temptation. In the first, theamount of it--taking their poverty into consideration--was calculatedto grapple with and overcome their scruples; and in the next, they werecertain by their treachery to secure the protection of government forthemselves. 

Such, exactly, was the state of the country on the night when Reillyfound himself a solitary traveller on the road, ignorant of his destiny, and uncertain where or in what quarter he might seek shelter untilmorning. 

He had not gone far when he overtook another traveller, with whom heentered into conversation. 

"God save you, my friend. "

"God save you kindly, sir, " replied the other; "was not this an awfulnight?"

"If you may say so, " returned Reilly unconsciously, and for the momentforgetting himself, "well may I, my friend. "

Indeed it is probable that Reilly was thrown somewhat off his guard bythe accent of his companion, from which he at once inferred that he wasa Catholic. 

"Why, sir, " replied the man, "how could it be more awful to you than toany other man?"

"Suppose my house was blown down, " said Reilly, "and that yours was not, would not that be cause sufficient?"

"_My_ house!" exclaimed the man with a deep sigh; "but sure you ought toknow, sir, that it's not every _man_ has a house. "

"And perhaps I do know it. "

"Wasn't that a terrible act, sir--the burning of Mr. Reilly's house andplace?"

"Who is Mr. Reilly?" asked the other. 

"A Catholic gintleman, sir, that the soldiers are afther, " replied theman. 

"And perhaps it is right that they should be after him. What did he do?The Catholics are too much in the habit of violating the law, especiallytheir priests, who persist in marrying Protestants and Papists together, although they know it is a hanging matter. If they deliberately puttheir necks into the noose, who can pity them?"

"It seems they do, then, " replied the man in a subdued voice; "and whatis still more strange, it very often happens that persons of their owncreed are somewhat too ready to come down wid a harsh word upon 'em. "

"Well, my friend, " responded Reilly, "let them not deserve it; let themobey the law. "

"And are _you_, of opinion, sir, " asked the man with a significantemphasis upon the personal pronoun which we have put in italics; "are_you_ of opinion, sir, that obedience to the law is _always_ a securityto either _person or property?_"

The direct force of the question could not be easily parried, at leastby Reilly, to whose circumstances it applied so powerfully, and heconsequently paused for a little to shape his thoughts into the languagehe wished to adopt; the man, however, proceeded:

"I wonder what Mr. Reilly would say if such a question was put to him?"

"I suppose, " replied Reilly, "he would say much as I say--that neitherinnocence nor obedience is always a security under any law or anyconstitution either. "

His companion made no reply, and they walked on for some time insilence. Such indeed was the precarious state of the country then that, although the stranger, from the opening words of their conversation, suspected his companion to be no other than Willy Reilly himself, yethe hesitated to avow the suspicions he entertained of his identity, although he felt anxious to repose the fullest confidence in him; andReilly, on the other hand, though perfectly aware of the true characterof his companion, was influenced in their conversation by a similarfeeling. Distrust it could not be termed on either side, but simply theoperation of that general caution which was generated by the state ofthe times, when it was extremely difficult to know the individual onwhom you could place dependence. Reilly's generous nature, however, could bear this miserable manoeuvring no longer. 

"Come, my friend, " said he, "we have been beating about the bush witheach other to no purpose; although I know not your name, yet I think Ido your profession. "

"And I would hold a wager, " replied other, "that Mr. Reilly, whose housewas burned down by a villain this night, is not a thousand miles fromme. "

"And suppose you are right?"

"Then, upon my veracity, you're safe, if I am. It would ill become mycloth and character to act dishonorably or contrary to the spirit of myreligion. 

 '_Non ignara mali miseris succurrere disco_. '

You see, Mr. Reilly, I couldn't make use of any other gender but thefeminine without violating prosody; for although I'm not so sharp atmy Latin as I was, still I couldn't use _ignarus_, as you see, withoutfairly committing myself as a scholar; and indeed, if I went to that, itwould surely be the first time I have been mistaken for a dunce. "

The honest priest, now that the ice was broken, and conscious that hewas in safe hands, fell at once into his easy and natural manner, andrattled away very much to the amusement of his companion. "Ah!" heproceeded, "many a character I have been forced to assume. "

"How is that?" inquired Reilly. "How did it happen that you were forcedinto such a variety of characters?"

"Why, you see, Mr. Reilly--troth and maybe I had better not be namingyou aloud; walls have ears, and so may hedges. How, you ask? Why, you see, I'm not registered, and consequently have no permission fromgovernment to exercise my functions. "

"Why, " said Reilly, "you labor under a mistake, my friend; the bill forregistering Catholic priests did not pass; it was lost by a majority oftwo. So far make your mind easy. The consequence is, that if you laborunder no ecclesiastical censure you may exercise all the functions ofyour office--that is, as well as you can, and as far as you dare. "

"Well, that same's a comfort, " said the priest; "but the report was, and is, that we are to be registered. However, be that as it may, I havebeen a perfect Proteus. The metamorphoses of Ovid were nothing to mine. I have represented every character in society at large; to-day I've beena farmer, and to-morrow a poor man (a mendicant), sometimes a fool--arare character, you know, in this world--and sometimes a tiddler, for Iplay a little. "

"And which character did you prefer among them all?" asked Reilly, witha smile which he could not repress. 

"Oh, in troth, you needn't ask that, Mr. R. --hem--you needn't ask that. The first morning I took to the fiddle I was about to give myself up togovernment at once. As for my part, I'd be ashamed to tell you how sentthose that were unlucky enough to ear my music scampering across thecountry. "

"And, pray, how long is that since?"

"Why, something better than three weeks, the Lord pity me!"

"And what description of dress did you wear on that occasion?" askedReilly. 

"Dress-why, then, an old yellow caubeen, a blue frieze coat, and--movrone, oh! a striped breeches. And the worst of it was, that bigPaddy Mullin, from Mullaghmore, having met me in old Darby Doyle's, poorman, where I went to take a little refreshment, ordered in something toeat, and began to make me play for him. There was a Protestant in thehouse, too, so that I couldn't tell him who I was, and I accordinglybegan, and soon cleared the house of them. God bless you, sir, you couldlittle dream of all I went through. I was one day set in the house I wasconcealed in, in the town of Ballyrogan, and only for the town fool, ArtM'Kenna, I suppose I'd have swung before this. "

"How was that?" asked Reilly. 

"Why, sir, one day I got the hard word that they would be into the housewhere I was in a few minutes. To escape them in my own dress I knew wasimpossible; and what was to be done? The poor fool, who was as true assteel, came to my relief. 'Here, ' said he, 'exchange wid me. I'll put onyour black clothes, and you'll put on my red ones'--he was dressed likean old soldier--'then I'll take to my scrapers, an' while they are inpursuit of me you can escape to some friend's house, where you may getanother dress. 'God knows, ' said he, with a grin on him I didn't like, 'it's a poor exchange on my part. You can play the fool, and cock yourcap, without any one to ask you for authority, ' says he, 'and if I onlymarry a wrong couple I may be hanged. Go off now. ' Well, sir, out Iwalked, dressed in a red coat, military hat, white knee-breeches, andblack leggings. As I was going out I met the soldiers. 'Is the priestinside, Art?' they asked. I pointed in a wrong direction. 'Up byKilclay?' I nodded. They first searched the house, however, but foundneither priest nor fool; only one of them, something sharper than therest, went out of the back door, and saw unfortunate Art, dressed inblack, running for the bare life. Of course they thought it was me theyhad. Off they started; and a tolerable chase Art put them to. At lasthe was caught, after a run across the country of about four miles;but ne'er a word came out of his lips, till a keen fellow, on lookingclosely at him, discovered the mistake. Some of them were then going tokill the poor fool, but others interfered, and wouldn't allow him to betouched; and many of them laughed heartily when they saw Art turned intoa clergyman, as they said. Art, however, was no coward, and threatenedto read every man of them out from the altar. 'I'll exkimnicate everymother's son of you, ' said he. 'I'm a reverend clargy; and, by thecontents of my soger's cap, I'll close the mouths on your faces, so thata blessed pratie or a boult of fat bacon will never go down one ofyour villainous throats again; and then, ' he added, 'I'll sell you forscarecrows to the Pope o' Room, who wants a dozen or two of you to sweepout his palace. ' It was then, sir, that, while I was getting out of myred clothes, I was transformed again; but, indeed, the most of us are sonow, God help us!"

They had now arrived at a narrow part of the road, when the prieststood. 

"Mr. Reilly, " said he, "I am very tired; but, as it is, we must go ona couple of miles further, until we reach Glen Dhu, where I think I canpromise you a night's lodging, such as it will be. "

"I am easily satisfied, " replied his companion; "it would be a soft bedthat would win me to repose on this night, at least. "

"It will certainly be a rude and a rough one, " said the priest, "andthere will be few hearts there free from care, no more than yours, Mr. Reilly. Alas! that I should be obliged to say so in a Christiancountry. "

"You say you are fatigued, " said Reilly. "Take my arm; I am strongenough to yield you some support. "

The priest did so, and they proceeded at a slower pace, until they gotover the next two miles, when the priest stopped again. 

"I must rest a little, " said he, "although we are now within a hundredyards of our berth for the night. Do you know where you are?"

"Perfectly, " replied Reilly; "but, good mercy! sure there is neitherhouse nor home within two miles of us. We are in the moors, at the verymouth of Glen Dhu. '

"Yes, " replied his companion, "and I am glad we are here. "

The poor hunted priest felt himself, indeed, very much exhausted, somuch so that, if the termination of his journey had been at a muchlonger distance from thence, he would scarcely have been able to reachit. 

"God help our unhappy Church, " said he, "for she is suffering much; butstill she is suffering nobly, and with such Christian fortitude as willmake her days of trial and endurance the brightest in her annals. Allthat power and persecution can direct against us is put in force athousand ways; but we act under the consciousness that we have God andtruth on our side, and this gives us strength and courage to suffer. And if we fly, Mr. Reilly, and hide ourselves, it is not from any moralcowardice we do so. It certainly is not true courage to expose our liveswantonly and unnecessarily to the vengeance of our enemies. Read theOld Testament and history, and you will find how many good and piousmen have sought shelter in wildernesses and caves, as we have done. Thetruth is, we feel ourselves called upon, for the sake of our sufferingand neglected flocks, to remain in the country, and to afford them allthe consolation and religious support in our power, God help them. "

"I admire the justice of your sentiments, " replied Reilly, "and thespirit in which they are--expressed. Indeed I am of opinion that ifthose who foster and stimulate this detestable spirit of persecutionagainst you only knew how certainly and surely it defeats their purpose, by cementing your hearts and the hearts of your flocks together, theywould not, from principles even of worldly policy, persist in it. Theman who attempted to break down the arch by heaping additional weightupon it ultimately found that the greater the weight the stronger thearch, and so I trust it will be with us. "

"It would seem, " said the priest, "to be an attempt to exterminatethe religion of the people by depriving them of their pastors, andconsequently of their Church, in order to bring them to the impressionthat, upon the principle of any Church being better than no Church, theymay gradually be absorbed into Protestantism. This seems to be theirpolicy; but how can any policy, based upon such persecution, and sogrossly at variance with human liberty, ever succeed? As it is, we goout in the dead hours of the night, when even persecution is asleep, andadminister the consolations of religion to the sick, the dying, andthe destitute. Now these stolen visits are sweeter, perhaps, and moreefficacious, than if they took place in freedom and the open day. Again, we educate their children in the principles of their creed, during thesame lonely hours, in waste houses, where we are obliged to keep thewindows stuffed with straw, or covered with blinds of some sort, lesta chance of discovery might ensue. Such is the life we lead--a life ofwant and misery and suffering, but we complain not; on the contrary, wesubmit ourselves to the will of God, and receive this severe visitationas a chastisement intended for our good. "

The necessities of our narrative, however, compel us to leave them herefor the present; but not without a hope that they found shelter for thenight, as we trust we shall be able to show. 

CHAPTER IX. --A Prospect of Bygone Times

--Reilly's Adventure Continued--Reilly Gets a Bed in a CuriousEstablishment. 

We now beg our readers to accompany us to the library of Sir RobertWhitecraft, where that worthy gentleman sits, with a bottle ofMadeira before him; for Sir Robert, in addition to his many other goodqualities, possessed that of being a private drinker. The bottle, wesay, was before him, and with a smile of triumph and satisfaction on hisface, he arose and rang the bell. In a few minutes a liveried servantattended it. 

"Carson, send O'Donnel here. "

Carson bowed and retired, and in a few minutes the Red Rapparee entered. 

"How is this, O'Donnel? Have you thrown aside your uniform?"

"I didn't think I'd be called out on duty again to-night, sir. "

"It doesn't matter, O'Donnel--it doesn't matter. What do you think ofthe bonfire?"

"Begad, it was a beauty, sir, and well managed. "

"Ay, but I am afraid, O'Donnel, I went a little too far--that Istretched my authority somewhat. "

"But isn't he a rebel and an outlaw, Sir Robert? and in that case--"

"Yes, O'Donnel; and a rebel and an outlaw of my own making, which is thebest of it. The fellow might have lain there, concocting his treason, long enough, only for my vigilance. However, it's all right. Thegovernment, to which I have rendered such important services, will standby me, and fetch me out of the burning--that is, if there has been anytransgression of the law in it. The Papists are privately recruiting forthe French service, and that is felony; Reilly also was recruiting forthe French service--was he not?"

"He offered me a commission, sir. "

"Very good; that's all right, but can you prove that?"

"Why, I can swear it, Sir Robert. "

"Better still. But do you think he is in the country, O'Donnel?"

"I would rather swear he is, sir, than that he is not. He won't lave heraisily. "

"Who do you mean by her, sir?"

"I would rather not name her, your honor, in connection with thevagabond. "

"That's delicate of you, O'Donnel; I highly approve of your sentiment. Here, have a glass of wine. "

"Thank you, Sir Robert; but have you any brandy, sir? My tongue is asdry as a stick, wid that glorious bonfire we had; but, besides, sir, Iwish to drink success to you in all your undertakings. A happy marriage, sir!" and he accompanied the words with a ferocious grin. 

"You shall have one glass of brandy, O'Donnel, but no more. I wish youto deliver a letter for me to-night. It is to the sheriff, who dineswith Lord ------, a friend of mine; and I wish you to deliver it at hislordship's house, where you will be sure to find him. The letter is ofthe greatest importance, and you will take care to deliver it safely. Noanswer by you is required. He was out to-day, levying fines from Popishpriests, and a heavy one from the Popish bishop, and I do not think, with a large sum of money about him, that he will go home to-night. Here is the letter. I expect he will call on me in the morning, tobreakfast--at least I have asked him, for we have very serious businessto discuss. "

The Rapparee took the letter, finished his glass of brandy, anddisappeared to fulfil his commission. 

Now it so happened that on that very evening, before the premises hadbeen set on fire, Mary Mahon, by O'Donnel's order, had entered thehouse, and under, as it were, the protection of the military, gatheredup as much of Reilly's clothes and linen as she could conveniently carryto her cottage, which was in the immediate vicinity of Whitecraft'sresidence--it being the interest of this hypocritical voluptuary to havethe corrupt wretch near him. The Rapparee, having left Whitecraft to hisreflections, immediately directed his steps to her house, and, with herconnivance, changed the dress he had on for one which she had taken fromReilly's wardrobe. He then went to the house of the nobleman where thesheriff was dining, but arrived only in time to hear that he was aboutto take horse on his return home. On seeing him preparing to mount, bearing a lantern in his hand, as the night was dark and the roadsbad, he instantly changed his purpose as to the letter, and came to theresolution of not delivering it at all. 

"I can easily say, " thought he, "that the sheriff had gone home beforeI came, and that will be a very sufficient excuse. In the meantime, " headded, "I will cross the country and be out on the road before him. "

The sheriff was not unarmed, however, and felt himself tolerably wellprepared for any attack that might be made on him; and, besides, he wasno coward. After a ride of about two miles he found himself stopped, andalmost at the same instant the lantern that he carried was knocked outof his hand and extinguished, but not until he caught a faint glimpseof the robber's person, who, from his dress, appeared to be a man muchabove the common class. Quick as lightning he pulled out one of hispistols, and, cocking it, held himself in readiness. The night was dark, and this preparation for self-defence was unknown to his assailant. Onfeeling the reins of his horse's bridle in the hands of the robber, hesnapped the pistol at his head, but alas! it only flashed in the pan. The robber, on the other hand, did not seem anxious to take his life, for it was a principle among the Rapparees to shed, while exercisingtheir rapacious functions, as little blood as possible. They havefrequently taken life from a feeling of private vengeance, but not oftenwhile robbing on the king's highway. The sheriff, now finding that onepistol had missed, was about to draw out the second, when he was knockedinsensible off his horse, and on recovering found himself minus thefines which he had that day levied--all the private cash about him--andhis case of pistols. This indeed was a bitter incident to him; because, in addition to the loss of his private purse and firearms--which hevalued as nothing--he knew that he was responsible to government for theamount of the fines. 

With considerable difficulty he was able to remount his horse, and witha sense of stupor, which was very painful, he recommenced his journeyhome. After a ride of about two miles he met three horsemen, whoimmediately challenged him and demanded his name and residence. 

"I am the sheriff of the county, " he replied, "and have been robbed ofa large sum of money and my pistols; and now, " he added, "may I begto know who you are, and by what authority you demand my name andresidence?"

"Excuse us, Mr. Sheriff, " they replied; "we belong to the militarydetachment which government has placed under the control of Sir RobertWhitecraft. "

"Oh, indeed, " exclaimed the sheriff; "I wish to heaven you had been alittle more advanced on your journey; you might have saved me from beingplundered, as I have been, and probably secured the robber. "

"Could you observe, sir, what was the villain's appearance?"

"I had a small lantern, " replied the functionary, "by which I caught abrief but uncertain glance of him. I am not quite certain that I couldrecognize his features, though, if I saw him again--but--perhaps Imight, certainly I could his dress. "

"How was he dressed, sir?" they inquired. 

"Quite beyond the common, " said the sheriff; "I think he had on a browncoat, of superior cloth and make, and I think, too, the buckles of hisslices were silver. "

"And his features, Mr. Sheriff?"

"I cannot exactly say, " he returned; "I was too much agitated to be ableto recollect them; but indeed the dim glimpse I got was too briefto afford me an opportunity of seeing them with any thing likedistinctness. "

"From the description you have given, sir, " said one of them, "the manwho robbed you must have been Reilly the Outlaw. That is the very dresshe has been in the habit of wearing. Was he tall, sir, and stout inperson?"

"He was a very large man, certainly, " replied the sheriff; "and I regretI did not see his face more distinctly. "

"It can be no other, Mr. Sheriff, " observed the man; "the fellow has nomeans of living now, unless by levying contributions on the road. For mypart, I think the scoundrel can make himself invisible; but it must gohard with us or we will secure him yet. Would you wish an escort home, Mr. Sheriff? because, if you do, we shall accompany you. "

"No, " replied the other, "I thank you. I would not have ventured homeunattended if the Red Rapparee had still been at his vocation, and hisgang undispersed; but as he is now on the safe side, I apprehend nodanger. "

"It's not at all impossible but Reilly may step into his shoes, " saidthe cavalryman. 

"I have now neither money nor arms, " continued the sheriff; "nothing thevillain robbers could covet, and what, then, have I to fear?"

"You have a life, sir, " observed the man respectfully, "and if you'llallow me to say it--the life of a man who is not very well liked in thecountry, in consequence of certain duties you are obliged to perform. Come, then, sir, we shall see you home. "

It was so arranged, and the sheriff reached his own residence, undertheir escort, with perfect safety. 

This indeed was a night of adventure to Reilly--hunted, as he was, likea beast of prey. After what had taken place already in the early portionof it, he apprehended no further pursuit, and in this respect he felthis mind comparatively at ease--for, in addition to any other convictionof his safety, he knew that the night was far advanced, and as thecountry was unsettled, he was not ignorant that the small militaryparties that were in the habit of scouring the country generally--unlesswhen in the execution of some express duty--retired to their quartersat an early hour, in order to avoid the severe retaliations which werefrequently made upon them by the infuriated peasantry whom they--orrather the government which employed them--had almost driven to madness, and--would have driven to insurrection had the people possessed themeans of rising. As it was, however, he dreaded no further pursuit thisnight, for the reasons which we have stated. 

In the meantime the sheriff, feeling obliged by the civility of thethree dragoons, gave them refreshments on a very liberal scale, ofwhich--rather exhausted as they were--they made a very liberal use. Feeling themselves now considerably stimulated by liquor, they mountedtheir horses and proceeded towards their barracks--at a quick pace. Inconsequence of the locality in which the sheriff lived, it was necessarythat they should travel in a direction opposite to that by which Reillyand the priest were going. At all events, after riding a couple ofmiles, they overtook three infantry soldiers who were also on their wayto quarters. The blood, however, of the troopers was up--thanks to thesheriff; they mentioned the robbery, and requested the three infantry toprecede them as an advanced guard, as quietly as possible, statingthat there might still be a chance of coming across the villain who hadplundered the sheriff, intimating their impression, at the same time, that Reilly was the man, and adding that if they could secure him theirfortune was made. As has always been usual in executing cases, of thelaw attended with peculiar difficulty, these men--the infantry--likeour present detectives, had gone out that night in colored clothes. Onperceiving two individuals approaching them in the dim distance, theyimmediately threw their guns into the ditch, lest they should put ourfriends upon their guard and cause them to escape if they could. Reillycould have readily done so; but having, only a few minutes before heardfrom the poor old priest that he had, for some months past, been brandedand pursued us a felon, he could not think of abandoning him now thathe was feeble and jaded with fatigue as well as with age. Now it sohappened that one of these fellows had been a Roman Catholic, and havingcommitted some breach of the law, found it as safe as it was convenientto change his creed, and as he spoke the Irish language fluently--indeedthere were scarcely any other then spoken by the peasantry--he commencedclipping his hands on seeing the two men, and expressing the deepestsorrow for the loss of his wife, from whose funeral, it appeared fromhis lamentations, he was then returning. 

"We have nothing to apprehend, here, " said Reilly; "this poor fellow isin sorrow, it seems--God help him! Let us proceed. "

"Oh!" exclaimed the treacherous villain, clapping his hands--[wetranslate his words]--"Oh, Yeeah. Yeeah! (God, God!) what a bitther lossyou'll be, my darlin' Madge, to me and your orphan childher, now and forevermore! Oh, where was there sich a wife, neighbors? who ever heardher harsh word, or her loud voice? And from mornin' till night ever, everbusy in keepin' every thing tight and clane and regular! Let me alone, will yez? I'll go back and sleep upon her grave this night--so Iwill; and if all the blasted sogers in Ireland--may sweet bad luckto them!--were to come to prevent me, I'd not allow them. Oh, Madge, darlin', but I'm the lonely and heartbroken man widout you this night!"

"Come, come, " said the priest, "have firmness, poor man; other peoplehave these calamities to bear as well as yourself. Be a man. "

"Oh, are you a priest, sir? bekase if you are I want consolation if evera sorrowful man did. "

"I am a priest, " replied the unsuspecting I man, "and any thing I can doto calm your mind, I'll do it. "

He had scarcely uttered these words when! Reilly felt his two armsstrongly pinioned, and as the men who had seized him were | powerful, the struggle between him and them was dreadful. The poor priest at thesame moment found himself also a prisoner in the hands of the bereavedwidower, to whom he proved an easy victim, as he was incapable of makingresistance, which, indeed, he declined to attempt. If he did not possessbodily strength, however, he was not without presence of mind. Forwhilst Reilly and his captors were engaged in a fierce and powerfulconflict, he placed his fore-finger and thumb in his mouth, from whichproceeded a whistle so piercingly loud and shrill that it awoke themidnight echoes around them. 

[Illustration: PAGE 65--Dashed up to the scene of struggle]

This was considered by the dragoons as a signal from their friends inadvance, and, without the loss of a moment, they set spurs to theirhorses, and dashed up to the scene of struggle, just as Reilly had gothis right arm extricated, and knocked one of his captors down. In aninstant, however, the three dragoons, aided by the other men, were uponhim, and not less than three cavalry pistols were levelled at his head. Unfortunately, at this moment the moon began to rise, and the dragoons, on looking at him more closely, observed that he was dressed preciselyas the sheriff had described the person who robbed him--the brown coat, light-colored breeches, and silver buckles--for indeed this was hisusual dress. 

"You are Willy Reilly, " said the man who had been spokesman in theirinterview with the sheriff: "you needn't deny it, sir--I know you!"

"If you know me, then, " replied Reilly, "where is the necessity forasking my name?"

"I ask again, sir, what is your name? If you be the man I suspect you tobe, you will deny it. "

"My name, " replied the other, "is William Reilly, and as I am consciousof no crime against society--of no offence against the State--I shallnot deny it. "

"I knew I was right, " said the dragoon. "Mr. Reilly, you are ourprisoner on many charges, not the least of which is your robbery of thesheriff this night. You must come with us to Sir Robert Whitecraft; somust this other person who seems your companion. "

"Not a foot I'll go to Sir Eobert Whitecraft's to-night, " replied thepriest. "I have made my mind up against such a stretch at such an houras this; and, with the help of God, I'll stick to my resolution. "

"Why do you refuse to go?" asked the man, a good deal surprised at suchlanguage. 

"Just for a reason I have: as for that fellow being Willy Reilly, he'sno more Willy Reilly than I am; whatever he is, however, he's a good manand true, but must be guided by wiser heads than his own; and I nowtell him--ay, and you too--that he won't see Sir Robert Whitecraft'streacherous face to-night, no more than myself. "

"Come, " said one of them, "drag the idolatrous old rebel along. Come, myold couple-beggar, there's a noose before you. "

He had scarcely uttered the words when twenty men, armed with strongpikes, jumped out on the road before them, and about the same number, with similar weapons, behind them. In fact, they were completely hemmedin; and, as the road was narrow and the ditches high, they were not atall in a capacity to make resistance. 

"Surrender your prisoners, " said a huge man in a voice ofthunder--"surrender your prisoners--here are we ten to one against you;or if you don't, I swear there won't be a living man amongst you in twominutes' time. Mark us well--we are every man of us armed--and I willnot ask you a second time. "

As to numbers and weapons the man spoke truth, and the military partysaw at once that their prisoners must be given up. 

"Let us have full revenge on them now, boys, " exclaimed several voices;"down with the tyrannical villains that are parse-cuting and murdherin'the country out of a face. This night closes their black work;" andas the words were uttered, the military felt themselves environed andpressed in upon by upwards of five-and-twenty sharp and bristling pikes. 

"It is true, you may murder us, " replied the dragoon; "but we aresoldiers, and to die is a soldier's duty. Stand back, " said he, "for, byall that's sacred, if you approach another step, William Reilly and thatrebel priest will fall dead at your feet. We may die then; but we willsell our lives dearly. Cover the priest, Robinson. "

[Illustration: PAGE 65a--I entreat you, to show these men mercy now]

"Boys, " said the priest, addressing the insurgent party, "hold back, forGod's sake, and for mine. Remember that these men are only doing theirduty, and that whoever is to be blamed, it is not they--no, but thewicked men and cruel laws that set them upon us. Why, now, if these;men, out of compassion and a feeling of kindness to poor persecutedcreatures, as we are, took it into their heads or their hearts to letthat man and me off, they would have been, probably, treated like dogsfor neglecting their duty. I am, as you know, a minister of God, and aman of peace, whose duty it is to prevent bloodshed whenever I can, and save human life, whether it is that of a Catholic or a Protestant. Recollect, my friends, that you will, every one of you, have to standbefore the judgment throne of God to seek for mercy and salvation. Asyou hope for that mercy, then, at the moment of your utmost need, Iimplore, I entreat you, to show these men mercy now, and allow them togo their way in safety. "

"I agree with every word the priest has said, " added Reilly; "not fromany apprehension of the threat held out against myself, but from, Itrust, a higher principle. Here are only six men, who, as his Reverencejustly said, are, after all, only in the discharge of their public duty. On the other hand, there are at least forty or fifty of you againstthem. Now I appeal to yourselves, whether it would be a manly, orgenerous, or Christian act, to slaughter so poor a handful of men by theforce of numbers. No: there would be neither credit nor honor in such anact. I assure you, my friends, it would disgrace your common name, your common credit, and your common country. Nay, it would seem likecowardice, and only give a handle to your enemies to tax you with it. But I know you are not cowards, but brave and generous men, whose heartsand spirits are above a mean action. If you were cowardly butchers, Iknow we might speak to you in vain; but we know you are incapableof imbruing your hands, and steeping your souls, in the guilt ofunresisting blood--for so I may term it--where there are so few againstso many. My friends, go home, then, in the name of God, and, as thisreverend gentleman said, allow these men to pass their way 'withoutinjury. '"

"But who are you?" said their huge leader, in his terrible voice, "whopresumes to lecture us?"

"I am one, " replied Reilly, "who has suffered more deeply, probably, than any man here. I am without house or home, proscribed by thevengeance of a villain--a villain who has left me without a shelterfor my head--who, this night, has reduced my habitation, and all thatappertained to it, to a heap of ashes--who is on my trail, night andday, and who will be on my trail, in order to glut his vengeance with myblood. Now, my friends, listen--I take God to witness, that if thatman were here at this moment, I would plead for his life with as muchearnestness as I do for those of the men who are here at your mercy. I feel that it would be cowardly and inhuman to take it under suchcircumstances; yes, and unworthy of the name of William Reilly. Now, " headded, "these men will pass safely to their quarters. "

As they were about to resume their journey, the person who seemed tohave the command of the military said:

"Mr. Reilly, one word with you: I feel that you have saved our lives;I may requite you for that, generous act yet;" and he pressed his handwarmly as he spoke, after which they proceeded on their way. 

That the person of Reilly was not recognized by any of these men isaccounted for by a well-known custom, peculiar to such meetings, boththen and now. The individuals before and around him were all strangers, from distant parts of the country; for whenever an outrage is to becommitted, or a nocturnal drilling to take place, the peasantry startacross the country, in twos and threes, until they quietly reach somelonely and remote spot, where their persons are not known. 

No sooner had he mentioned his name, however, than there arose apeculiar murmur among the insurgents--such a murmur indeed as it wasdifficult to understand; there was also a rapid consultation in Irish, which was closed by a general determination to restrain their vengeancefor that night, at least, and for the sake of the celebrated youngmartyr--for as such they looked upon him--to allow the military to passon without injury. Reilly then addressed them in Irish, and thankedthem, both in his own name and that of the priest, for the respectevinced by, their observation of the advice they had given them. Thepriest also addressed them in Irish, aware, as he was, that one sentencein that language, especially from a person in a superior rank oflife, carries more weight than a whole oration in the language of theSassenagh. The poor old man's mind was once more at ease, and afterthese rough, but not intractable, men had given three cheers for "bouldWilly Reilly, " three more for the _Cooleen Bawn_, not forgetting thepriest, the latter, while returning thanks, had them in convulsions oflaughter. "May I never do harm, " proceeded his reverence humorously, "but the first Christian duty that every true Catholic ought to learn isto whistle on his fingers. The moment ever your children, boys, are ableto give a squall, clap their forefinger and thumb in their mouth, andleave the rest to nature. Let them talk of their spinnet and sinnet, their fiddle and their diddle, their dancing and their prancing, butthere is no genteel accomplishment able to be compared to a rousingwhistle on the fingers. See what it did for us to-night. My soul toglory, but only for it, Mr. Reilly and I would have soon taken a journeywith our heels foremost; and, what is worse, the villains would haveforced us to take a bird's-eye view of our own funeral from the threesticks, meaning the two that stand up, and the third that goes acrossthem (The gallows). However, God's good, and, after all, boys, you seethere is nothing like an accomplished education. As to the soldiers, Idon't think myself that they'll recover the bit of fright they got untilthe new potatoes come in. Troth, while you were gathering in about them, I felt that the unfortunate vagabonds were to be pitied; but, Lord helpus, when men are in trouble--especially in fear of their lives--andwith twelve inches of sharp iron near their breasts, it's wonderful whateffect fear will have on them. Troth, I wasn't far from feeling the samething myself, only I knew there was relief at hand; at all events, it'swell you kept your hands off them, for now, thank goodness, you can stephome without the guilt of murder on your souls. "

Father Maguire, for such was his name, possessed the art of adapting hislanguage and dialect to those whom he addressed, it mattered not whetherthey were South, West, or North; he was, in fact, a priest who hadnever been in any college, but received ordination in consequence ofthe severity of the laws, whose operation, by banishing so many of thatclass from the country, rendered the services of such men indispensableto the spiritual wants of the people. Father Maguire, previous tohis receiving holy orders, had been a schoolmaster, and exercisedhis functions on that capacity in holes and corners; sometimes on thesheltery or sunny side of a hedge, as the case might be, and on otheroccasions when and where he could. In his magisterial capacity, "theaccomplishment" of whistling was absolutely necessary to him, because itoften happened that in stealing in the morning from his retreat duringthe preceding night, he knew no more where to meet his little flock ofscholars than they did where to meet him, the truth being that he seldomfound it safe to teach two days successively in the same place. Havingselected the locality for instruction during the day, he put hisforefinger and thumb into his mouth, and emitted a whistle that wentover half the country. Having thus given the signal three times, hisscholars began gradually and cautiously to make their appearance, radiating towards him from all-directions, reminding one of a hen ina farm-yard, who, having fallen upon some wholesome crumbs, she uttersthat peculiar sound which immediately collects her eager little flockabout her, in order to dispense among them the good things she has togive. Poor Father Maguire was simplicity itself, for, although cheerful, and a good deal of a humorist, yet he was pious, inoffensive, andcharitable. True, it is not to be imagined that he could avoid bearing avery strong feeling of enmity against the Establishment, as, indeed, we do not see, so long as human nature is what it is, how he could havedone otherwise; he hated it, however, in the aggregate, not in detail, for the truth is, that he received shelter and protection nearly asoften from the Protestants themselves, both lay and clerical, as hedid from those of his own creed. The poor man's crime against theState proceeded naturally from the simplicity of his character and thegoodness of his heart. A Protestant peasant had seduced a Catholic youngwoman of considerable attractions, and was prevailed upon to marry her, in order to legitimize the infant which she was about to bear. Our poorpriest, anxious to do as much good, and to prevent as much evil as hecould, was prevailed upon to perform the ceremony, contrary to the lawin that case made and provided. Ever since that, the poor man had beenupon his keeping like a felon, as the law had made him; but so wellknown were his harmless life, his goodness of heart, and his generalbenevolence of disposition--for, alas! he was incapable of beingbenevolent in any practical sense--that, unless among the bigotedofficials of the day, there existed no very strong disposition to handhim over to the clutches of the terrible statute which he had, good easyman, been prevailed on to violate. 

In the meantime, the formidable body who had saved Reilly's life and hisown dispersed, or disappeared at least; but not until they hadshaken hands most cordially with Reilly and the priest, who now foundthemselves much in the same position in which they stood previous totheir surprise and arrest. 

"Now, " said Reilly, "the question is, what are we to do? where are we togo? and next, how did you come to know of the existence in this preciselocality of such a body of men?"

"Because I have set my face against such meetings, " replied the priest. "One of those who was engaged to be present happened to mention the factto me as a clergyman, but you know that, as a clergyman, I can proceedno further. "

"I understand, " said Reilly, "I perfectly understand you. It is notnecessary. And now let me say--"

"Always trust in God, my friend, " replied the priest, in an accent quitedifferent from that which he had used to the peasantry. "I told you, not long ago, that you would have, a bed to-night: follow me, and Iwill lead you to a crypt of nature's own making, which, was not known tomortal man three months ago, and which is now known only to those whoseinterest it is to keep the knowledge of it silent as the grave. "

They then proceeded, and soon came to a gap or opening on the left-handside of the road through which they passed, the priest leading. Nextthey found themselves in a wild gully or ravine that was both deep andnarrow. This they crossed, and arrived at a ledge of precipitous rocks, most of which were overhung to the very ground with long luxuriantheather. The priest went along this until he came to one particularspot, when he stooped, and observed a particular round stone beddednaturally in the earth. 

"God-blessed be his name--has made nothing in vain, " he whispered; "Imust go foremost, but do as I do. " He then raised up the long heath, and entered a low, narrow fissure in the rocks, Reilly following himclosely. The entrance was indeed so narrow that it was capable ofadmitting but one man at a time, and even that by his working himselfin upon his knees and elbows. In this manner they advanced in utterdarkness for about thirty yards, when they reached a second opening, about three feet high, which bore some resemblance to a Gothic arch. This also it was necessary to enter consecutively. Having passed thisthey were able to proceed upon their legs, still stooping, however, until, as they got onwards, they found themselves able to walk erect. A third and larger opening, however, was still before them, over whichhung a large thick winnow-cloth. 

"Now, " said the priest, "leave every thing to me. If we were to put ourheads in rashly here we might get a pair of bullets through them thatwould have as little mercy on us as those of the troopers, had we gotthem. No clergyman here, or anywhere else, ever carries firearms, butthere are laymen inside who are not bound by our regulations. The onlyarms we are allowed to carry are the truths of our religion and theintegrity of our lives. "

He then advanced a step or two, and shook the winnow-cloth three times, when a deep voice from behind it asked, "_Quis venit?_"

"_Introibo ad altare Dei, _" replied the priest, who had no sooneruttered the words than the cloth was partially removed, and a voiceexclaimed, "_Benedicite, dilecte frater; beatus qui venit in nomineDomini el sacrosanctae Ecclesiae_. "

Reilly and his companion then entered the cave, which they had no soonerdone than the former was seized with a degree of wonder, astonishment, and awe, such as he had never experienced in his life before. The wholecavern was one flashing scene of light and beauty, and reminded him ofthe gorgeous descriptions that were to be found in Arabian literature, or the brilliancy of the fairy palaces as he had heard of them in themellow legends of his own country. From the roof depended gorgeous andimmense stalactites, some of them reaching half way to the earth, andothers of them resting upon the earth itself. Several torches, composedof dried bog fir, threw their strong light among them with such effectthat the eye became not only dazzled but fatigued and overcome by theradiance of a scene so unusual. In fact, the whole scene appeared to beout of, or beyond, nature. There were about fifteen individuals present, most of them in odd and peculiar disguises, which gave them a grotesqueand supernatural appearance, as they passed about with their strongtorches--some bright and some flashing red; and as the light of eitherone or other fell upon the stalactites, giving them a hue of singularbrilliancy or deep purple, Reilly could not utter a word. The costumesof the individuals about him were so strange and varied that he knew notwhat to think. Some were in the dress of clergymen, others in thatof ill-clad peasants, and nearly one-third-of them in the garb ofmendicants, who, from their careworn faces, appeared to have sufferedseverely from the persecution of the times. In a few minutes, however, about half a dozen diminutive beings made their appearance, busied, asfar as he could guess, in employments, which his amazement at thewhole spectacle, unprepared as he was for it, prevented him fromunderstanding. If he had been a man of weak or superstitious mind, unacquainted with life and the world, it is impossible to say what hemight have imagined. Independently of this--strong-minded as he was--theimpression made upon him by the elf-like sprites that ran about sobusily, almost induced him, for a few moments, to surrender to theillusion that he stood among individuals who had little or nonatural connection with man or the external world which he inhabited. Reflection, however, and the state of the country, came to his aid, andhe reasonably inferred that the cavern in which he stood was a place ofconcealment for those unfortunate individuals who, like himself, felt itnecessary to evade the vengeance of the laws. 

Whilst Reilly was absorbed in the novelty and excitement of thisstrange and all but supernatural spectacle, the priest held a shortconversation, at some distance from him, with the strange figures whichhad surprised him so much. Whenever he felt himself enabled to take hiseyes from the splendor and magnificence of all he saw around him, to follow the motions of Father Maguire, he could observe that thatgentleman, from the peculiar vehemence of his attitudes and the evidentrapidity of his language, had made either himself or his presence therethe topic of very earnest discussion. In fact it appeared to him thatthe priest, from whatever cause, appeared to be rather hard set todefend him and to justify his presence among them. A tall, stern-lookingman, with a lofty forehead and pale ascetic features--from which all thegenial impulses of humanity, that had once characterized them, seemed almost to have been banished by the spirit of relentlesspersecution--appeared to bear hard upon him, whatever the charge mightbe, and by the severity of his manner and the solemn but unyieldingemphasis of his attitudes, he seemed to have wrought himself into astate of deep indignation. But as it is better that our readers shouldbe made acquainted with the topic of their discussion, rather than theirattitudes, we think it necessary to commence it in a new chapter. 

CHAPTER X. --Scenes that took place in the Mountain Cave

"I will not hear your apology, brother, " said the tall man with thestern voice; "your conduct, knowing our position, and the state of thisunhappy and persecuted country, is not only indiscreet, but foolish, indefensible, mad. Here is a young man attached--may God pardon him--tothe daughter of one of the most persecuting heretics in the kingdom. She is beautiful, by every report that we have heard of her, even as anangel; but reflect that she is an heiress--the inheritress of immenseproperty--and that, as a matter of course, the temptations are athousand to one against him. He will yield, I tell you, to the hereticsyren; and as a passport to her father's favor and her affection, hewill, like too many of his class, abandon the faith of his ancestors, and become an apostate, for the sake of wealth and sensual affection. "

"I question, my lord, " replied the priest, "whether it is consistentwith Christian charity to impute motives of such heinous guilt, when weare not in a condition to bear out our suspicions. The character of thisyoung gentleman as a Catholic is firm and faithful, and I will stake mylife upon his truth and attachment to our Church. "

"You know him not, father, " replied the bishop, for such he was; "I tellyou, and I speak from better information than you possess, that he isalready suspected. What has been his conduct? He has associated himselfmore with Protestants than with those of his own Church; he has dinedwith them, partaken of their hospitality, joined in there amusements, slept in their houses, and been with them as a familiar friend and booncompanion. I see, father, what the result will necessarily be; first, anapostate--next, an informer--and, lastly, a persecutor; and all for thesake of wealth and the seductive charms of a rich heiress. I say, then, that deep in this cold cavern shall be his grave, rather than have anopportunity of betraying the shepherds of Christ's persecuted flock, andof hunting them into the caverns of the earth like beasts of prey. Ourretreat here is known only to those who, for the sake of truth and theirown lives, will never disclose the knowledge of it, bound as theyare, in addition to this, by an oath of the deepest and most dreadfulsolemnity--an oath the violation of which would constitute a fearfulsacrilege in the eye of God. As for these orphans, whose parents werevictims to the cruel laws that are grinding us, I have so trained andindoctrinated them into a knowledge of their creed, and a sense oftheir duty, that they are thoroughly trustworthy. On this very day Iadministered to them the sacrament of confirmation. No, brother, wecannot sacrifice the interests and welfare of our holy Church to thesafety of a single life--to the safety of a person who I foresee will becertain to betray us. "

"My lord, " replied the priest, "I humbly admit your authority andsuperior sanctity, for in what does your precious life fall short ofmartyrdom but by one step to the elevation which leads to glory? I meanthe surrendering of that life for the true faith. I feel, my lord, thatin your presence I am nothing; still, in our holy Church there is thehumble as well as the exalted, and your lordship will admit that thegradations of piety, and the dispensations of the higher and the lowergifts, proceed not only from the wisdom of God but from the necessitiesof man. "

"I do not properly understand you, father, " said the bishop in a voicewhose stern tones were mingled with something like contempt. 

"I beg your lordship to hear me, " proceeded Father Maguire. "You saythat Reilly has associated more frequently with Protestants than he haswith persons of our own religion. That may be true, and I grant that itis so; but, my lord, are you aware that he has exercised the influencewhich he has possessed over them for the protection and advantage andsafety of his Catholic friends and neighbors, to the very utmost of hisability, and frequently with success?"

"Yes; they obliged him because they calculated upon his accession totheir creed and principles. "

"My lord, " replied the priest with firmness, "I am an humble butindependent man; if humanity and generosity, exercised as I have seenthem this night, guided and directed by the spirit of peace, and of theword of God itself, can afford your lordship a guarantee of the high andChristian principles by which this young man's heart is actuated, then Imay with confidence recommend him to your clemency. "

"What would you say?" asked the bishop. 

"My lord, he was the principal means of saving the lives of sixProtestants-heretics, I mean--from being cut off in their iniquities andsins this night. "

"How do you mean?" replied the stern bishop; "explain yourself!"

The good priest then gave a succinct account of the circumstances withwhich the reader is already acquainted; and, after having finished hisbrief narrative, the unfortunate man perceived that, instead of havingrendered Reilly a service, he had strengthened the suspicions of theprelate against him. 

"So!" said the bishop, "you advance the history of this dastardlyconduct as an argument in his favor!"

As he uttered these words, his eyes, which had actually becomebloodshot, blazed again; his breath went and came strongly, and heground his teeth with rage. 

Father Maguire, and those who were present, looked at each other witheyes in which might be read an expression of deep sorrow and compassion. At length a mild-looking, pale-faced man, with a clear, benignant eye, approached him, and laying his hand in a gentle manner upon his arm, said, "Pray, my dear lord, let me entreat your lordship to remember theprecepts of our great Master: 'Love your enemies; bless them that curseyou; do good to them that hate you, and pray for them that despitefullyuse you, and persecute you. ' And surely, my lord, no one knows betterthan you do that this is the spirit of our religion, and that wheneverit is violated the fault is not that of the creed, but the man. "

"Under any circumstances, " said the bishop, declining to reply to this, and placing his open hand across his forehead, as if he felt confusionor pain--"under any circumstances, this person must take the oath ofsecrecy with respect to the existence of this cave. Call him up. "

Reilly, as we have said, saw at once that an angry discussion had takenplace, and felt all but certain that he was himself involved in it. Thepriest, in obedience to the wish expressed by the bishop, went down towhere he stood, and whispering to him, said:

"Salvation to me, but I had a hard battle for you. I fought, however, like a trump. The strange, and--ahem--kind of man you are called upon tomeet now is one of our bishops--but don't you pretend to know that--hehas heard of your love for the _Cooleen Bawn_, and of her love foryou--be easy now--not a thing it will be but the meeting of twothunderbolts between you--and he's afraid you'll be deluded by hercharms--turn apostate on our hands--and that the first thing you'relikely to do, when you get out of this subterranean palace of ours, willbe to betray its existence to the heretics. I have now put you on yourguard, so keep a sharp lookout; be mild as mother's milk. But if you 'mylord' him, I'm dished as a traitor beyond redemption. "

Now, if the simple-hearted priest had been tempted by the enemy himselfto place these two men in a position where a battle-royal between themwas most likely to ensue, he could not have taken a more successfulcourse for that object. Reilly, the firm, the high-minded, thehonorable, and, though last not least, the most indignant at anyimputation against his integrity, now accompanied the priest in a stateof indignation that was nearly a match for that of the bishop. 

"This is Mr. Reilly, gentlemen; a firm and an honest Catholic, who, likeourselves, is suffering for his religion. "

"Mr. Reilly, " said the bishop, "it is good to suffer for our religion. "

"It is our duty, " replied Reilly, "when we are called upon to do so; butfor my part, I must confess, I have no relish whatsoever for the honorsof martyrdom. I would rather aid it and assist it than suffer for it. "

The bishop gave a stem look at his friends, as much as to say: "Youhear! incipient heresy and treachery at the first step. "

"He's more mad than the bishop, " thought Father Maguire; "in God's namewhat will come next, I wonder? Reilly's blood, somehow, is up; and therethey are looking at each other, like a pair o' game cocks, with theirnecks stretched out in a cockpit--when I was a boy I used to go to seethem--ready to dash upon one another. "

"Are you not now suffering for your religion?" asked the prelate. 

"No, " replied Reilly, "it is not for the sake of my religion that I havesuffered any thing. Religion is made only a pretext for it; but it isnot, in truth, on that account that I have been persecuted. "

"Pray, then, sir, may I inquire the cause of your persecution?"

"You may, " replied Reilly, "but I shall decline to answer you. It comesnot within your jurisdiction, but is a matter altogether personal tomyself, and with which you can have no concern. "

Here a groan from the priest, which he could not suppress, was shiveredoff, by a tremendous effort, into a series of broken coughs, got upin order to conceal his alarm at the fatal progress which Reilly, hethought, was unconsciously making to his own ruin. 

"Troth, " thought he, "the soldiers were nothing at all to what this willbe. There his friends would have found the body and given him a decentburial; but here neither friend nor fellow will know where to look forhim. I was almost the first man that took the oath to keep the existenceof this place secret from all unless those that were suffering for theirreligion; and now, by denying that, he has me in the trap along withhimself. "

A second groan, shaken out of its continuity into another comical showerof fragmental coughs, closed this dreary but silent soliloquy. 

The bishop proceeded: "You have been inveigled, young man, by the charmsof a deceitful and heretical syren, for the purpose of alienating youfrom the creed of your forefathers. "

"It is false, " replied Reilly; "false, if it proceeded from the lips ofthe Pope himself; and if his lips uttered to me what you now have done, I would fling the falsehood in his teeth, as I do now in yours--yes, if my life should pay the forfeit of it. What have you to do with myprivate concerns?"

Reilly's indignant and impetuous reply to the prelate struck allwho heard it with dismay, and also with horror, when they bethoughtthemselves of the consequences. 

"You are a heretic at heart, " said the other, knitting his brows; "fromyour own language you stand confessed--a heretic. "

"I know not, " replied Reilly, "by what right or authority you adoptthis ungentlemanly and illiberal conduct towards me; but so long as yourlanguage applies only to myself and my religion, I shall answer you in adifferent spirit. In the first place, then, you are grievously mistakenin supposing me to be a heretic. I am true and faithful to nay creed, and will live and die in it. "

Father Maguire felt relieved, and breathed more freely; a groan wascoming, but it ended in a "hem. "

"Before we proceed any farther, sir, " said this strange man, "you musttake an oath. "

"For what purpose, sir?" inquired Reilly. 

"An oath of secrecy as to the existence of this place of our retreat. There are at present here some of the--" he checked himself, as ifafraid to proceed farther. "In fact, every man who is admitted amongstus must take the oath. "

Reilly looked at him with indignation. "Surely, " thought he to himself, "this man must be mad; his looks are wild, and the fire of insanityis in his eyes; if not, he is nothing less than an incarnation ofecclesiastical bigotry and folly. The man must be mad, or worse. " Atlength he addressed him. 

"You doubt my integrity and my honor, then, " he replied haughtily. 

"We doubt every man until he is bound by his oath. "

"You must continue to doubt me, then, " replied Reilly; "for, mostassuredly, I will not take it. "

"You must take it, sir, " said the other, "or you never leave the cavernwhich covers you, " and his eyes once more blazed as he uttered thewords. 

"Gentlemen, " said Reiliy, "there appear to be fifteen or sixteen of youpresent: may I be permitted to ask why you suffer this unhappy man to beat large?"

"Will you take the oath, sir?" persisted the insane bishop in a voice ofthunder--"heretic and devil, will you take the oath?"

"Unquestionably not. I will never take any oath that would imply wantof honor in myself. Cease, then, to trouble me with it. I shall not takeit. "

This last reply affected the bishop's reason so deeply that he lookedabout him strangely, and exclaimed, "We are lost and betrayed. But hereare angels--I see them, and will join in their blessed society, " and ashe spoke, he rushed towards the stalactites in a manner somewhat wildand violent, so much so, indeed, that from an apprehension of hisreceiving injury in some of the dark interstices among them, they foundit necessary, for his sake, to grapple with him for a few moments. 

But, alas! they had very little indeed to grapple with. The man was buta shadow, and they found him in their hands as feeble as a child. Hemade no resistance, but suffered himself to be managed precisely as theywished. Two of the persons present took charge of him, one sitting oneach side of him. Reilly, who looked on with amazement, now stronglyblended with pity--for the malady of the unhappy ecclesiastic couldno longer be mistaken--Reilly, we say, was addressed by anintelligent-looking individual, with some portion of the clericalcostume about him. 

"Alas! sir, " said he, "it was not too much learning, but too muchpersecution, that has made him mad. That and the ascetic habits of hislife have clouded or destroyed a great intellect and a good heart. Hehas eaten only one sparing meal a day during the last month; and thoughsevere and self-denying to himself, he was, until the last week or so, like a father, and an indulgent one, to us all. "

At this moment the pale, mild-looking clergyman, to whom we havealluded, went over to where the bishop sat, and throwing himself uponhis bosom, burst into tears. The sorrow indeed became infectious, and ina few minutes there were not many dry eyes around him. Father Maguire, who was ignorant of the progressive change that had taken place in himsince his last visit to the cave, now wept like a child, and Reillyhimself experienced something that amounted to remorse, when hereflected on the irreverent tone of voice in which he had replied tohim. 

The paroxysm, however, appeared to have passed away; he was quitefeeble, but not properly collected, though calm and quiet. After alittle time he requested to be put to bed. And this leads us to thedescription of another portion of the cave to which we have not yetreferred. At the upper end of the stalactite apartment, which we havealready described, there was a large projection of rock, which nearlydivided it from the other, and which discharged the office of a wall, orpartition, between the two apartments. Here there was a good fire kept, but only during the hours of night, inasmuch as the smoke which issuedfrom a rent or cleft in the top of this apartment would have discoveredthem by day. Through this slight chasm, which was strictly concealed, they received provisions, water, and fuel. In fact, it would seem as ifthe whole cave had been expressly designed for the purpose to which itwas then applied, or, at least for some one of a similar nature. 

On entering this, Reilly found a good fire, on which was placed a largepot with a mess in it, which emitted a very savory odor. Aroundthe sides, or walls of this rock, were at least a score of heathershake-down beds, the fragrance of which was delicious. Pots, pans, andother simple culinary articles were there, with a tolerable stock ofprovisions, not omitting a good-sized keg of mountain dew, which theirsecluded position, the dampness of the place, and their absence fromfree air, rendered very necessary and gratifying. 

"Here!" exclaimed Father Maguire, after the feeble prelate had beenassisted to this recess, "here, now, put his lordship to bed; I havetossed it up for him in great style! I assure you, my dear friends, it's a shakedown fit for a prince!--and better than most of the thievesdeserve. What bed of down ever had the sweet fragrance this floweryheather sends forth? Here, my lord--easy, now--lay him down gently, justas a mother would her sleeping child--for, indeed, he is a child, " hewhispered, "and as weak as a child; but a sound sleep will do him good, and he'll be a new man in the morning, please God. "

Upon this rough, but wholesome and aromatic couch, the exhausted prelatewas placed, where he had not been many minutes until he fell into aprofound sleep, a fact which gratified them very much, for they assuredReilly and the priest that he had slept but a few hours each nightduring the last week, and that such slumber as he did get was feverishand unquiet. 

Our good-humored friend, however, was now cordially welcomed by theseunfortunate ecclesiastics, for such, in fact, the majority of them were. His presence seemed to them like a ray of light from the sun. His goodhumor, his excellent spirits, which nothing could repress, and hisdrollery kept them alive, and nothing was so much regretted by them ashis temporary absences from time to time; for, in truth, he was theirmessenger, their steward, and their newsman--in fact, the only link thatconnected them with external life, and the ongoings of the world abroad. The bed in which the bishop now slept was in a distant corner of thisinner apartment, or dormitory, as it might be termed, because thesituation was higher and drier, and consequently more healthy, as asleeping-place, than any other which the rude apartment afforded. The fire on which the large pot simmered was at least a distanceof twenty-five yards from his bed, so that they could indulge inconversation without much risk of disturbing him. 

It is unnecessary to say that Reilly and his friend Father Maguire felt, by this time, a tolerably strong relish for something in the shape ofsustenance--a relish which was exceedingly sharpened by the savory smellsent forth throughout the apartment by the contents of whatsoever wascontained in the immense pot. 

"My dear brethren, " said the priest, "let us consider this cavern as arich monastery; such, alas! as existed in the good days of old, whenthe larder and refectory were a credit to religion and a relief to thedestitute, but which, alas!--and alas! again--we can only think of asa--in the meantime, I can stand this no longer. If I possess judgment orpenetration in _re culinaria_, I am of opinion, " he added (stirring upthe contents of it), "that it is fit to be operated on; so, in God'sname, let us have at it. "

In a few minutes two or three immense pewter dishes were heaped with astew made up of mutton, bacon, hung beef, onions, and potatoes, formingindeed a most delicious mess for any man, much less the miserable menwho were making it disappear so rapidly. 

Reilly, the very picture of health, after maintaining a pace inferiorto that of none, although there were decidedly some handy workmen there, now was forced to pull up and halt. In the meantime some slow but steadyoperations went on with a perseverance that was highly creditable; andit was now that, having a little agreeable leisure to observe andlook about him, he began to examine the extraordinary costumes of theincongruous society in which, to his astonishment, he found himself aparty. We must, however, first account for the oddness and incongruityof the apparent characters which they were forced to assume. 

At this period the Catholics of Ireland were indeed frightfullyoppressed. A proclamation had recently been issued by the Government, who dreaded, or pretended to dread, an insurrection--by which documentconvents and monasteries were suppressed--rewards offered for thedetection and apprehension of ecclesiastics, and for the punishment ofsuch humane magistrates as were reluctant to enforce laws so unsparingand oppressive. Increased rewards were also offered to spies andinformers, with whom the country unfortunately abounded. A generaldisarming of all Catholics took place; domiciliary visits were madein quest of bishops, priests, and friars, and all the chapels in thecountry were shut up. Many of the clergy flew to the metropolis, wherethey imagined they might be more safe, and a vast number to caverns andmountains, in order to avoid the common danger, and especially froma wholesome, terror of that class of men called priest-hunters. The Catholic peasantry having discovered their clergy in these wildretreats, flocked to them on Sundays and festivals, in order to join inprivate--not public-worship, and to partake of the rites and sacramentsof their Church. 

Such was the state of the country at the period when the unfortunatemen whom we are about to describe were pent up in this newly discoveredcavern. 

Now, Reilly himself was perfectly acquainted with all this, and knewvery well that these unhappy men, having been frequently compelled toput on the first disguise that came to hand, had not means, nor indeeddisposition, to change these disguises, unless at the risk of beingrecognized, taken into custody, and surrendered to the mercy of the law. 

When their savory meal was concluded, Father Maguire, who never forgotany duty connected with his position--be that where it might--now wentover to the large pot, exclaiming:

"It would be too bad, my friends, to forget the creatures here that havebeen so faithful and so steady to us. Poor things, I could see, bythe way they fixed their longing eyes upon us while we were doing thehandy-work at the stew, that if the matter had been left to themselves, not a spoonful ever went into our mouths but they'd have practised thedoctrine of tithe upon. Come, darlings--here, now, is a little racefor you--every one of you seize a spoon, keep a hospitable mouth anda supple wrist. These creatures, Mr. Reilly, are so many little brandsplucked out of the burning. They are the children of parents whosuffered for their faith, and were brought here to avoid being put intothese new traps for young Catholics, called Charter Schools, into whichthe Government wishes to hook in our rising generation, under pretenceof supporting and educating them; but, in point of fact, to alienatethem from the affection of their parents and relations, and to trainthem up in the State religion, poor things. At all events, they are veryhandy to us here, for they slip out by turns and bring us almost everything we want--and not one of them ever opened his lips as to theexistence of this _spelunca_. "

The meal of the poor things was abundant, but they soon gave over, andin a few minutes they tumbled themselves into their heather beds, andwere soon sunk in their innocent slumbers. 

"Now, gentlemen, that we have eaten a better meal than we could expectin this miserable place, thanks to the kindness of our faithful flocks, what do you think of a sup of what's in the keg? Good eating deservesa drop of mixture after it, to aid in carrying on the process ofdigestion! Father Hennessy, what are you at?" he exclaimed, addressingan exceedingly ill-looking man, with heavy brows and a sinister aspect. "You forget, sir, that the management of the keg is my duty, wheneverI am here. You are the only person here who violates our regulations inthat respect. Walk back and wait till you are helped like another. Doyou call that being spiritually inclined? If so, there is not a doubt ofit but you ought to be a bishop; and if you come to that, I'll stake mycredit on it that you'll never let much wind into your stomach so longas you can get plenty of the solids and fluids to keep it out. "

"I'm weak in the stomach, " replied Hennessy, with a sensual grin, "andrequire it. "

"But I say, " replied Father Maguire, "that it would require strongerproof than any your outward man presents to confirm the truth of that. As for bearing a load either of the liquids or solids aforesaid, I'llback your bit of abdomen there against those of any three of us. "

Cups and noggins, and an indescribable variety of small vessels thatwere never designed for drinking, were now called into requisition, anda moderate portion of the keg was distributed among them. Reilly, whileenjoying his cup, which as well as the others he did with a good deal ofsatisfaction, could not help being amused by the comical peculiarity oftheir disguises. 

The sinister-looking clergyman, whom we have named Hennessy, subsequently became a spy and informer, and, we may add, an enemyequally formidable and treacherous to the Catholics of the time, inconsequence of having been deprived of his clerical functions by hisbishop, who could not overlook his immoral and irregular conduct. He ismentioned by Matthew O'Connor, in his "History of the Irish Catholics, "and consigned to infamy as one of the greatest scourges, against boththe priesthood and the people, that ever disgraced the country. But itmust be admitted that he stands out in dark relief against the greatbody of the Catholic priests at that period, whose firmness, patience, and fidelity to their trust, places them above all praise and allsuspicion. It is, however, very reasonable, that men so hunted andpersecuted should be forced, not only in defence of their own livesand liberties, but also for the sake of their flocks, to assume suchcostumes as might most effectually disguise them, so that they would beable still, even in secret and by stealth, to administer the rites oftheir religion to the poor and neglected of their own creed. Some weredressed in common frieze, some in servants' cast-off liveries--howeverthey came by them--and not a few in military uniform, that served, asit were, to mark them staunch supporters of the very Government thatpersecuted them. A reverend archdeacon, somewhat comely and corpulent, had, by some means or other, procured the garb of a recruiting sergeant, which fitted him so admirably that the illusion was complete; and, whatbore it out still more forcibly, was the presence of a smart-lookinglittle friar, who kept the sergeant in countenance in the uniform ofa drummer. Mass was celebrated every day, hymns were sung, and prayersoffered up to the Almighty, that it might please him to check the floodof persecution which had overwhelmed or scattered them. Still, in theintervals of devotion, they indulged in that reasonable cheerfulness andharmless mirth which were necessary to support their spirits, depressedas they must have been by this dreadful and melancholy confinement--aconfinement where neither the light of the blessed sun, nor the freshbreezes of heaven, nor the air we breathe, in its usual purity, couldreach them. Sir Thomas More and Sir Walter Raleigh, however, werecheerful on the scaffold; and even here, as we have already said, many arustic tale and legend, peculiar to those times, went pleasantly around;many a theological debate took place, and many a thesis was discussed, in order to enable the unhappy men to pass away the tedious monotony oftheir imprisonment in this strange lurking-place. The only man who keptaloof and took no part in these amusing recreations was Hennessy, whoseemed moody and sullen, but who, nevertheless, was frequently detectedin making stolen visits to the barrel. 

Notwithstanding all this, however, the sight was a melancholy one; andwhatever disposition Reilly felt to smile at what he saw and heardwas instantly changed on perceiving their unaffected piety, which wasevident by their manner, and a rude altar in a remote end of the cave, which was laid out night and day for the purpose of celebrating theceremonies and mysteries of their Church. Before he went to his couchof heather, however, he called Father Maguire aside, and thus addressedhim:

"I have been a good deal struck to-night, my friend, by all that Ihave witnessed in this singular retreat. The poor prelate I pity; and Iregret I did not understand him sooner. His mind, I fear, is gone. "

"Why, I didn't understand him myself, " replied the priest; "because thiswas the first symptom he has shown of any derangement in his intellect, otherwise I would no more have contradicted him than I would have cut myleft hand off. "

"There is, however, a man--a clergyman here, called Hennessy; who is he, and what has been his life?"

"Why, " replied the other, "I have heard nothing to his disadvantage. Heis a quiet, and, it is said, a pious man--and I think he is too. Heis naturally silent, and seldom takes any part in our conversation. Hesays, however, that his concealment here bears hard upon him, and isdepressing his spirits every day more and more. The only thing I evercould observe in him is what you saw yourself to-night-a slight relishfor an acquaintance with the barrel. He sometimes drains a drop--indeed, sometimes too much--out of it, when he gets our backs turned; but thenhe pleads low spirits three or four times a day--indeed, so often that, upon my word, he'll soon have the barrel pleading the same complaint. "

"Well, " replied Reilly, after listening attentively to him, "I desireyou and your friends to watch that man closely. I know something abouthim; and I tell you that if ever the laws become more lenient, themoment this man makes his appearance his bishop will deprive him ofall spiritual jurisdiction for life. Mark me now, Father Maguire; ifhe pleads any necessity for leaving this retreat and going abroad againinto the world, don't let a single individual of you remain, here onehour after him. Provide for your safety and your shelter elsewhere aswell as you can; if not, the worst consequences may--nay, will follow. "

The priest promised to communicate this intelligence to his companions, one by one, after which, both he and Reilly, feeling fatigued andexhausted by what they had undergone in the course of the night, threwthemselves each upon his couch of heather, and in a few minutes not onlythey, but all their companions, were sunk in deep sleep. 

CHAPTEE XI. --The Squire's Dinner and his Guests. 

We now return to _Cooleen Bawn_, who, after her separation from Reilly, retired to her own room, where she indulged in a paroxysm of deep grief, in consequence of her apprehension that she might never see him again. She also calculated upon the certainty of being obliged to sustain adomestic warfare with her father, as the result of having made him theconfidant of her love. In this, however, she was agreeably disappointed;for, on meeting him the next morning, at breakfast, she was a gooddeal surprised to observe that he made no allusion whatsoever to thecircumstance--if, indeed, an occasional muttering of some unintelligiblewords, _sotto voce_, might not be supposed to allude to it. The truthwas, the old man found the promise he had made to Sir Robert one of suchdifficulty to his testy and violent disposition, that his language, andthe restraint which he felt himself under the necessity of putting onit, rendered his conversation rather ludicrous. 

"Well, Helen, " he said, on entering the breakfast-parlor, "how did yourest last night, my love? Rested sound--eh? But you look rather pale, darling. (Hang the rascal!)"

"I cannot say that I slept as well as usual, sir. I felt headache. "

"Ay, headache--was it? (heartache, rather. The villain. ) Well come, letme have a cup of tea and a mouthful of that toast. "

"Will you not have some chicken, sir?"

"No, my dear--no; just what I said--a mouthful of toast, and a cup oftea, with plenty of cream in it. Thank you, love. (A good swing for himwill be delightful. I'll go to see it. ) Helen, my dear, I'm going togive a dinner-party next week. Of course we'll have your future--hem--Imean we'll have Sir Robert, and--let me see--who else? Why, Oxley, thesheriff", Mr. Brown, the parson--I wish he didn't lean so much to thecursed Papists, though--Mr. Hastings, who is tarred with the samestick, it is whispered. Well, who next? Lord Deilmacare, a good-naturedjackass--a fellow who would eat a jacketful of carrion, if placed beforehim, with as much _gout_ as if it were venison. He went home one night, out of this, with the parson's outside coat and shovel hat upon him, anddid not return them for two days. "

"Does this habit proceed from stupidity, papa?"

"Not at all; but from mere carelessness. The next two days he was outwith his laborers, and if a cow or pig chanced--(the villain! we'll hanghim to a certainty)--chanced, I say, to stray into the field, he wouldshy the shovel hat at them, without remorse. Oh! we must have him, byall means. But who next? Sir Jenkins Joram. Give him plenty to drink, and he is satisfied. "

"But what are his political principles, papa?"

"They are to be found in the bottle, Helen, which is the only creed, political or religious, to which I ever knew him to be attached; andI tell you, girl, that if every Protestant in Ireland were as deeplydevoted to his Church as he is to the bottle, we would soon be a happypeople, uncorrupted by treacherous scoundrels, who privately harborPapists and foster Popery itself. (The infernal scoundrel. )"

"But, papa, " replied his daughter, with a melancholy smile, "I think Iknow some persons, who, although very loud and vehement in their outcryagainst Popery, have, nevertheless, on more than one or two occasions, harbored Papists in their house, and concealed even priests, when theminions of the law were in search of them. "

"Yes, and it is of this cursed crew of hollow Protestants that I nowspeak--ahem--ay--ha--well, what the devil--hem. To be sure I--I--I--butit doesn't signify; we can't be wise at all times. But after all, Helen(she has me there), after all, I say, there are some good Papists, andsome good--ahem--priests, too. There now, I've got it out. However, Helen, those foolish days are gone, and we have nothing for it now butto hunt Popery out of the country. But to proceed as to the dinner. "

"I think Popery is suffering enough, sir, and more than enough. "

"Ho, ho, " he exclaimed with triumph, "here comes the next on my list--afine fellow, who will touch it up still more vigorously--I mean CaptainSmellpriest. "

"I have heard of that inhuman man, " replied Helen; "I wish you wouldnot ask him, papa. I am told he equals Sir Robert Whitecraft in bothcowardice and cruelty. Is not that a nickname he has got in consequenceof his activity in pursuit of the unfortunate priests?"

"It's a nickname he has given himself, " replied her father; "and hehas become so proud of it that he will allow himself to be called by noother. He swears that if a priest gets on the windy side of him, he willscent him as a hound would a fox. Oh! by my honor, Smellpriest must behere. The scoundrel like Whitecraft!--eh-what am I saying? Smellpriest, I say, first began his career as a friend to the Papists; he took largetracts of land in their name, and even purchased a couple of estateswith their money; and in due time, according as the tide continuedto get strong against them, he thought the best plan to cover hisvillany--ahem--his policy, I mean--was to come out as a fierce loyalist;and as a mark of his repentance, he claimed the property, as the realpurchaser, and arrested those who were fools enough to trust him. "

"I think I know another gentleman of my acquaintance who holds propertyin some similar trust for Papists, " observed Helen, "but who certainlyis incapable of imitating the villany of that most unprincipled man. "

"Come, come, Helen; come, my girl; tut--ahem; come, you are gettinginto politics now, and that will never do. A girl like you ought to havenothing to do with politics or religion. "

"Religion! papa. "

"Oh--hem-I don't mean exactly that. Oh, no; I except religion; a girlmay be as religious as she pleases, only she must say as little upon thesubject as possible. Come, another cup of tea, with a little moresugar, for, I give you my honor, you did not make the last one of thesweetest;" and so saying, he put over his cup with a grimace, whichresembled that of a man detected in a bad action, instead of a good one. 

At this moment John, the butler, came in with a plate of hot toast; and, as he was a privileged old man, he addressed his master without muchhesitation. 

"That was a quare business, " he observed, using the word quare as anequivocal one, until he should see what views of the circumstance hismaster might take; "a quare business, sir, that happened to Mr. Reilly. "

"What business do you allude to, you old sinner?"

"The burning of his house and place, sir. All he has, or had, is in aheap of ashes. "

Helen felt not for the burning, but her eyes were fixed upon thefeatures of the old man, as if the doom of her life depended on hiswords; whilst the paper on which ee write is not whiter than were hercheeks. 

"What--what--how was it?" asked his master; "who did it?--and by whoseauthority was it done?"

"Sir Robert Whitecraft and his men did it, sir. "

"Ay, but I can't conceive he had any authority for such an act. "

"Wasn't Mr. Reilly an outlaw, sir? Didn't the Red Rapparee, who is now agood Protestant, swear insurrection against him?"

"The red devil, sirra, " replied the old squire, forgetting his animosityto Reilly in the atrocity and oppression of the deed--"the reddevil, sirra! would that justify such a cowardly scoundrel as SirRobert--ugh--ugh--ugh--that went against my breath, Helen. Well, comehere, I say, you old sinner; they burned the place, you say?"

"Sir Robert and his men did, sir. "

"I'm not doubting that, you old house-leek. I know Sir Robert toowell--I know the infernal--ahem; a most excellent loyal gentleman, withtwo or three fine estates, both here and in England; but he prefersliving here, for reasons best known to himself and me, and--and tosomebody else. Well, they burned Reilly out--but tell me this; did theycatch the rascal himself? eh? here's five pounds for you, if you can saythey have him safe. "

"That's rather a loose bargain, your honor, " replied the man with asmile; "for saying it?--why, what's to prevent me from saying it, if Iwished?"

"None of your mumping, you old snapdragon; but tell me the truth, havethey secured him hard and fast?"

"No, sir, he escaped them, and as report goes they know nothing abouthim, except that they haven't got him. "

Deep and speechless was the agony in which Helen sat during this shortdialogue, her eyes having never once been withdrawn from the butler'scountenance; but now that she had heard of her lover's personal safety, a thick, smothered sob, which, if it were to kill her, she could notrepress, burst from her bosom. Unwilling that either her father or theservant should witness the ecstasy which she could not conceal, andfeeling that another minute would disclose the delight which convulsedher heart and frame, she arose, and, with as much composure as she couldassume, went slowly out of the room. On entering her apartment, shesigned to her maid to withdraw, after which she closed and bolted thedoor, and wept bitterly. The poor girl's emotion, in fact, was of atwofold character; she wept with joy at Reilly's escape from thehands of his cruel and relentless enemy, and with bitter grief at theimpossibility which she thought there existed that he should ultimatelybe able to keep out of the meshes which she knew Whitecraft would spreadfor him. The tears, however, which she shed abundantly, in due timerelieved her, and in the course of an hour or two she was able to appearas usual in the family. 

The reader may perceive that her father, though of an abrupt and cynicaltemper, was not a man naturally of a bad or unfeeling heart. Whatevermood of temper chanced to be uppermost influenced him for the time; andindeed it might be said that one half of his feelings were usually in astate of conflict with the other. In matters of business he was the verysoul of integrity and honor, but in his views of public affairs hewas uncertain and inconsistent; and of course his whole life, as amagistrate and public man, was a perpetual series of contradictions. Theconsequence of all this was, that he possessed but small influence, as arising from his personal character; but not so from his immenseproperty, as well as from the fact that he was father to the wealthiestand most beautiful heiress in the province, or perhaps, so far as beautywas concerned, in the kingdom itself. 

At length the day mentioned for the dinner arrived, and, at theappointed hour, so also did the guests. There were some ladies asked tokeep Helen in countenance, but we need scarcely say, that as the list ofthem was made out by her thoughtless father, he paid, in the selectionof some of them, very little attention to her feelings. There was thesheriff, Mr. Oxley, and his lady--the latter a compound in whom it wasdifficult to determine whether pride, vulgarity, or obesity prevailed. Where the sheriff had made his capture of her was never properly known, as neither of them belonged originally to that neighborhood in which hehad, several years ago, purchased large property. It was said he had gother in London; and nothing was more certain than that she issued forththe English language clothed in an inveterate cockney accent. She was ahigh moralist, and a merciless castigator of all females who manifested, or who were supposed to manifest, even a tendency to walk out of theline of her own peculiar theory on female conduct. Her weight might beabout eighteen stone, exclusive of an additional stone of gold chainsand bracelets, in which she moved like a walking gibbet, only with thefelon in it; and to crown all, she wore on her mountainous bosom a cameonearly the size of a frying-pan. Sir Jenkins Joram, who took her down todinner, declared, on feeling the size of the bracelets which encircledher wrists, that he labored for a short time under the impression thathe and she were literally handcuffed together; an impression, he added, from which he was soon relieved by the consoling reflection that it wasthe sheriff himself whom the clergyman had sentenced to stand in thatpleasant predicament. Of Mrs. Brown and Mrs. Hastings we have only tosay that they were modest, sensible, unassuming women, without eitherparade or pretence, such, in fact, as you will generally meet amongour well-bred and educated countrywomen. Lord Deilmacare was a widower, without family, and not a marrying man. Indeed, when pressed upon thissubject, he was never known to deviate from the one reply. 

"Why don't you marry again, my lord?--will you ever marry?"

"No, madam, I got enough of it, " a reply which, somehow, generallychecked any further inquiry on the subject. Between Lady Joram and Mrs. Smellpriest there subsisted a singular analogy with respect to theirconjugal attachments. It was hinted that her ladyship, in thosesecret but delicious moments of matrimonial felicity which make up thesugar-candy morsels of domestic life, used to sit with Sir Jenkins forthe purpose, by judicious exercise, of easing, by convivial exercise, arheumatic affection which she complained of in her right arm. There isnothing, however, so delightful as a general and loving sympathy betweenhusband and wife; and here it was said to exist in perfection. Mrs. Smellpriest, on the other hand, was said to have been equally attachedto the political principles of the noble captain, and to wonder why anyclergyman should be suffered to live in the country but those of herown Church; such delightful men, for instance, as their curate, the Rev. Samson Strong, who was nothing more nor less than a divine bonfire inthe eyes of the Christian! world. Such was his zeal against Papists, shesaid, as well as against Popery at large, that she never looked on himwithout thinking that there was a priest to be burned. Indeed CaptainSmellpriest, she added, was under great obligations to him, forno sooner had his reverence heard of a priest taking earth in theneighborhood, than he lost no time in communicating the fact to herhusband; after which he would kindly sit with and comfort her whilstfretting lest any mischief might befall her dear captain. 

The dinner passed as all dinners usually do. They hobnobbed, of course, and indulged in that kind of promiscuous conversation which cannot wellbe reported. From a feeling of respect to Helen, no allusion was madeeither to the burning of Reilly's property or to Reilly personally. Theonly person who had any difficulty in avoiding the subject was the oldsquire himself, who more than once found the topic upon his lips, butwith a kind of short cough he gulped it down, and got rid of it for thetime. In what manner he might treat the act itself was a matter whichexcited a good deal of speculation in the minds of those who werepresent. He was known to be a man who, if the whim seized him to lookupon it as a cowardly and vindictive proceeding, would by no meansscruple to express his opinions strongly against it; whilst, onthe other hand, if he measured it in connection with his daughter'sforbidden attachment to Reilly, he would, of course, as vehementlyexpress his approbation of the outrage. Indeed, they were induced toconclude that this latter view of it was that which he was most likelyto take, in consequence of the following proposal, which, from any otherman, would have been an extraordinary one:

"Come, ladies, before you leave us we must have one toast; and I shallgive it in order to ascertain whether we have any fair traitresses amongus, or any who are secretly attached to Popery or Papists. "

The proposal was a cruel one, but the squire was so utterly destitute ofconsideration or delicacy of feeling that we do not think he ever oncereflected upon the painful position in which it placed his daughter. 

"Come, " he proceeded, "here is prosperity to Captain Smellpriest andpriest-hunting!"*

 * We have been charged by an able and accomplished writer with an incapacity of describing, with truth, any state of Irish society above that of our peasantry; and the toast proposed by the eccentric old squire is, we presume, the chief ground upon which this charge is rested. We are, however, just as well aware as our critic, that to propose toasts before the female portion of the company leave the dinner-table, is altogether at variance with the usages of polite society. But we really thought we had guarded our readers against any such, inference of our own ignorance by the character which we had drawn of the squire, as well as by the words with which the toast is introduced--where we said, "from any other man would have been an extraordinary one. " I may also refer to Mrs. Brown's reply. 

"As a Christian minister, " replied Mr. Brown, "and an enemy topersecution in every sense, but especially to that which would punishany man for the great principle which we ourselves claim--the rights ofconscience--I decline to drink the toast;" and he turned down his glass. 

"And I, " said Mr. Hastings, "as a Protestant and a Christian, refuse iton the same principles;" and he also turned down his glass. 

"But you forget, gentlemen, " proceeded the squire, "that I addressedmyself principally to the ladies. "

"But you know, sir, " replied Mrs. Brown, with a smile, "that it isquite unusual and out of character for ladies to drink toasts at all, especially those which involve religious or political opinions. These, Iam sure, you know too well, Mr. Folliard, are matters with which ladieshave, and ought to have, nothing to do. I also, therefore, on behalfof our sex, decline to drink the toast; and I trust that every lady whorespects herself will turn down her glass as I do. "

Mrs. Hastings and Helen immediately followed her example, whilst at thesame time poor Helen's cheeks and neck were scarlet. 

"You see, sir, " said Mr. Brown, good-humoredly, "that the sex--at leastone-half of them--are against you. "

"That's because they're Papists at heart, " replied the squire, laughing. 

Helen felt eased at seeing her father's good humor, for she now knewthat the proposal of the toast was but a jest, and did not aim at anything calculated to distress her feelings. 

"But, in the meantime, " proceeded the squire, "I am not without support. Here is Lady Joram and Mrs. Smellpriest and Mrs. Oxley--and they are ahost in themselves--each of them willing and ready to support me. "

"I don't see, " said Lady Joram, "why a lady, any more than a gentleman, should refuse to drink a proper toast as this is; Sir Jenkins has notturned down his glass, and neither shall I. Come, then, Mr. Folliard, please to fill mine; I shall drink it in a bumper. "

"And I, " said Mrs. Oxley, "always drinks my 'usband's principles. InLunnon, where true 'igh life is, ladies don't refuse to drink toasts. Iknow that feyther, both before and after his removal to Lunnon, usedto make us all drink the ''Ard ware of Old Hingland'--by witch, "she proceeded, correcting herself by a reproving glance from thesheriff--"by witch he meant what he called the glorious sinews of thecountry at large, lestwise in the manufacturing districts. But upon asubject like this"--and she looked with something like disdain at thosewho had turned down their glasses--"every lady as is a lady ought to'ave no objection to hexplain her principles by drinking the toast; butp'raps it ain't fair to press it upon some of 'em. "

"Well, then, " proceeded the squire, with a laugh that seemed to havemore than mirth in it, "are all the loyal subjects of the crown ready?Lord Deilmacare, your glass is not filled; won't you drink it?"

"To be sure, " replied his lordship; "I have no hatred against Papists;I get my rent by their labor; but I never wish to spoil sport--getalong--I'll do anything. "

With the exceptions already mentioned, the toast was drank immediately, after which the ladies retired to the drawing-room. 

"Now, gentlemen, " said the squire, "fill your glasses, and let us enjoyourselves. You have a right to be proud of your wife, Mr. Sheriff, andyou too, Sir Jenkins--for, --upon my soul, if it had been his Majesty'shealth, her ladyship couldn't have honored it with a fuller bumper. And, Smellpriest, your wife did the thing handsomely as well as the rest. Upon my soul, you ought to be happy men, with three women so deeplyimbued with the true spirit of our glorious Constitution. "

"Ah, Mr. Folliard, " said Smellpriest, "you don't know the value of thatwoman. When I return, for instance, after a hunt, the first question sheputs to me is--Well, my love, how many priests did you catch to-day? Andout comes Mr. Strong with the same question. Strong, however, betweenourselves, is a goose; he will believe any thing, and often sends meupon a cold trail. Now, I pledge you my honor, gentlemen, that this man, who is all zeal, has sent me out dozens of times, with the strictestinstructions as to where I'd catch my priest; but, hang me, if everI caught a single priest upon his instructions yet! still, althoughunfortunate in this kind of sport, his heart is in the right place. Whitecraft, my worthy brother sportsman, how does it happen that Reillycontinues to escape you?"

"Why does he continue to escape yourself, captain?" replied the baronet. 

"Why, " said the other, "because I am more in the ecclesiastical line, and, besides, he is considered to be, in an especial manner, your game. "

"I will have him yet, though, " said Whitecraft, "if he should assume asmany shapes as Proteus. "

"By the way, Whitecraft, " observed Folliard, "they tell me you burnedthe unfor--you burned the scoundrel's house and offices. "

"I wish you had been present at the bonfire, sir, " replied his intendedson-in-law; "it would have done your heart good. "

"I daresay, " said the squire; "but still, what harm did his house andplace do you? I know the fellow is a Jesuit, a rebel, and an outlaw--atleast you tell me so; and you must know. But upon what authority did youburn the rascal out?"

"As to that, " returned the baronet, "the present laws against Popery andthe general condition of the times are a sufficient justification; andI do not think that I am likely to be brought over the coals for it; onthe contrary, I look upon myself as a man who, in burning the villainout, have rendered a very important service to Government. "

"I regret, Sir Robert, " observed Mr. Brown, "that you should havedisgraced yourself by such an oppressive act. I know that throughout thecountry your conduct to this young man is attributed to personal malicerather than to loyalty. "

"The country may put what construction on my conduct it pleases, " hereplied, "but I know I shall never cease till I hang him. "

Mr. Hastings was a man of very few words; but he had an eye theexpression of which could not be mistaken--keen, manly, and firm. He satsipping his wine in silence, but turned from time to time a glance uponthe baronet, which was not only a searching one, but seemed to havesomething of triumph in it. 

"What do you say, Hastings?" asked Whitecraft; "can you not praise aloyal subject, man?"

"I say nothing, Sir Robert, " he replied; "but I think occasionally. "

"Well, and what do you think occasionally?"

"Why, that the times may change. "

"Whitecraft, " said Smellpriest, "I work upon higher principles than theysay you do. I hunt priests, no doubt of it; but then I have no personalmalice against them; I proceed upon the broad and general principle ofhatred to Popery: but, at the same time, observe it is not the man butthe priest I pursue. "

"And when you hang or transport the priest, what becomes of the man?"asked the baronet, with a diabolical sneer. "As for me, Smellpriest, Imake no such distinctions; they are unworthy of you, and I'm sorry tohear you express them. I say, the man. "

"And I say, the priest, " replied the other. 

"What do you say, my lord?" asked Mr. Folliard of the peer. 

"I don't much care which, " replied his lordship; "man or priest, be itas you can determine; only I say that when you hang the priest, I agreewith Whitecraft there, that it is all up with the man, and when youhang the man, it is all up with the priest. By the way, Whitecraft, " heproceeded, "how would you like to swing yourself?"

"I am sure, my lord, " replied the baronet, "you wouldn't wish to see mehanged. "

"Well, I don't know--perhaps I might, and perhaps I might not; butI know you would make a long corpse, and I think you would danglehandsomely enough; you have long limbs, a long body, and half a mile ofneck; upon my soul, one would think you were made for it. Yes, I daresay I should like to see you hanged--I am rather inclined to think Iwould--it's a subject, however, on which I am perfectly indifferent; butif ever you should be hanged, Sir Robert, I shall certainly make it apoint to see you thrown off if it were only as a mark of respect foryour humane and excellent character. "

"He would be a severe loss to the country, " observed Sir Jenkins;"the want of his hospitality would be deeply felt by the gentry of theneighborhood; for which reason, " he observed sarcastically, "I hope hewill be spared to us as long as his hospitality lasts. "

"In the meantime, gentlemen, " observed the sheriff, "I wish that, withsuch keen noses for priests and rebels and criminals, you could comeupon the trail of the scoundrel who robbed me of three hundred and fiftypounds. "

"Would you know him again, Mr. Sheriff?" asked Sir Robert, "and couldyou describe his appearance?"

"I have been turning the matter over, " replied the sheriff, "and Ifeel satisfied that I would know him if I saw him. He was dressed in abroadcloth brown coat, light-colored breeches, and had silver bucklesin his shoes. The fellow was no common robber. Stuart--one ofyour dragoons, Sir Robert, who came to my relief when it was toolate--insists, from my description of the dress, that it was Reilly. "

"Are you sure he was not dressed in black?" asked Smellpriest. "Did youobserve a beads or crucifix about him?"

"I have described the dress accurately, " replied the sheriff; "but Iam certain that it was not Reilly. On bringing the matter to myrecollection, after I had got rid of the pain and agitation, I was ableto remember that the ruffian had a coarse face and red whiskers. NowReilly's hair and whiskers are black. "

"It was a reverend Papist, " said Smellpriest; "one of those fromwhom you had levied the fines that day, and who thought it no harm totransfer them back again to holy Church. You know not how those rascalscan disguise themselves. "

"And you blame them, Smellpriest, " said the squire, "for disguisingthemselves? Now, suppose the tables were turned upon us, that Popery gotthe ascendant, and that Papists started upon the same principles againstus that we put in practice against them; suppose that Popish soldierswere halloed on against our parsons, and all other Protestantsconspicuous for an attachment to their religion, and anxious to put downthe persecution under which we suffered; why, hang it, could you blamethe parsons, when hunted to the death, for disguising themselves? Andif you could not, how can you blame the priests? Would you have the poordevils walk into your hands and say, 'Come, gentlemen, be good enoughto hang or transport us?' I am anxious, to secure Reilly, and either tohang or transport him. I would say the latter, though. "

"And I the former, " observed Sir Robert. 

"Well, Bob, that is as may happen; but in the meantime, I say he neverrobbed the sheriff here; and if he were going to the gallows to-morrow, I would maintain it. "

Neither the clergyman nor Mr. Hastings took much part in theconversation; but the eye of the latter was, during the greater portionof the evening, fixed upon the baronet, like that of a basilisk, accompanied by a hidden meaning, which it was impossible to penetrate, but which, nevertheless, had such an effect upon Whitecraft that hecould not help observing it. 

"It would seem, Mr. Hastings, " said he, "as if you had never seen mebefore. Your eye has scarcely been off me during the whole evening. Itis not pleasant, sir, nor scarcely gentlemanly. "

"You should feel proud of it, Sir Robert, " replied Hastings; "I onlyadmire you. "

"Well, then, I wish you would express your admiration in some othermanner than by staring at me. "

"Gadzooks, Sir Robert, " said the squire, "don't you know that a cat maylook at a king? Hastings must be a man of devilish good taste, Bob, andyou ought to thank him. "

Mr. Brown and Mr. Hastings soon afterwards went upstairs, and left theother gentlemen to their liquor, which they now began to enjoy witha more convivial spirit. The old squire's loyalty rose to a very highpitch, as indeed did that of his companions, all of whom entertained thesame principles, with the exception of Lord Deilmacare, whose opinionsnever could be got at, for thee very sufficient reason that he did notknow them himself. 

"Come, Whitecraft, " said the squire, "help yourself, and push thebottle; now that those two half-Papists are gone, we can breathe andspeak a little more freely. Here's our glorious Constitution, in Churchand State, and curse all priests and Papists--barring a few, that I knowto be honest. "

"I drink it, but I omit the exception, " said Sir Robert, "and I wonder, sir, you would make any exception to such a toast. "

"I drink it, " said Smellpriest, "including the rascal priest. "

"And I drink it, " said the sheriff, "as it has been proposed. "

"What was it?" said Lord Deilmacare; "come, I drink it--it doesn'tmatter. I suppose, coming from our excellent host, it must be right andproper. "

They caroused deeply, and in proportion as the liquor affected theirbrains, so did their determination to rid the squire of the rebel Reillyform itself into an express resolution to that effect. 

"Hang Reilly--hang the villain--the gallows for him--hurra!" and in thischaritable sentiment their voices all joined in a fierce and drunkenexclamation, uttered with their hands all clasped in each other with astrong and firm grip. From one mouth alone, however, proceeded, amidsta succession of hiccups, the word "transportation, " which, when LordDeilmacare heard, he changed his principle, and joined the old squire inthe same mitigation of feeling. 

"I say, Deilmacare, " shouted Sir Robert, "we must hang him high anddry. "

"Very well, " replied his lordship, "with all my heart, Sir Robert; wemust hang you high and dry. "

"But, Deilmacare, " said the squire, "we should only transport him. "

"Very good, " exclaimed his lordship, emptying a bumper; "we shall onlytransport you, Sir Robert. "

"Hang him, Deilmacare!"

"Very well, hang him!"

"Transport him, I say, Deilmacare, " from the squire. 

"Good again, " said his lordship; "transport him, say I. "

And on went the drunken revel, until they scarcely knew what they said. 

The clergyman and Mr. Hastings, on reaching the drawing-room, foundHelen in a state of inexpressible distress. A dispute upon theprevailing morals of all modern young Lidies had been got up by LadyJoram and Mrs. Oxley, for the express purpose of venting their pettymalice against the girl, because they had taken it into their heads thatshe paid more attention to Mrs. Brown and Mrs. Hastings than she did tothem. This dispute was tantamount to what, in the prize ring, is called_cross_, when the fight is only a mock one, and terminates by thevoluntary defeat of one of the parties, upon a preconcerted arrangement. 

"I don't agree with you, my lady; nor can I think that the morals ofyoung ladies in 'igh life, by witch I mean the daughters and heiresses ofwealthy squires--"

"But, my dear Mrs. Oxley, " said her ladyship, interrupting her, andplacing her hand gently upon her arm, as if to solicit her consent tothe observation she was about to make, "you know, my dear Mrs. Oxley, that the daughter of a mere country squire can have no pretensions tocome under the definition of high life. "

"Wy not?" replied Mrs. Oxley; "the squires are often wealthier than theharis-tocracy; and I don't at all see, " she added, "wy the daughter ofsuch a man should not be considered as moving in 'igh life--always, ofcourse, provided that she forms no disgraceful attachments to Papistsand rebels and low persons of that 'ere class. No, my lady, I don't atall agree with you in your view of 'igh life. "

"You don't appear, madam, to entertain a sufficiently accurate estimateof high life. 

"I beg pardon, ma'am, but I think I can understand 'igh life as well asthose that don't know it better nor myself. I've seen a great deal of'igh life. Feyther 'ad a willar at I'gate, and I'gate is known to bethe 'igh-est place about the metropolis of Lunnon--it and St. Paul's areupon a bevel. "

"Level, perhaps, you mean, ma'am?"

"Level or bevel, 'it doesn't much diversify--but I prefer the bevel tothe level on all occasions. All I knows is, " she proceeded, "that it isa shame for any young lady, as is a young lady, to take a liking to aPapist, because we know the Papists are all rebel; and would cut ourthroats, only for the protection of our generous and merciful laws. "

"I don't know what you mean by merciful laws, " observed Mrs. Brown. "They surely cannot be such laws as oppress and persecute a portionof the people, and give an unjust license to one class to persecuteanother, and to prevent them from exercising the duties which theirreligion imposes upon them. "

"Well, " said Lady Joram, "all I wish is, that the Papists wereexterminated; we should then have no apprehensions that our daughterswould disgrace themselves, by falling in love with them. "

This conversation was absolutely cruel, and the amiable Mrs. Brown, fromcompassion to Helen, withdrew her into a corner of the room, andentered into conversation with her upon a different topic, assuring herpreviously that she would detail their offensive and ungenerous remarksto her father, who, she trusted, would never see them under his roofagain, nor give them an opportunity of indulging in their vulgarmalignity a second time. Helen thanked her, and said their hints andobservations, though rude and ungenerous, gave her but little pain. The form of language in which they were expressed, she added, and theindefensible violation of all the laws of hospitality, blunted theseverity of what they said. 

"I am not ashamed, " she said, "of my attachment to the brave andgenerous young man who saved my father's life. He is of no vulgar birth, but a highly educated and a highly accomplished gentleman--a man, infact, my dear Mrs. Brown, whom no woman, be her rank in life ever sohigh or exalted, might blush to love. I do not blush to make the avowalthat I love him; but, unfortunately, in consequence of the existing lawsof the country, my love for him, which I will never conceal, must be ahopeless one. "

"I regret the state of those laws, my dear Miss Folliard, as much as youdo; but still their existence puts a breach between you and Reilly, andunder those circumstances my advice to you is to overcome your affectionfor him if you can. Marriage is out of the question. "

"It is not marriage I think of--for that is out of the question--butReilly's life and safety. If he were safe, I should feel comparativelyhappy; happiness, in its full extent, I never can hope to enjoy; butif he were only safe--if he were only safe, my dear Mrs. Brown! I knowthat he is hunted like a beast of prey, and under such circumstances asdisturb and distract the country, how can he escape?"

The kind-hearted lady consoled her as well as she could; but, in fact, her grounds for consolation were so slender that her arguments onlyamounted to those general observations which, commonplace as theyare, we are in the habit of hearing from day to day. Helen was toohigh-minded to shed tears, but Mrs. Brown could plainly perceive thedepth of her emotion, and feel the extent of wrhat she suffered. 

We shall not detail at further length the conversation of the otherladies--if ladies they can be called; nor that of the gentlemen, afterthey entered the drawing-room. Sir Robert Whitecraft attempted to enterinto conversation with Helen, but found himself firmly and decidedlyrepulsed. In point of fact, some of the gentlemen were not in a stateto grace a drawing-room, and in a short time they took their leave andretired. 

CHAPTEE XII. --Sir Robert Meets a Brother Sportsman

--Draws his Nets, but Catches Nothing. 

"'Tis conscience that makes cowards of us all, " said Shakespeare, withthat wonderful wisdom which enlightens his glorious pages; and, in fact, Sir Robert Whitecraft, in his own person, fully corroborated the truthof the poet's apophthegm. The man, besides, was naturally a coward; andwhen to this we add the consciousness of his persecutions and cruelties, and his apprehensions from the revenge of Reilly--the destruction ofwhose property, without any authority from Government for the act, hefelt himself guilty of--the reader may understand the nature and extentof his terrors on his way home. The distance between his own house andthat of his intended father-in-law was about three miles, and there laya long space of level road, hedged in, as was then the custom, on bothsides, from behind which hedges an excellent aim could be taken. As SirRobert proceeded along this lonely path, his horse stumbled against somestones that were in his way, or perhaps that had been purposely placedthere. Be that as it may, the baronet fell, and a small man, of compactsize and vigorous frame, was found aiding him to rise. Having helpedhim into the saddle, the baronet asked him, with an infirm and alarmedvoice, who he was. 

"Why, Sir Robert, " he replied, "you must know I am not a Papist, or Iwouldn't be apt to render you any assistance; I am somewhat of your ownkidney--a bit of a priest-hunter, on a small scale. I used to get themfor Captain Smellpriest, but he paid me badly, and as there was greatrisk among the bloody Papists, I made up my mind to withdraw out of hisservice; but you are a gentleman, Sir Robert, what Captain Smellpriestis not, and if you want an active and useful enemy to Popery, I am yourman. "

"I want such a person, certainly, " replied the baronet, who, inconsequence of the badness of the road and the darkness of the night, was obliged to walk his horse with caution. "By the way, " said he, "didyou not hear a noise behind the hedge?"

"I did, " replied the other, "but it was the noise of cattle. "

"I am not aware, " replied Sir Robert, "what the devil cattle can have todo immediately behind the hedge. I rather think they are some of our ownspecies;" and as he ceased speaking the tremendous braying of a jackasscame upon their ears. 

"You were right, Sir Robert, " replied his companion; "I beg pardon, Imean that was right; you know now it was cattle. "

"What is your name?" asked Sir Robert. 

"Rowland Drum, Sir Robert; and, if you will permit me, I should like tosee you safe home. I need not say that you are hated by the Papists; andas the road is lonesome and dangerous, as a priest-hunter myself I thinkit an act of duty not to leave you. "

"Thank you, " said Sir Robert, "you are a civil person, and I will acceptyour escort. "

"Whatever danger you may run, Sir Robert, I will stand by your side andpartake of it. "

"Thank you, friend, " replied Sir Robert; "there is a lonely place beforeus, where a ghost is said to be seen--the ghost of a priest whom Ihunted for a long time; Smellpriest, it is said, shot him at the placeI allude to. He was disguised as a drummer, and is said to haunt thelocality where he was shot. "

"Well, I shall see you safe over the place, Sir Robert, and go homewith you afterwards, provided you will promise to give me a bed and mysupper; to-morrow we can talk on matters of business. "

"I shall certainly do so, " replied Sir Robert, "not only in consequenceof your attention to me, but of our common purpose. "

They then proceeded onwards--passed the haunted spot--without eitherhearing or seeing the spectral drummer. On arriving at home, Sir Robert, who drank privately, ordered wine for himself, and sent Rowland Drumto the kitchen, where he was rather meagerly entertained, and wasafterwards lodged for the night in the garret. 

The next morning, after breakfast, Sir Robert sent for Mr. Drum, who, onentering the breakfast parlor, was thus addressed by his new patron:

"What's this you say your name is?"

"Rowland Drum, sir. "

"Rowland Drum! Well, now, Rowland Drum, are you well acquainted with thepriests of this diocese?"

"No man better, " replied the redoubtable Rowland. "I know most of themby person, and have got private descriptions of them all from CaptainSmellpriest, which will be invaluable to you, Sir Robert. The factis--and this I mention in the strictest confidence--that Smellpriest issuspicious of your attachment to our glorious Constitution. "

"The confounded rascal, " replied the baronet. "Did he ever burn as manyPopish houses as I have done? He has no appetite for any thing butthe pursuit and capture of priests; but I have a far more general andunsparing practice, for I not only capture the priests, where I can, butevery lay Papist that we suspect in the country. Here, for instance. Doyou see those papers? They are blank warrants for the apprehension ofthe guilty and suspected, and also protections, transmitted to me fromthe Secretary of State, that I may be enabled, by his authority, toprotect such Papists as will give useful information to the Government. Here they are, signed by the Secretary, but the blanks are left formyself to fill up. "

"I wish we could get Reilly to come over, " said Mr. Drum. 

"Oh! the infernal villain, " said the baronet, "all the protections thatever were or could be issued from the Secretary's office would not norcould not save him. Old Folliard and I will hang him, if there was notanother man to be hanged in the three kingdoms. "

At this moment a servant came in and said, "Sir Robert, there is a womanher who wishes to have some private conversation with you. "

"What kind of a woman is she?" asked the baronet. 

"Faith, your honor, a sturdy and strapping wench, somewhat rough, in theface, but of great proportions. "

Now it so happened that Mr. Drum had been sitting at the window duringthis brief conversation, and at once recognized, under the disguise ofa woman, the celebrated informer, the Rev. Mr. Hennessy, a wretch whosecriminal course of life, as we said before, was so gross and reprobatethat his pious bishop deemed it his duty to suspend him from allclerical functions. 

"Sir Robert, " said Drum, "I must go up to my room and shave. Mypresence, I apprehend, won't be necessary where there is a lady inquestion. "

"Very well, " replied the baronet; "I know not what her business may be;but I shall be glad to speak with you after she shall have gone. "

It was very well that Hennessy did not see Drum, whom he would at oncehave recognized; but, at all events, the interview between the reprobatepriest and the baronet lasted for at least an hour. 

After the Rev. Miss Hennessy had taken her departure, Mr. Drum was sentfor by the baronet, whom he still found in the breakfast parlor. 

"Drum, " said he, "you have now an opportunity of essentially serving notonly me, but the Government of the country. This lady turns out to be aPopish priest in disguise, and I have taken him into my confidence asa guide and auxiliary. Now you have given me proofs of personalattachment, which is certainly more than he has done as yet. I haveheard of his character as an immoral priest; and the man who could befalse to his own creed is not a man to be relied upon. He has describedto me the position of a cavern, in which are now hiding a set ofproscribed priests; but I cannot have confidence in his information, andI wish you to go to the ravine or cavern, or whatever the devil it is, and return to me with correct intelligence. It may be a lure to drawme into danger, or perhaps to deprive me of my life; but, on secondthought, I think I shall get a military force, and go myself. "

"And perhaps never return, unless with your heels foremost, Sir Robert. I tell you that this Hennessy is the most treacherous scoundrel on theface of the earth. You do not know what he's at, but I will tellyou, for I have it from his own cousin. His object is to have youassassinated, in order to restore himself to the good graces of thebishop and the Catholic party, who, I must say, however, would notcountenance such a murderous act; still, Sir Robert, if you were takenoff, the man who took you off would have his name honored and exaltedthroughout the country. "

"Yes, I believe you are right, Drum; they are thirsting for my blood, but not more than I am thirsting for theirs. "

"Well, then, " said Drum, "don't trust yourself to the counsels of thisHennessy, who, in my opinion, only wants to make a scapegoat of you. Allow me to go to the place he mentions, for I know the ravine well, butI never knew nor do I believe that there is a cavern at all in it, and that is what makes me suspect the scoundrel's motives. He can havehundreds of outlaws secretly armed, who would never suffer you to escapewith your life. The thing is an ambuscade; take my word for it, it isnothing less. Of course you can go, yourself and your party, if youwish. You will prevent me from running a great risk; but I am onlyanxious for your safety. "

"Well, then, " said Sir Robert, "you shall go upon this mission. It maynot be safe for me to do so. Try if you can make out this cavern, ifthere be a cavern. "

"I will try, Sir Robert; and I will venture to say, that if it can bemade out, I will make 't out. " Rowland Drum accordingly set out uponhis mission, and having arrived at the cavern, with which he was so wellacquainted, he entered it with the usual risk. His voice, however, wasrecognized, and he got instant admittance. 

"My dear friends, " said he, after he had entered the inner part of it, "you must disperse immediately. Hennessy has betrayed you, and if youremain here twenty-four hours longer, Sir Kobert Whitecraft and a partyof military, guided, probably, by the treacherous scoundrel himself, will be upon you. The villain had a long interview with him, and gave afull detail of the cavern and its inmates. "

"But how did you become acquainted with Sir Kobert Whitecraft?" askedthe bishop. 

"In order, my lord, to ascertain his intentions and future proceedings, "replied Mr. Drum, "that we might guard against his treachery andpersecution. On his way home from a dinner at Squire Folliard's I methim in a lonely part of the road, where he was thrown from his horse; Ihelped him into his saddle, told him I was myself a priest-hunter, and thus got into his confidence so far as to be able to frustrateHennessy's treachery, and to counteract his own designs. "

"Sir, " said the bishop sternly, "you have acted a part unworthy of aChristian clergyman. We should not do evil that good may follow; andyou have done evil in associating yourself, in any sense and for anypurpose, with this bloodthirsty tiger and persecutor of the faithful. "

"My lord, " replied the priest, "this is not a time to enter into adiscussion on such a subject. Hennessy has betrayed us; and if you donot disperse to other places of safety, he will himself, as I said, leadSir Robert Whitecraft and a military party to this very cavern, and thenmay God have mercy on you all. "

"Brethren, " said the bishop, "this is, after all, possible that ourbrother has, by the mercy and providence of God, through his casualmeeting with this remorseless man, been made the instrument of oursafety. As for myself, I am willing to embrace the crown of martyrdom, and to lay down my life, if necessary, for the faith that is in me. Youall know what I have already suffered, and you know that persecutiondrives a wise man mad. My children, " he added, "it is possible, and Ifear too probable, that some of us may never see each other in this lifeagain; but at the same time, let it be our hope and consolation thatwe shall meet in a better. And for this purpose, and in order to securefuturity of happiness, let us lead spotless and irreproachable lives, such as will enable ur to meet the hour of death, whether it comes bythe hand of God or the persecution of man. Be faithful to the principlesof our holy religion--be faithful to truth--to moral virtue--be faithfulto God, before whose awful tribunal we must all appear, and render anaccount of our lives. It would be mere wantonness to throw yourselvesinto the hands of our persecutors. Reserve yourselves; for thecontinuance and the sustainment of our blessed religion; but if youshould happen to fall, by the snares and devices of the enemy, into thepower of those who are striving to work our extermination, and ifthey should press you to renounce your faith, upon the alternative ofbanishment or death, then, I say, banishment, or death itself, soonerthan become apostates to your religion. I shall retire to a neighborhoodonly a few miles distant from this, where the poor Catholic populationare without spiritual aid or consolation. I have been there before, andI know their wants, and were it not that I was hunted and pursued witha view to my death--to my murder, I should rather say--I would haveremained with them still. But that I considered it a duty to thatportion of the Church over which God called upon me to preside andwatch, I would not have avoided those inhuman traffickers in the bloodof God's people. Yet I am bound to say that, from the clergymen ofthe Established Church, and from many Protestant magistrates, we havereceived kindness, sympathy, and shelter. Their doors, their hearths, and their hearts have been open to us, and that, too, in a trulyChristian spirit. Let us, then, render them good for good; let us prayfor their conversion, and that they may return to the right path. "

"They have acted generously and nobly, " added Reilly, "and in a trulyChristian spirit. Were it not for the shelter and protection which Imyself received from one of them, my mangled body would probably behuddled down into some obscure grave, as a felon, and my property--whichis mine only by a necessary fiction and evasion of the law--have passedinto the hands of Sir Robert Whitecraft. I am wrong, however, in sayingthat it could. Mr. Hastings, a generous and liberal Protestant, took itin his own name for my father, but gave me a deed of assignment, placingit as securely in my hands, and in my power, as if I were Sir RobertWhitecraft himself; and I must add--which I do with pleasure--that thedeed in question is now in the possession of the Rev. Mr. Brown, theamiable rector of the parish. "

"But he is a heretic, " said a red-faced little man, dressed in leatherbreeches, top boots, and a huntsman's cap; _vade retro sathanas_, It isa damnable crime to have any intercourse with them, or to receive anyprotection from them: _vade retro, sathanas_. "

"If I don't mistake, " said the cook--an archdeacon, by the way--"youyourself received protection from them, and were glad to receive it. "

"If I did receive protection from one of their heretic parsons, it wasfor Christian purposes. My object was not so much to seek protectionfrom him as to work out his salvation by withdrawing him from hisheresy. But then the fellow was as obstinate as _sathanas_ himself, and had Greek and Hebrew at his fingers' ends. I made several passes athim--tried Irish, and told him it was Italian. 'Well, ' said he, smiling, 'I understand Italian too;' and to my astonishment he addressed me inthe best Irish I ever heard spoken. 'Now, ' said he, still smiling, 'youperceive that I understand Italian nearly--I will not say so well--asyou do. ' Now, as I am a sinner, that, I say, was ungenerous treatment. He was perfectly irreclaimable. "

This man was, like Mr. Maguire, what has been termed a hedge-priest--acharacter which, as we have already said, the poverty of the Catholicpeople, during the existence of the penal laws, and the consequent wantof spiritual instruction, rendered necessary. There were no Catholiccolleges in the country, and the result was that the number of foreignpriests--by which I mean Irish priests educated in foreign colleges--wasutterly inadequate to meet the spiritual necessities of the Irishpopulation. Under those circumstances, men of good and virtuouscharacter, who understood something of the Latin tongue, were ordainedby their respective bishops, for the purpose which we have alreadymentioned. But what a difference was there between those half-educatedmen and the class of educated clergymen who now adorn, not only theirChurch, but the literature of the country!

"Well, my dear friend, " said the bishop, "let us be thankful for theprotection which, we have received at the hands of the Protestant clergyand of many of the Protestant laity also. We now separate, and I for oneam sensible how much this cruel persecution has strengthened the bondsof Christian love among us, and excited our sympathy for our poorpersecuted flocks, so many of whom are now without a shepherd. I leaveyou with tears--but they are tears of affection, and not of despair. Ishall endeavor to be useful wherever I may abide. Let each of you do allthe spiritual good you can--all the earthly good--all good in its mostenlarged and purest sense. But we must separate--probably, some of us, forever; and now may the blessing of the Almighty God--of the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost, rest upon you all, and be with you and abide inyour hearts, now and forever! Amen!"

Having pronounced these words, he covered his face with his two handsand wept bitterly. There were indeed few dry eyes around him; they kneltbefore him, kissed his ring, and prepared to take their departure out ofthe cavern. 

"My lord, " said Reilly, who still entertained apprehensions of thereturn of his malady, "if you will permit me I shall share your fate, whatever it may be. The poor people you allude to are not in a conditionto attend to your wants. Allow me, then, to attend and accompany you inyour retreat. "

"My dear friend, " said the bishop, clasping his hand, "you are heapingcoals of fire upon my head. I trust you will forgive me, for I knew notwhat I did. I shall be glad of your companionship. I fear I still standin need of such a friend. Be it so, then, " he proceeded--"be it so, my dear friend; only that I should not wish you to involve yourself inunnecessary danger on my account. "

"Danger, my lord!" replied Reilly; "there is not an individual hereagainst whom personal malignity has directed the vengeance of the lawwith such a bloodthirsty and vindictive spirit as against myself. Whyelse am I here? No, I will accompany your lordship, and share yourfate. "

It was so determined, and they left the cavern, each to procure someplace of safety for himself. 

In the meantime, Sir Robert Whitecraft, having had another interviewwith Hennessy, was prevailed upon to get a military party together, andthe cunning reprobate, in order to excite the baronet's vengeance toa still higher pitch, mentioned a circumstance which he had beforeforgotten, to wit, that Reilly, his arch-enemy, was also in the cave. 

"But, " said Sir Robert, who, as we have already said, was a poltroon anda coward, "what guarantee can you give me that you are not leading meinto an ambuscade? You know that I am unpopular, and the Papists wouldbe delighted to have my blood; what guarantee, then, can you give methat you, are acting by me in good faith?"

"The guarantee of my own life, " replied the other. "Let me be placedbetween two of your men, and if you see any thing like an ambuscade, letthem shoot me dead on the spot. "

"Why, " replied the baronet, "that is fair; but the truth is, I have beenput on my guard against you by a person who escorted me home last night. He rendered me some assistance when I fell from my horse, and he slepthere. "

"What is his name?" asked Hennessy. 

"He told me, " replied the baronet, "that his name was Drum. "

"Could you give me a description, Sir Robert, of his person?"

Sir Robert did so. 

"I declare to God, Sir Robert, you have had a narrow escape from thatman. He is one of the most bigoted priests in the kingdom. He used todisguise himself as a drummer--for his father was in the army, and hehimself was a drummer in his boyhood; and his object in preventing youfrom bringing a military party to the cavern was merely that he mighthave an opportunity of giving them notice of your intentions. I now saythat if you lose an hour's time they will be gone. "

Sir Robert did not lose an hour's time. The local barracks were withina few hundred yards of his house. A party of military were immediatelycalled out, and in a short time they arrived, under the guidance ofHennessy, to the very mouth of the cavern, which he disclosed to them. It is unnecessary to detail the particulars of the search. The soldiersentered it one by one, but found that the birds had flown. The veryfires were burning, but not a living soul in the cave; it was completelydeserted, and nothing remained but some miserable relics of coldprovisions, with which, by the aid of fir splices, that served astorches, they regaled themselves as far as they went. 

Sir Robert Whitecraft now felt full confidence in Hennessy; but wouldhave given a trifle to renew his acquaintance with Mr. Rowland Drum, bywhose ingenuity he was so completely outwitted. As it was, they scouredthe country in search of the inmates of the cave, but above all thingsin search of Reilly, for whose capture Whitecraft would have forgivenevery man in the cavern. The search, however, was unsuccessful; nota man of them was caught that day, and gallant Sir Robert and hismyrmidons were obliged to return wearied and disappointed men. 

CHAPTER XIII. --Reilly is Taken, but Connived at by the Sheriff

--The Mountain Mass

Reilly and the bishop traversed a wild and remote part of the country, in which there was nothing to be seen but long barren wastes, over whichwere studded, here and there, a few solitary huts; upon its extremity, however, there were some houses of a more comfortable description, thehabitations of middling farmers, who possessed small farms at amoderate rent. As they went along, the prelate addressed Reilly in thefollowing-terms:

"Mr. Reilly, " said he, "I would advise you to get out of this unhappycountry as soon as you can. "

"My lord, " replied Reilly, who was all candor and truth, and never couldconceal his sentiments, at whatever risk, "I cannot think of leaving thecountry, let the consequences be what they may. I will not troubleyour lordship with my motives, because they are at variance with yourcharacter and religious feelings; but they are not at variance withreligion or morality. It is enough to say that I wish to prevent abeautiful and innocent girl from being sacrificed. My lord, you know toowell that persecution is abroad; and when I tell you that, through theinfluence which this admirable creature has over her father--who, by theway, has himself the character of a persecutor--many Catholics have beenprotected by him, I am sure you will not blame me for the interestwhich I feel in her fate. In addition to this, my lord, she has been aministering angel to the Catholic poor in general, and has contributedvast sums, privately, to the relief of such of our priesthood as havebeen brought to distress by the persecution of the times. Nay, she hasso far influenced her father that proscribed priests have found refugeand protection in his house. "

The bishop, on hearing this, stood, and taking off his hat, raised hisright hand, and said: "May the blessing of the Almighty God rest uponher, and guard her from the snares of those who would make her unhappy!But, Reilly, as you say you are determined, if possible, to rescue herfrom ruin, you know that if you go at large in your usual dress you willunquestionably be taken. I advise you, then, to disguise yourself insuch a way as that you will not, if possible, be known. "

"Such, my lord, is my intention--but who is this? what--eh--yes, 'tisFergus O'Reilly, a distant and humble relation of mine who is also indisguise. Well, Fergus, where have you been for some time past?"

"It would be difficult to tell that, God knows; I have beeneverywhere--but, " he added in a whisper, "may I speak freely?"

"As free as the wind that blows, Fergus. "

"Well, then, I tell you that Sir Robert Whitecraft has engaged me to beon the lookout for you, and said that I would be handsomely rewarded ifI could succeed in enabling the scoundrel to apprehend you. "

"But how did that come about, Fergus?"

"Faith, he met me one day--you see I have got a bag at my back--andtaking me for a beggarman, stopped me on the road. 'I say, you, poorman, 'says he, 'what's your name?' 'Paddy M'Fud, ' says I--'I belong tothe M'Fuds of Ballymackknockem. ' 'You're a beggar, ' says he, 'and travelfrom place to place about the country. ' 'It's true enough, your honor, 'I replied, 'I travel about a good deal, of coorse, and it's only thatway that I get my bit and sup. ' 'Do you know the notorious villaincalled Willy Reilly'?' 'Not by sight, your honor, but I have often heardof him. Wasn't he in love with the beautiful _Cooleen Bawn_, SquireFolliard's daughter?' 'That's not the question between us, ' he said, 'but if you enable me to catch Reilly, I will give you twenty pounds. ''Well, your honor, ' says I, 'lave the thing to myself; if he is to behad it'll go hard but I'll find him. ' 'Well, then, ' says he, 'if you cantell me where he is I will give you twenty pounds, as I said. ' 'Well, sir, ' says I, 'I expect to hear from you; I am not sure he's in thecountry--indeed they say he is not--but if he is, I think I'll find himfor you;' and so we parted. "

"Fergus, " said Reilly, "I feel that a disguise is necessary. Here ismoney to enable you to purchase one. I do not know where you may be ableto find me; but go and buy me a suit of frieze, rather worn, a dingycaubeen hat, coarse Connemara stockings, and a pair of clouted brogues;some course linen, too; because the fineness of my shirts, shouldI happen to be apprehended, might betray me. Leave them with widowBuckley, and I can find them there. "

It was so arranged. Fergus went on his way, as did Reilly and thebishop. The latter conducted him to the house of a middling farmer, whose son the bishop had sent, at his own expense, to a continentalcollege. They were both received with the warmest affection, and, sofar as the bishop was concerned, with every expression of the deepestgratitude. The situation was remote, and the tumult of pursuit did not, reach them. Reilly privately forced upon the farmer compensation fortheir support, under a solemn injunction that he should not communicatethat circumstance to the bishop, and neither did he. They were here, then, comparatively safe, but still Reilly dreaded the active vigilanceof his deadly enemy, Sir Robert Whitecraft. He felt that a disguise wasabsolutely necessary, and that, without it, he might fall a sacrifice tothe diabolical vengeance of his powerful enemy. In the course of aboutten days after he had commissioned Fergus to procure him the disguise, he resolved to visit widow Buckley, in order to make the necessaryexchange in his apparel. He accordingly set out--very foolishly we mustadmit--in open day, to go to the widow's house. The distance was somemiles. No appearance of danger, or pursuit, was evident, until hecame to the sharp angle of the road, where he was met by four powerfulconstables, who, on looking at him, immediately surrounded him and madehim prisoner. Resistance was impossible; they were well armed, and hewas without any weapon with which he could defend himself. 

"We have a warrant for your apprehension, sir, " said one of them. 

"Upon what grounds?" replied Reilly. "I am conscious of no offenceagainst the laws of the land. Do you know who I am? and is my name inyour warrant?"

"No, but your appearance answers completely to the description given inthe _Hue and Cry_. Your dress is the same as that of the robber, and youmust come with us to the sheriff whom you have robbed. His house is onlya quarter of a mile from this. "

They accordingly proceeded to the sheriff's house, whom they found athome. On being informed that they had captured the man "who had robbedhim, he came downstairs with great alacrity, and in a spirit repletewith vengeance against the robber. The sheriff, however, was reallya good-natured and conscientious man, and would not lend himself to adishonorable act, nor had he ever been known to do so. When he appeared, Reilly addressed him:

"I am here, sir, " said he, "under a charge of having robbed you. Thecharge against me is ridiculous. I am a gentleman, and never was underthe necessity of having recourse to such unlawful means of raisingmoney. "

"Well, " replied the sheriff, "your dress is precisely the same as thefellow wore when he robbed me. But I feel confident that you are not theman. Your hair is black, his was red, and he had large red whiskers. In the excitement and agitation of the moment I forgot to mark thevillain's features distinctly; but I have since thought over the matter, and I say that I would now know him if I saw him again. This, however, "he added, turning--to the constables, "is not the person who robbedand beat me down from my horse. "

"But he may be Willy Reilly, sir, for all that; and you know the rewardthat is offered for his apprehension. "

"I know Willy Reilly, " replied the sheriff, "and I can assure you thatthis gentleman is not Willy Reilly. Go, now, continue your pursuit. Therobber lurks somewhere in the neighborhood. You know the reward; catchhim, and you shall have it. " The constables departed; and after they hadgone the sheriff said, "Mr. Reilly, I know you well; but I would scornto avail myself of the circumstance which has thus occurred. I am awareof the motive which urges Sir Robert Whitecraft against you--so is thewhole country. That penurious and unprincipled villain is thirsting foryour blood. Mr. Hastings, however, has a rod in pickle for him, andhe will be made to feel it in the course of time. The presentadministration is certainly an anti-Catholic one; but I understand it istottering, and that a more liberal one will come in. This Whitecrafthas succeeded in getting some young profligate Catholics to becomeProtestants, who have, consequently, ousted their fathers out of theirestates and property; younger sons, who, by this act of treachery, willget the estates into their own possession. The thing is monstrousand unnatural. But let that pass; Whitecraft is on our trail in alldirections; beware of him, I say; and I think, with great respect toyou, Mr. Reilly, it is extremely foolish to go abroad in your usualapparel, and without disguise. "

"Sir, " replied Reilly, "I cannot express, as I would wish, my deepgratitude to you for your kindness and forbearance. That Sir RobertWhitecraft is thirsting for my blood I know. The cause of that vengeanceis now notorious. "

"You know Mr. Hastings, Mr. Reilly?"

"Intimately, sir. "

"He took your property in his own name?"

"He did, sir; he purchased it in his own name. The property washereditary property, and when my title to it, in point of law, as aCatholic, was questioned, and when one of my family, as a Protestant, put in his claim for it, Mr. Hastings came in as the purchaser, andousted him. The money was supplied by me. The moment, however, that Ifound Whitecraft was after me, I immediately surrendered the whole ofit back to him; so that Sir Robert, in burning what he considered myproperty, in fact burned Mr. Hastings. "

"And I have reason to know, Mr. Reilly, that it will be the blackestact of his guilty life. This, however, I mention to you in the strictestconfidence. Keep the secret, for if it transpired the scoundrel mightescape from the consequences of his own cruelty and oppression. In themeantime, do you take care of yourself--keep out of his way, and, as Isaid, above all things, procure a disguise. Let the consequences be whatthey may, I don't think the beautiful _Cooleen Baum_ will ever marryhim. "

"But, " replied Reilly, "is there no risk of compulsion by her father?"

"Why, I must confess there is, " replied the sheriff; "he is obstinateand headstrong, especially if opposed, and she will find it necessaryto oppose him--and she will oppose him. I myself have had a conversationwith her on the subject, and she is firm as fate against such a union;and I will tell you more, Reilly--it was she who principally engaged meto protect you as far as I could, and so I shall, you may rest assuredof it. I had only to name you a few minutes ago, and your fate wassealed. But, even if she had never spoken to me on the subject, Icould not fend myself to the cruel plots of that villain. God knows, inconsequence of my official situation, I am put upon tasks that are verypainful to me; levying fines from men who are harmless and inoffensive, who are peaceable members of society, who teach the people to be moral, well-conducted, and obedient to the laws, and who do not themselvesviolate them. Now, " he added, "be advised by me, and disguise yourself. "

"Sir, " said Reilly, "your sentiments do you honor; I am this moment onmy way to put on a disguise, which has been procured for me. I agreewith you and other friends that it would be impossible for me to remainin the country in my own natural aspect and dress. Allow me, before Igo, to express my sense of your kindness, and believe me I shall neverforget it. "

"The disguise, above all things, " said the sheriff, smiling and holdingout his hand. Reilly seized it with a warm pressure; they bid each otherfarewell, and so they parted. 

Reilly then wound his way to the cottage of Mrs. Buckle, but not bythe public road. He took across the fields, and, in due time, reachedher humble habitation. Here he found the disguise, which his friendFergus had provided-a half-worn frieze coat, a half-worn caubeen, anda half-worn pair of corduroy breeches, clouted brogues, and Connemarastockings, also the worse for the wear, with two or three coarse shirts, in perfect keeping with, the other portion of the disguise. 

"Well, Mrs. Buckley, " said he, "how have you been since I saw you last?"

"Oh, then, Mr. Reilly, " said she, "it's a miracle from God that you didnot think of stopping here! I had several visits from the sogers whocame out to look for you. "

"Well, I suppose so, Mrs. Buckley; but it was one comfort that they didnot find me. "

"God be praised for that!" replied the poor woman, with tears in hereyes; "it would a' broken my heart if you had been catched in my littleplace. "

"But, Mrs. Buckley, " said Reilly, "were there any plain clothes left forme here?"

"Oh, indeed there was, sir, " she replied, "and I have them safe foryou; but, in the meantime, I'll go outside, and have an eye about thecountry, for somehow they have taken it into their heads that this wouldbe a very likely place to find you. "

While she was out, Reilly changed his dress, and in a few minutesunderwent such a metamorphosis that poor Mrs. Buckley, on reentering thehouse, felt quite alarmed. 

"Heavenly Father! my good man, where did you come from? I thought I leftMr. --" here she stopped, afraid to mention Reilly's name. 

"Don't be alarmed, Mrs. Buckley, " said Reilly; "I am only changed inoutward appearance; I am your true friend still; and now accept this foryour kindness, " placing money in her hand. 

"I can't, Mr. Reilly; you are under the persecutions, and will want allthe money you have to support yourself. Didn't the thieves of the devilburn you out and rob you, and how can you get through this wicked worldwithout money--keep it yourself, for I don't want it. "

"Come, come, Mrs. Buckley, I have money enough; you must take this;I only ask you to conceal these clothes in some place where thehell-hounds of the law can't find them. And now, good-by, Mrs. Buckley;I shall take care that, whatever may happen me, you shall not bedisturbed out of your little cabin and your garden. "

The tears ran down the poor old woman's cheeks, and Reilly left hersobbing and crying behind him. This indeed was an eventful day to him, Strong in the confidence of his disguise, he took the public road, andhad not gone far when he met a party of Sir Robert Whitecraft's. To flywould have been instant ruin; he accordingly commenced an old Irish songat the very top of his lungs. Sir Robert Whitecraft was not himself ofthe party, but scarcely any individual was met by them whom they did notcross-examine. 

"Hallo, my good fellow, " said the leader of the party, "what is thatyou're singin'?"

Reilly stared at him like a man who was sorely puzzled; "_Ha neil bearlaagum;_" that is, "I have no English. "

"Here, Connor, you can speak Irish; sift this able-bodied tyke. "

A conversation in that language then took place between them whichreflected everlasting honor upon Connor, who, by the way, was one ofReilly's tenants, but himself and his progenitors were Protestants forthree generations. He was a sharp, keen man, but generous and honorable, and after two or three glances at our hero, at once recognized him. This he could only intimate by a wink, for he knew that there were otherpersons there who spoke Irish as well as either of them. The dialogue, however, was not long, neither was it kind-hearted Connor's wish thatit should be so. He was asked, however, if he knew any thing about WillyReilly, to which he replied that he did not, only by all accounts he hadleft the country. This, indeed, was the general opinion. 

"This blockhead, " said Connor, "knows nothing about him, only whathe has heard; he's a pig dealer, and is now on his way to the fair ofSligo; come on. "

They passed onwards, and Reilly resumed his journey and his song. 

On reaching the farmer's house where he and the bishop lodged, theunhappy prelate felt rather annoyed, at the appearance of a stranger, and was about to reprove their host for his carelessness in admittingsuch persons. 

"What do you want here, my good man?" inquired the farmer. 

"Do you wish to say anything to me?" asked the bishop. 

"A few words, " replied Reilly; but, on consideration, he changed hispurpose of playing off a good-humored joke on his lordship and thefarmer. For the melancholy prelate he felt the deepest compassion andrespect, and apprehended that any tampering with his feelings might beattended with dangerous consequences to his intellect. He consequentlychanged his purpose, and added, "My lord, don't you know me?"

The bishop looked at him, and it was not without considerable scrutinythat he recognized him. 

In the meantime the farmer, who had left the room previous to thisexplanation, and who looked upon Reilly as an impostor or a spy, returned with a stout oaken cudgel, exclaiming, "Now, you damneddesaver, I will give you a jacketful of sore bones for comin' to pryabout here. This gintleman is a doctor; three of my family are lying illof faver, and that you may catch it I pray gorra this day! but if youwon't catch that, you'll catch this, " and he whirled the cudgel abouthis head, and most unquestionably it would have descended on Reilly scranium were it not for the bishop, who interposed and prevented themeditated violence. 

"Be quiet, Kelly, " said he, "be quiet, sir; this is Mr. Reillydisguised. "

"Troth, I must look closely at him first, " replied Kelly; "who knows buthe's imposin' upon you, Dr. Wilson?"

Kelly then looked closely into his face, still holding a firm grip ofthe cudgel. 

"Why, Kelly, " said Reilly, "what the deuce are you at? Don't you know myvoice at least?"

"Well, " replied Kelly, "bad luck to the like o' that ever I see. HolyMoses, Mr. Reilly, but you had a narrow escape, Devil a man in thebarony can handle a cudgel as I can, and it was a miracle, and youmay thank his lordship here for it that you hadn't a shirtful of sorebones. "

"Well, my dear friend, " said Reilly, "put up your cudgel; I really don'tcovet a shirtful of sore bones; but, after all, perhaps you would havefound my fist a match for your cudgel. "

"Nonsense!" replied Kelly; "but God be praised that you escaped thewelting anyhow; I would never forgive myself, and you the friend of hislordship. "

He then left the room, his terrific cudgel under his arm, and Reilly, after his absence, related to the bishop the events of the day, involving, as they did, the two narrow escapes which he had had. Thebishop thanked God, and told Reilly to be of good courage, for that hethought the hand of Providence was protecting him. 

The life they led here was, at all events, quiet and peaceable. Thebishop was a man of singular, indeed of apostolic, piety. He spent mostof the day in meditation and prayer; fasting beyond the powers of hisenfeebled constitution: and indeed it was fortunate that Reilly hadaccompanied him, for so ascetic were his habits that were it not for hisentreaties, and the influence which he had gained over him, it is notat all unlikely that his unfortunate malady might have returned. Theneighborhood in which they resided was, as wo have said, remote, andexclusively Catholic; and upon Sundays the bishop celebrated mass upona little grassy platform--or rather in a little cave, into which itled. This cave was small, barely large enough to contain a table, whichserved as a temporary altar, the poor shivering congregation kneelingon the platform outside. At this period of our story all the Catholicchapels and places of worship were, as we have said, closed byproclamation, and the poor people were deprived of the means of meetingto worship God. It had soon, however, become known to them that anopportunity of public worship was to be had every Sunday, at the placewe have described. 

Messengers had been sent among them with information to that effect; andthe consequence was that they not only kept the secret, but flockedin considerable numbers to attend mass. On the Sunday following theadoption of Reilly's disguise, the bishop and he proceeded to the littlecave, or rather cleft, where a table had been placed, together withthe vestments necessary for the ceremony. They found about two or threehundred persons assembled--most of them of the humblest class. The daywas stormy in the extreme. It was a hard frost, and the snow, besides, falling heavily, the wind strong, and raging in hollow gusts about theplace. The position of the table-altar, however, saved the bishop andthe chalice, and the other matters necessary for the performance ofworship, from the direct fury of the blast, but not altogether; foroccasionally a whirlwind would come up, and toss over the leaves of themissal in such a way, and with such violence, that the bishop, who wasnow trembling from the cold, was obliged to lose some time in findingout the proper passages. It was a solemn sight to see two or threehundred persons kneeling, and bent in prostrate and heartfelt adoration, in the pious worship of that God who sends and withholds the storm;bareheaded, too, under the piercing drift of the thick-falling granularsnow, and thinking of nothing but their own sins, and that gladsomeopportunity of approaching the forbidden altar of God, now doubly dearto them that it ivas forbidden. As the ceremony was proceeding thebishop was getting on to that portion of the sacred rites where theconsecration and elevation of the Host are necessary, and it wasobserved by all that an extraordinary and sudden lull took place, andthat the rage of the storm had altogether ceased. He proceeded, and hadconsecrated the Host--hoc est corpus meum--when cry of terror arose fromthe affrighted congregation. 

"Mylord, fly, and save yourself! Captain Smellpriest and his gang areupon us. "

The bishop never once turned round, nor seemed to hear them; but Reillydid, and saw that the whole congregation had fled, and that there onlyremained the bishop and himself. 

"Our day of doom, " said he to himself, "is come. Nothing now can saveus. "

Still the bishop proceeded undisturbed in the worship of the Almighty;when, lo! the military party, headed and led on by the notorious CaptainSmellpriest, came thundering up, the captain exclaiming:

"You idolatrous Papist, stop that mummery--or you shall have twelvebullets in your heart before half a minute's time. "

The bishop had consecrated the Host, as we have said, but had not yethad time to receive it. 

"Men, " said Smellpriest, "you are all primed and loaded. Present. "

They accordingly did so; every musket was levelled at him. The bishopnow turned round, and, with the calmness of a martyr--a calmness andconduct that were sublime--he said:

"Sir, I am engaged in the worship of the Eternal God, and if you wishto shed my blood I should rather it were here and now than in any otherplace. Give me but a few minutes--I do not ask more. "

"Oh, " said Smellpriest, "we will give you ten, if you wish it, and themore so because we are sure of you. "

When the bishop turned round again, after having received the Host, his pale face had altogether changed its complexion--it burned withan expression which it is difficult to describe. A lofty sense ofthe sacrifice he was about to make was visible in his kindling andenthusiastic eye; his feeble frame, that had been, dining the ceremonyof mass, shivering under the effects of the terrible storm that howledaround them, now became firm, and not the slightest mark of fear orterror was visible in his bearing; calmly and undauntedly he turnedround, and with a voice full and steady he said:

"I am willing to die for my religion, but I say to you that theslaughter of an inoffensive man at the foot of God's altar will notsmooth the pillow of your deathbed, nor of those who shoot downa minister of God while in the act of worshipping his Creator, Mycongregation, poor timid creatures, have fled, but as for me, I willnot! I dare not! Here, now, I spread out my arms--fire!"

[Illustration: PAGE 91--Here, now, I spread out my arms--fire!]

"I also, " said Reilly, "will partake of whatever fate may befall thevenerable clergyman who is before you, " and he stood up side by sidewith the bishop. 

The guns were still levelled, the fingers of the men on the triggers, when Smellpriest shouted out, "Ground arms! By ---, " says he, "here isa new case; this fellow has spunk and courage, and curse me, although Igive the priests a chase wherever I can, still I am a soldier, and a manof courage, and to shoot down a priest in the worship of God would becowardly. No, I can't do it--nor I won't; I like pluck, and this priesthas shown it. Had he taken to his heels, by ---, he would have had halfa dozen bullets in his rear; but, as I said, I like pluck, and on thataccount we shall pass him by this time. To the right about. As to theclerk, by ---, he has shown pluck too, but be hanged to him, what do wecare about him?"

We must say a word or two here about Smellpriest. He was, in the truesense of the word, a priest-hunter; but yet, with all his bigotry, hewas a brave man, and could appreciate courage wherever he found it. The reader already knows that his range of persecution was by no meanseither so wide or so comprehensive as that of the coward Whitecraft. He was a dashing, outspoken fellow, with an equal portion of boisterousfolly and mischief; whereas Whitecraft was a perfect snake--treacherous, cruel, persevering in his enmity, and unrelenting in his vengeance. Suchwas the difference in the character of these two worthies. 

After Smellpriest had drawn off his men, the bishop concluded theceremony of the mass; but when he turned round to announce itsconclusion in the words, _ite, missa est_, there was not a soul beforehim, the terrified congregation, as we have said, having all betakenthemselves to flight. Reilly then assisted him to unrobe, and placedthe vestments, the chalice, pix, and every thing connected with theceremony, in a pair of saddle-bags, which belonged to the parish priest, whose altar was then closed, as we said, by proclamation. 

Reilly and the bishop then proceeded to the farmer's house, Reillycarrying the saddlebags, and as they went along the followingconversation took place between them:

"My lord, " said his companion, "if I might presume to advise you, Ithink it would be more prudent for you to retire to the Continent for atime. This ferocious captain, who, subdued by the sublime tenor ofyour conduct, spared you on this occasion, may not under other and lessimpressive circumstances, exercise a similar forbearance. "

"But, my dear Reilly, " replied the bishop, in a tone of deep melancholy, "I am not in circumstances to go to the Continent; I am poor; most of myavailable money I have distributed among the unhappy people, until I amnow nearly as poor as themselves; but, independently of that, I do notthink it would be right to abandon the charge which God has entrusted tomy keeping. The shepherd should not desert his flock, especially in themoment of danger, when the wolves ire abroad. "

"But, my lord, " replied Reilly, "under the present circumstances of thecountry your residence here can be of no service to them. The chapelsare all closed, and public worship forbidden by law. This cannot, and, Ihope, will not, last long; but in the meantime, think if it be not wiserin you to go for a time into what I may call a voluntary exile, than beforced into banishment by a cruel edict of the law, as you will be ifyou should be discovered. "

"There is great truth in what you say, my dear Reilly, and on thinkingover the circumstances of the country, I am indeed of opinion that youradvice is good; but, unfortunately, my present poverty prevents me fromacting on it. "

"But that shall not be, my lord; I have the means--amply, too--ofenabling your lordship to withdraw to the Continent, where you canremain quite safe until better times return, as I hope in God they willsoon. "

"And yourself, Reilly? why not accompany me? You, it is said, areoutlawed; why then remain in a country where your danger is stillgreater than mine?"

"My lord, " replied Reilly, "do not press me on that subject. "

"I do not wish to do so, Reilly; but here are the circumstances: you andthe beautiful daughter of that old squire are attached--in other words, you love each other passionately. Now, you know, marriage is impossible, unless you should abandon the creed of your fathers. "

"I think, my lord, " replied Reilly, in a very serious and somewhatoffended tone, "that my conduct this day, and within the last half hour, was not that of a man likely to abandon the creed of his fathers. "

"Certainly not--most certainly not, " replied the bishop. "I would havedied this day for my religion, and so would you. "

"And so would I certainly, my lord, any day, sooner than renounce it forthe love of woman. So far let your lordship's mind be at rest. But inthe meantime, let me impress upon your lordship's consideration theabsolute necessity of retiring to the Continent for a time. Yourlordship's charity has made you poor; but, thank God, I am not poor--butin a position to place £200 in your hands to enable you to bear theexpenses of your voyage, and to maintain your ecclesiastical rank andposition for a time, when you get there. "

"Oh, " replied the bishop, "if I were once there, very little moneywould be necessary; I could almost immediately get a professorshipof divinity, especially in the College of Louvain, where I held aprofessorship for several years. "

It was arranged that the bishop should go, at least until the timesshould change, and in the course of a week, Reilly having furnishedhim with the necessary funds, he departed and reached the Continent insafety. 

Their separation was extremely affecting. The bishop wept bitterly, notonly in consequence of his parting with Reilly, but still more becausehe was forced to separate himself from his flock. Reilly was deeplyaffected, nor could he restrain his tears. The bishop put his hand onhis head and blessed him. "I feel, " said he, "as if it were a propheticimpulse, that God will bring you out of the tribulations that encompassyou. Forget not his word nor his law; love and adhere to your religion;be guided by its precepts, let them sink deeply into your heart. Takecare, also, that the love of woman shall not seduce you from yourallegiance to our Church. And now, may the Almighty God bless andprotect you, and rescue you from the hands and the snares of yourenemies!" And so they parted. 

No stronger proof could exist, so far as the _Cooleen Bawn_ wasconcerned, than her extraordinary power of conciliating love andattachment from all who approached her, or were engaged in attendingupon her person. The singular softness of her sweet and mellow voicewas in itself an exponent of the remarkable suavity and benignity of herdisposition. In fact, she carried a charm about her--an atmosphereof kindness and benevolence that no human being who came within itsinfluence could resist. Her smile was a perfect fascination, which, inaddition to her elegance of form--her grace and harmony of motion--herextensive charity--her noble liberality of sentiment--and, above all, her dazzling beauty, constituted a character which encircled her withadmiration and something almost bordering on worship. 

At this time a scheme came into the fertile brain of Whitecraft, worthyof being concocted only in the infernal pit itself. This was to prevailon the squire to remove her faithful, attached, and confidentialmaid, Ellen Connor, from about her person, under the plea that as, unfortunately, Miss Folliard had been seduced into an affection forReilly, it was not only probable that her attendant had originated andencouraged her passion, but that it was also likely that, as Reilly wasa Catholic, Connor, the confidant, being herself of that persuasion, might so work upon the feelings and principles of his daughter asto induce her, for the sake of the more easily bringing about theirmarriage, to abandon her own religion, and embrace that of her lover. The old man became instantly alarmed, and, with his usual fieryimpetuosity, lost not a moment in dismissing her altogether from hisfamily. 

When this faithful girl found that she was about to be separated fromher fair and affectionate young mistress, no language could depictthe violence of her grief, nor could that mistress herself refuse thetribute of her tears to her sense of the loss which she knew she mustsustain by her absence at a crisis when she stood so much in need of herfriendship and attachment. 

"Oh! it is not for myself, my dear mistress, that I feel this grief, "exclaimed Connor, weeping bitterly as she spoke, "but for you. Hereyou will be alone, " she proceeded, "without one being on whom you candepend, or to whom you can open your heart--for many a time you easedthat poor heart by telling me of your love for him, and by dwellin' uponhis accomplishments and beauty--and, indeed, it's no wonder you should, for where, oh! where is his aiquil to be found? Like yourself, everyone that comes near him must love him; and, like you, again, isn't hecharity itself to the poor, no matter what their creed may be--oh, no!it's he that is neither the bigot nor the oppressor, although Godhe knows what he himself is sufferin' from both. God's curse on thatblasted Sir Robert Whitecraft! I declare to mercy, I think, if I was aman, that I'd shoot him, like a mad dog, and free the country of him atwanst. "

The Cooleen was herself in tears, occasioned by such a glowing pictureof her lover, as well as by the loss of this faithful and devoted girl. Yet she could not repress a smile at the indignation expressed byEllen against the man whom she looked upon with such detestation andabhorrence, "My dear Ellen, " said she, drying her tears, "we must only havepatience. Every thing is in the hands of God, and in him let us trust. Do not weep so. It is true that, without your society, I shall feelas if I were in a desert, or rather, I should say, in a dungeon; for, indeed, I fear that I am about to become a prisoner in my father'shouse, and entangled more and more every day in the meshes of thatdetestable villain. In the meantime, we must, as I said, have courageand patience, and trust to a change of circumstances for better times. "

"May the Lord in heaven grant them soon and sudden, for both yoursakes, " ejaculated Ellen. "I pray the Saviour that he may!"

"But, Ellen, " said the Cooleen, "didn't you hint to me, once or twice, that you yourself have, or had, a lover named Reilly!"

"I did, " she replied, "not that I have, but that I had--and, what ismore, an humble and distant relation of him. "

"You say you had. What do you mean by that, Ellen? Have you, too, experienced your crosses and calamities?"

"Indeed, ma'am, I have had my share; and I know too well what it is tohave the heart within as full of sorrow, and all but broken. "

"Why, my poor girl, and have you too experienced disappointment andaffliction?"

"God, ma'am, has given me my share; but, in my case, the affliction wasgreater than the disappointment, although that too came soon enough uponme. "

"Why, did not the affliction, in your case, proceed from thedisappointment?"

"Not exactly, miss, but indeed partly it did. It's but a short story, my dear mistress, and I'll tell it to you. Fergus is his name--FergusO'Reilly. His father, for doin' something or other contrary to thelaws--harborin' some outlaw, I believe, that was a relation of his own, and who was found by the army in his house--well, his father, a veryould man, was taken prisoner, and put into jail, where he died beforethey could try him; and well it was he did so, for, by all accounts, they'd have transported or hanged the poor ould man, who was then pastseventy. Now, over and above that, they'd have done the same thing withhis son Fergus, but that he disappeared and but few knows what became ofhim. "

"Why, did he go without having had an interview with you?" asked theCooleen. 

"Indeed he did, miss, and small blame to him; for the truth is, he hadlittle time for leave-takin'--it was as much as he could do to make hisescape, which, thank God, he did. But, indeed, I oughtn't to thank Godfor it, I doubt, because it would have been better, and ten timesmore creditable to himself, if he had been transported, or hangedhimself--for that, ma'am, is many a good man's case, as every oneknows. "

"I agree with you, Ellen. There is, indeed, a most essential differencebetween flagitious crimes, such as theft, robbery, murder, and otherdreadful outrages of that character, and those which may be termedoffences arising from political opinions, which are often honestlyentertained by individuals who, in all the relations of life, are sometimes the most exemplary members of society. But proceed, Ellen--what was the result?"

Poor Ellen's eyes filled with tears, and she could scarcely summoncomposure enough to reply:

"Worse than transportation or even death, my dear mistress; oh! farworse--guilt and crime. Yes: he that had gained my affections, and gaveme his, joined the Red Rapparee and his gang, and became--a robber. I was goin' to say an outlaw, but he was that before he joined them, because he wouldn't submit to the laws--that is, wouldn't submit to betransported, or maybe hanged--or you know, ma'am, how little a thing itis that will either hang or transport any one of our unfortunate creednow. "

"Alas! my dear Ellen, you forget that I am a living witness of it, andan afflicted one; but proceed. Have you ever seen your lover since?"

"I did, ma'am, but at that time he mentioned nothing about his havin'joined the Rapparees. He came, he said, to bid me farewell, and to tellme that he wasn't worthy of me. 'The stain that's upon me, ' said he, 'draws a gulf between you and me that neither of us can ever pass. 'He could scarcely speak, but he dashed away the tears that came to hiseyes--and--and--so he took his departure. Now, my dear young mistress, you see how well I can understand your case, and the good reason I haveto feel for you, as I do, and ever will, until God in his mercy may setyou both free from what you're sufferin'. "

"But, are you certain, Ellen, that he actually has joined theRapparees?"

"Too sure, ma'am--too sure; my father had it in private from his ownlips, for, as the poor boy said, he hadn't the courage himsell to tellme. "

"But, Ellen, " asked Miss Folliard, "where had you an opportunity ofseeing and becoming acquainted with this young man? You surely couldnot have known him, or conceived an attachment for him, previous to yourcoming to reside with us?"

"Oh, no, ma'am, " replied Ellen; "it was at my father's I becameacquainted with him, principally whenever I got lave to spend a Sundayat home. And now, my dear mistress, " she proceeded, sobbing, "I mustgo--your poor, faithful Ellen will never let you, nor the thought ofyour sorrows, out of her heart. All she can do now is to give you herprayers and her tears. Farewell! my darlin' mistress--may the blessingof God guard and prosper you both, and bring you to the happiness youdeserve. " She wept bitterly as she concluded. 

"Ellen, " replied her mistress, and she paused--"Ellen, " said sheagain--she would, indeed, have spoken, but, after a silent struggle, shecovered her eyes with her handkerchief, and was fairly carried awayby her emotions--"Ellen, " said she, taking her hand, and recoveringherself, "be of courage; let neither of us despair--a brighter lightmay shine on our path yet. Perhaps I may have it in my power to befriendyou, hereafter. Farewell, Ellen; and if I can prevail on my father tobring you back, I will. " And so they parted. 

Connor's father was a tenant of the squire's, and held rather acomfortable farm of about eighteen or twenty acres. Ellen herself had, when very young, been, by some accident or other, brought within thenotice of Mrs. Folliard, who, having been struck by her vivacity, neatness of figure, and good looks, begged permission from her parentsto take the little girl under her care, and train her up to wait uponher daughter. She had now been eight years in the squire's family--thatis, since her fourteenth--and was only two years older than the _CooleenBaum_, who was now, and had been for the last three years, her onlymistress. She had consequently grown, is it were, into all her habits, and we may justly say that there was not an individual in existence whohad a better opportunity of knowing and appreciating her good qualitiesand virtues; and, what was much to her honor, she never for a momentobtruded her own private sorrows upon the ear or heart of her mistress, who, she saw, had a sufficient number of her own to bear. 

It was late in the evening when she took farewell of her mistress, andtwilight had come on ere she had got within half mile of her father'shouse. On crossing a stile which led, by a pathway, to the littlehamlet in which her father lived, she was both surprised and startled byperceiving Fergus Reilly approach her. He was then out of his disguise, and dressed in his own clothes, for he could not prevail upon himself toapproach her father's house, or appear before any of the family, in thetattered garb of a mendicant. On this occasion he came to tell themthat he had abandoned the gang of the Red Rapparee, and come to theresolution of seeking his pardon from the Government, having beeninformed that it offered protection to all who would come in and submitto the laws, provided they had not been guilty of shedding human blood. This intelligence, however, was communicated to the family, as a meansof preparing them for still more important information upon the subjectof his own liberty--a matter with which the reader will soon becomeacquainted, as he will with the fact of his having left off his disguiseonly for a brief period. In the meantime, he felt perfectly conscious ofthe risk he ran of a failure in the accomplishment of his own project, by throwing off his disguise, and was then hastening on his way to thecottage of widow Buckley, where he had left his mendicant apparel forthe time being. 

When Ellen saw him she felt a tumult in her bosom which almost overcameher. Her heart palpitated almost audibly, and her knees became feebleunder her. There was something so terrible associated with the idea of aRapparee that she took it for granted that some frightful transformationof person and character must have taken place in him, and that she wouldnow meet a man thoroughly imbued with all the frightful and savage viceswhich were so frequently, and too often so generally, attributed to thatfierce and formidable class. Still, the recollection of their formeraffection, and her knowledge of the oppression which had come uponhimself and his family, induced her to hope that the principles ofhumanity could not have been altogether effaced from his heart. Full ofdoubt and anxiety, therefore, she paused at the stile, against which shefelt it necessary to lean for support, not without a touch of interestand somewhat of curiosity, to control the vague apprehensions whichshe could not help feeling. We need scarcely inform the reader that themeeting on both sides was accidental and unexpected. 

"Heavenly Father!" exclaimed Ellen, in a voice trembling with agitation, "is this Fergus O'Reilly that I see before me? Fergus, ruined andundone!" She then looked cautiously about her, and added, "Fergus, theRapparee!"

"God bless me!" he exclaimed in return, "and may I ask, is this EllenConnor on my path?"

"Well, I think I may say so, in one sense. Sure enough, I am EllenConnor; but, unfortunately, not the Ellen Connor that you wanst knew;neither, unfortunately again, are you the Fergus O'Reilly that I wanstknew. We are both changed, Fergus--I into sorrow, and you into crime. "

"Ellen, " said he, nearly as much agitated as herself, "I stand beforeyou simply as Fergus O'Seilly, but not Fergus the Rapparee. "

"You will not deny your own words to my father, " she replied. 

"No, Ellen, I will not--they were true then, but, thank God, they arenot true now. "

"How is that, Fergus?"

"Simply because I was a Rapparee when I spoke to your father; but I haveleft them, once and for ever. "

"How long have you left them?"

"Ever since that night. If it were not for Reilly and those that wereout with him duck-shooting, the red villain would have murdered thesquire and Andy Cummiskey, as sure as there is life in my body. Afterall, it is owin' to Mr. Reilly that I left him and his cursed crew. Andnow, Ellen, that I have met you, let me spake to you about ould times. In the first place, I am heart sorry for the step I took; but you knowit was oppression and persecution that drove me to it. "

"Fergus, " she replied, "that's no excuse. Persecution may come upon us, but that's no reason why we should allow it to drive us into eviland crime. Don't you know that it's such conduct that justifies thepersecutors in their own eyes and in the eyes of the world. What willbecome of you now? If you're caught, you must die a shameful death. "

"Devil a fear of it, my darlin' Ellen. I could tell you something, ifI thought myself at liberty to do so--something _mavourneen_, that 'udgive you a light heart. "

"Indeed, Fergus, I don't wish to hear any of your secrets. It's myopinion they would not be fit for me to hear. But in the mane time, " sheadded--prompted by the undying principle of female curiosity, and, letus add, a better and more generous feeling--"in the mane time, Fergus, if it's any thing about yourself, and that it would give me a lightheart, as you say it would, and that there is nothing wrong anddishonorable in it, I would, for your sake, be glad to hear it. "

"Well then, Ellen, I will tell it; but it must, for reasons that there'sno use in mentionin' to you, be a secret between us, for some time--nota long time, I hope. I am, thank God, free as the air of heaven, andmay walk abroad, openly, in the face of day, if I like, without any onedarin' to ask me a question. "

"But, Fergus, " said Ellen, "I don't undherstand this. You were arobber--a Rapparee--and now you are a free man. But what did you do todeserve this at the hands of the Government?"

"Don't be alarmed, my darlin' Ellen--nothing imbecomin' an honest man. "

"I hope, " she proceeded--her cheeks mantling with indignation andscorn--"I hope, Fergus, you wouldn't think of stoopin' to treacheryagainst the unfortunate, ay, or even against the guilty. I hope youwouldn't sell yourself to the Government, and got your liberty, affcherall, only as a bribe for villany, instead of a free gift. "

"See, now, " he returned, "what I have brought on myself by tellin' youany thing at all about it--a regular ould house on my shouldhers. No, darlin', " he proceeded, "you ought to know me better. "

"Oh, Fergus, " she replied quickly, "I thought I knew you wanst. "

"Is that generous, Ellen?" he said, in a tone of deep and melancholyfeeling, "afther statin' my sorrow for that step?"

"Well, " she replied, moved by what she saw he suffered in consequence ofher words, "if I have given you pain, Fergus, forgive me--you know it'snot in my nature to give pain to any one, but, above all persons in theworld, to you. "

"Well, darlin', " said he, "you will know all in time; but there is agood deal to be done yet. All I can say, and all I will say, is, thatif God spares me life, I will take away one of the blackest enemies thatWilly Reilly and the _Cooleen Bawn_ has in existence. He would do anything that the villain of perdition he's a slave to would bid him. Now, I'll say no more; and I'm sure, as the friend of your beautifulmistress, the fair _Cooleen Bawn_, you'll thank me for what I havepromised to do against the Red Bapparee. "

"I will pry no further into your affairs or intentions, Fergus; but, ifyou can take danger out of the way of the _Cooleen Bawn_ or Reilly, Iwill forgive you a great deal--every thing, indeed, but treachery ordishonor. But, Fergus, I have something to mention, that will take a, start out of you. I have been discharged by the squire from his family, and--_mavrone_, oh!--I can now be of no service to the _Cooleen Bawn_. "

"Discharged!" replied Fergus with astonishment; "why, how did that come?But I suppose I needn't ask--some of the mad old Squire's tantrums, Isuppose? And what did the _Cooleen Bawn_ herself say?"

"Why, she cried bitterly when I was lavin' her; indeed if I had been hersister she couldn't feel more; and, as might be expected from her, shepromised to befriend me as long as she had it in her power; but, poorthing, if matters go against her, as I'm afeared they will--if she'sforced to marry that villain, it is little for any thing that's eithergood or generous ever she'll have in her power; but marry him she neverwill I heard her say more than wanst that she'd take her own life first;and indeed I'm sartain she will, too, if she is forced to it. Eitherthat, or she'll lose her senses; for, indeed, Fergus, the darlin' girlwas near losin' them wanst or twist as it is--may God pity and relieveher. "

"Amen, " replied Fergus. "And you're now on your way home, I suppose?"

"I am, " said Ellen, "and every thing belongin' to me is to be sent to myfather's; but indeed, Fergus, I don't much care now what becomes of me. My happiness in this world is bound up in hers; and if she's to be sunkin grief and sorrow, I can never be otherwise--we'll have the onefate, Fergus, and God grant it may be a happy one, although I see nolikelihood of it. "

"Come, come, Ellen, " replied Fergus, "you think too much of it. Theone fate!--No, you won't, unless it is a happy one. I am now free, as Isaid; and at present I see nothing to stand between your happiness andmine. We loved one another every bit as well as Reilly and she does--ay, and do still, I hope; and, if they can't be happy, that's no raison whyyou and I shouldn't. Happy! There's nothing to prevent us from bein' so. I am free, as I said; and all we have to do is to lave this unfortunatecountry and go to some other, where there's neither oppression norpersecution. If you consent to this, Ellen, I can get the means ofbringing us away, and of settlin' comfortably in America. "

"And I to leave the _Cooleen Bawn_ in the uncertain state she's in? No, never, Fergus--never. "

"Why? of what use can you be to her now, and you separated from her--ay, and without the power of doin' any thing to sarve her?"

"Fergus, " said she, resolutely, "it's useless at the present time tospeak to me on this subject. I'm glad you've got yourself from amongthese cruel and unconscionable Rapparees--I'm glad you're free; butI tell you that if you had the wealth of Squire Folliard--ay, or ofWhitecraft himself, which they say is still greater, I wouldn't becomeyour wife so long as she's in the state she's in. "

"That's strong language, Ellen, and I am sorry to hear it from you. MyGod! can you think of nobody's happiness but the _Cooleen Bawn_'s? Asfor me, it's my opinion I like Reilly as well every bit as you do her;but, for all that, not even the state he's in, nor the danger thatsurrounds him, would prevent me from marryin' a wife--from bindin' yourheart and mine together for life, my darlin' Ellen. "

"Ah! Fergus, you're a man--not a woman--and can't undherstand what trueattachment is. You men never can. You're a selfish set--at least themost of you are--with some exceptions, I grant. "

"And, upon my soul, Ellen, " replied Fergus, with a good-humoredsmile, "I'm one of the choicest and natest of the exceptions. I prefereverybody's happiness to my own--poor Sir Robert Whitecraft's, forinstance. Now, don't you call that generosity?"

She gave a mournful smile, and replied, "Fergus, I can't join in yourmirth now as I used to do. Many a pleasant conversation we've had; butthen our hearts were light, and free from care. No, Fergus, you mustlave all thoughts of me aside, for I will have nothing of either love orcourtship till I know her fate. Who can say but I may be brought back?She said she'd try what she could do with her father to effect it. Youknow how whimsical the old Squire is; and who knows whether she may notstand in need of me again? But, Fergus, there's one thing strikes meas odd, and, indeed, that doesn't rise you much in my good opinion. Butfirst, let me ask you, what friend it is who'd give you the means ofgoing to another country?"

"Why, who else but Reilly?" he replied. 

"And could you, " she returned, with something like contempt stamped uponher pretty features--"could you be mane and ungrateful enough to leavehim now in the trouble and sorrow that he's in, and think only ofyourself?"

"No, indeed, my dear Ellen; but I was only layin' the plan wheneverwe might be able to put it in practice. I'm not exactly a boy of thatkidney--to desart my friend in the day of his trouble--devil a bit ofit, my darlin'. "

"Well, I am glad to hear you speak as you do, " she said, with a smile;"and now, to reward your constancy to him, I tell you that wheneverthey're settled, or, at all events, out of their troubles, if you thinkme worth your while, I won't have any objection to become your wife;and--there--what are you about, Fergus? See this, now--you've almostbroken the tortoise-shell crooked-comb that she made me a present of. "

"Why, blood alive, Ellen, sure it was only sealin' the bargain I was. "

"But remember it is a bargain, and one I'll stick to. Now leave me; it'sgettin' quite dark; or, if you like, you may see me across the fields. "

Such, in fact, was the indomitable attachment of this faithful girlto her lovely and affectionate mistress that, with a generosity asunselfish as it was rare, and almost heroic, she never for a momentthought of putting her own happiness or prospects in life in competitionwith those of the _Cooleen Bawn_. The latter, it is true, was consciousof this unparalleled attachment, and appreciated it at its true value. How nobly this admirable girl fulfilled her generous purpose of abidingby the fate and fortunes of her unhappy mistress will be seen as thenarrative goes along. 

Ellen's appearance in her father's house surprised the family nota little. The expression of sorrow which shaded her very handsomefeatures, and a paleness which was unusual to her, alarmed themconsiderably--not so much from any feeling connected with herself, asfrom an apprehension that some new-distress or calamity had befallen the_Cooleen Bawn_, to whom they all felt almost as deeply attached as shedid herself. After the first affectionate salutations were over, shesaid, with a languid smile:

"I suppose you all wonder to see me here at this hour; or, indeed, tosee me here at all. "

"I hope, Ellen, " said-her father, "that nothing unpleasant has happenedto her. "

"May the Lord forbid, " said her mother, "and may the Lord take thedarlin' creature out of all her troubles. But has there, Ellen--hasanything happened to her?"

"Nothing more than usual, " replied their daughter, "barring that I havebeen sent away from her--I am no longer her own maid now. "

"_Chierna_!" exclaimed her mother; "and what is that for, _alanna_?"

"Well, indeed, mother, I can't exactly say, " replied Ellen, "but Isuppose it is because they knew I loved her too much to be a spy uponher. I have raison, however, to suspect that the villain is at thebottom of it, and that the girl who came in my place will act more likea jailer than a maid to her. Of course they're all afraid that she'llrun away with Reilly. "

"And do you think she will, Ellen?" asked her father. 

"Don't ask me any such questions, " she replied. "It's no matter what Ithink--and, besides, it's not my business to mention my thoughts to anyone--but one thing I know, it'll go hard if she ever leaves her father, who, I really think, would break his heart if she did. "

"Oh!" observed the father, with a smile, "divil a one o' you girls, Ellen, ever thinks much of father or mother when you have made up yourminds to run away wid your _buchaleens_--sorra a taste. "

"_Arra_, Brian, will you have sinse, " said his wife; "why wouldn't theythink o' them?"

"Did you do it?" he asked, winking at the rest, "when you took a bravestart wid myself across Crockaniska, one summer Sunday night, long ago. Be me sowl, you proved youself as supple as a two-year-old--cleared, drain and ditch like a bird--and had me, when we reached my uncle's, that the ayes wor startin' out o' my head. "

"Bad scran to him, the ould slingpoker! Do you hear him, " she exclaimed, laughing--"never mind him, children!--troth, he went at sich a snail'space that one 'ud think it was to confession he was goin', and that hedid nothing but think of his sins as he went along. "

"That was bekaise I knew that I had the penance before me, " he replied, laughing also. 

"Any how, " replied his wife, "our case was not like their's. We wereboth Catholics, and knew that we'd have the consent of our friends, besides; we only made a runaway because it was the custom of thecounthry, glory be to God!"

"Ay, ay, " rejoined her husband; "but, faith, it was you that provedyourself the active girl that night, at any rate. However, I hope theLord will grant her grace to go, wid him, at all events, for, upon mysowl, it would be a great boast for the Catholics--bekaise we know thereis one thing sure, and that is, that the divil a long she'd be widhim till he'd have left her fit to face Europe as a Christian and aCatholic, bekaise every wife ought to go wid her husband, barrin' he's aProdestant. "

Poor Ellen paid little attention to this conversation. She felt deeplydepressed, and, after many severe struggles to restrain herself, at lastburst into tears. 

"Come, darlin', " said her father, "don't let this affair cast youdown so much; all will yet turn out for the betther, I hope. Cheer up, _avillish_; maybe that, down-hearted as you are, I have good news foryou. Your ould sweetheart was here this evenin', and hopes soon to havehis pardon--he's a dacent boy, and has good blood in his veins; and asfor his joinin' O'Donnel, it wasn't a a bad heart set him to do it, butthe oppression that druv him, as it did many others, to take the stepshe took--oppression on the one side, and bitterness of heart on theother. "

"I saw him awhile ago, " she replied, "and he tould me a good deal abouthimself. But, indeed, father, it's not of him I'm thinkin', but on thedarlin' girl that's on the brink of destruction, and what I know she'ssufferin'. "

"I wondher where Reilly is, " said her mother. "My goodness! sure heought to make a push, and take her off at wanst. I dunna is he in thecountry at all? What do you think, Ellen?"

"Indeed, mother, " she replied, "very few, I believe, knows any thingabout him. All I'm afraid of is, that, wherever he may be, he'll hardlyescape discovery. "

"Well, " said her father, "I'll tell you what we'll do. Let us kneeldown and offer up ten pathers, ten aves, and a creed, that the Lord mayprotect them both from their enemies, and grant them a happy marriage, in spite of laws, parliaments, magistrates, spies, persecutors andpriest-hunters, and, as our hands are in, let us offer up a few thatGod may confound that villain, Whitecraft, and bring him snugly to thegallows. "

This was immediately complied with, in a spirit of earnestnesssurpassing probably what they might have felt had they been prayingfor their own salvation. The prayers having been concluded, and supperprepared, in due time the family retired to rest for the night. 

When Fergus Reilly took his leave of Ellen, he directed his steps to thecottage of Mrs. Buckley, where, for certain purpose connected with hisdesigns on the Red Rapparee, he had been in the habit of meeting: thesagacious fool, Tom Steeple. It was there, besides, that he had left hisdisguise, which the unaccomplished progress of his projects rendered itnecessary that he should once more resume. This, in fact, was the placeof their rendezvous, where they generally met at night. These meetings, however, were not always very regular; for poor Tom, notwithstanding hissingular and anomalous: cunning, was sometimes led away by his gastricappetite to hunt for a bully dinner, or a bully supper, or a mug ofstrong beer, as the case might be, and after a gorge he was frequentlyso completely overtaken by laziness and a consequent tendency to sleep, that he retired to the barn, or some other outhouse, where he stretchedhis limbs on a shake-down of hay or straw, and lapped himself into astate of luxury which many an epicure of rank and wealth might envy. 

On reaching the widow's cottage, Fergus felt somewhat disappointed thatTom was not there, nor had he been seen that day in any part of theneighborhood. Fergus, however, whilst the widow was keeping watchoutside, contrived to get on his old disguise once more, after whichhe proceeded in the direction of his place of refuge for the night. Oncrossing the fields, however, towards the wild and lonely road, whichwas at no great distance from the cottage, he met Tom approaching it, athis usual sling-trot pace. 

"Is that Tom?" said he--"tall Tom?"

"Hicco, hicco!" replied Tom, quite gratified with the compliment. "Yoube tall, too--not as tall as Tom dough. Tom got bully dinner to-day, andbully sleep in de barn, and bully supper, but wasn't sleepy den--hicco, hicco. "

"Well, Tom, what news about what you know?"

"In toder house, " replied Tom; "him sleeps in Peg Finigan's sometimes, and sometimes in toder again--dat is, Mary Mahon's. Him's afeared o'something--hard him say so, sure, to ould Peg. "

"Well, Tom, if you will keep your eye on him, so as that you can let usknow where to find him, we engage to give you a bully dinner every day, and, a bully supper every night of your life, and a swig of stout ale towash it down, with plenty of straw to sleep on, and a winnow-cloth andlots of sacks to keep you as warm and cosey as a winter hob. You knowwhere to find me every evenin' after dusk, Tom, and when you come withgood news, you'll be a made man; and, listen, Tom, it'll make you a foottaller, and who knows, man alive, but we may show you for a giant, now. "

"Hicco, hicco!" said Tom; "dat great--never mind; me catch him for you. A giant!--oh, gorramarcy!--a giant!--hicco!--gorramarcy!" and with thesewords he darted off in some different direction, whilst Fergus went tohis usual place of rest for the night. 

It would seem by the Red Rapparee s movements at this time as if heentertained some vague suspicions of awakened justice, notwithstandingthe assurances of safety previously communicated to him by Sir RobertWhitecraft. Indeed, it is not impossible that even the other individualswho had distinguished themselves under that zealous baronet might, intheir conversations with each other, have enabled the Rapparee to getoccasional glimpses of the new state of things which had just takenplace, and that, in consequence, he shifted about a good deal, takingcare never to sleep two nights in succession under the same roof. Bethis as it may, the eye of Tom Steeple was on him, without the leastpossible suspicion on his part that he was under his surveillance. 

CHAPTER XIV. --Reilly takes Service with Squire Folliard. 

Reilly led a melancholy life after the departure of the pious bishop. Aweek, however, had elapsed, and he felt as if it had been half a year. His anxiety, however, either to see or hear from his _Cooleen Bawn_completely overcame him, and he resolved, at all events, to write toher; in the meantime, how was he to do this? There was no letter-paperin the farmer's house, nor any to be procured within miles, and, underthese circumstances, he resolved to pay a visit to Mr. Brown. After sometrouble he was admitted to the presence of that gentleman, who couldscarcely satisfy himself of his identity; but, at length, he feltassured, and asked him into the study. 

"My dear Reilly, " said he, "I think you are infatuated. I thought youhad been out of the country long before this. Why, in heaven's name, doyou remain in Ireland, when you know the difficulty of escape? Ihave had, since I saw you last, two or three domiciliary visits fromWhitecraft and his men, who searched my whole house and premises in aspirit of insolence that was, most indelicate and offensive. Hastingsand I have sent a memorial to the Lord Lieutenant, signed by some of themost respectable Protestant gentry in the, country, in which westated his wanton tyranny as well as his oppression of his Majesty'ssubjects--harmless and loyal men, and whom he pursues with unsatiablevengeance, merely because they are Roman Catholics. I certainly do notexpect that our memorial will be attended to by this Administration. There is a report, however, that the present Ministry will soon go out, and be succeeded by one more liberal. "

"Well, " replied Reilly, "since I saw you last I have had some narrowescapes; but I think it would be difficult to know me in my presentdisguise. "

"I grant that, " said Mr. Brown, "but then is there nothing to beapprehended from treachery?"

"I think not, " replied the other. "There is only the farmer and hisfamily, with whom the bishop and I harbored, who are aware of mydisguise, and to that number I must now add yourself. "

"Well, " replied Mr. Brown, smiling, "I do not think you have much toapprehend from me. "

"No, " said Reilly, "you have given me too many substantial proofs ofyour confidence for that. But I wish to write a letter; and I haveneither pen, ink, nor paper; will you be good enough to lend me the useof your study for a few minutes, and your writing materials?"

The excellent clergyman immediately conducted him to the study, andplaced the materials before him with his own hands, after which he leftthe room. Reilly then sat down, and penned the following letter to hisdear _Cooleen Bawn_:

"I am now thoroughly disguised, indeed so effectually that my nearestand dearest friends could not know me; nay, I question whether even youyourself would, except by the keen intuition of affection, which is saidto penetrate all disguises, unless those of falsehood and hypocrisy. These, however, are disguises I have never worn, nor ever shallwear--either to you or any human being. I had intended to go to theContinent until this storm of persecution might blow over; but onreflection I changed my purpose, for I could not leave you to run therisk of being ensnared in the subtle and treacherous policy of thatvillain. It is my intention to visit your father's house and to seeyou if I can. You need not, for the sake of my safety, object to this, because no one can know me. The description of my dress, though somewhatundignified, I must give you. In the first place, then, I am, to alloutward appearance, as rude-looking a country lout as ever you lookedupon. My disguise consists, first, of a pair of brogues embroidered withclouts, or what is vulgarly denominated patches, out of the point of oneof which--that of the right foot--nearly half my toe visibly projects. The stockings are coarse Connemaras, with sufficient air-holes, both infeet and legs, to admit the pure atmosphere, and strengthen the muscularsystem. My small-clothes are corduroys, bought from a hard-workinglaborer, with a large patch upon each knee. A tailor, however, haspromised to get some buttons for them and sew them on. The waistcoat isaltogether indescribable; because, as its materials seem to have beenrescued, that is, stolen, from all the scarecrows in the country, I am'unable to come at the first fabric. The coat itself is also beautifullyvariegated, its patches consisting of all the colors of the rainbow, with two or three dozen that never appeared in that beautifulphenomenon. But what shall I say of the pendiment, or caubeen, which isa perfect gem of its kind? The villain who wore it, I have been told bythe person who acted as factor for me in its purchase, was one of themost quarrelsome rascals in Ireland, and seldom went without a black eyeor a broken pate. This, I suppose, accounts for the droop in the leaf, which covers the left eye so completely, as well as for the ventilator, which so admirably refreshes the head, and allows the rain to come in soabundantly to cool it. I cannot help reflecting, however, on the fate ofthose who have nothing better to wear, and of the hard condition whichdooms them to it. And now, my beloved _Cooleen Bawn_, whilst I havethus endeavored to make you smile, I assure you I have exaggeratedvery little. This dress, you know, is precisely that of a wretchedConnaught-man looking for employment. The woman, who will, through ourconfidant, Lanigan, deliver this to you, is a poor faithful creature, a pensioner of mine, who may be trusted. Appoint through her a day andhour when, as a man seeking for labor, I will stand at the hall-door. Iam quite satisfied that neither your father, nor the villain, will knowme from Adam. The woman who is to bring this will call on the second dayafter its delivery, and I shall be guided by whatever message you maysend me. On one thing, however, I am determined, which is that if itshould cost me my life, I will prevent the meditated marriage betweenyou and him. Sooner than such an event should take place, I would puta pistol to his head and blow his guilty soul into that perdition whichawaits it. Don't write; let your message be verbal, and destroy this. "

On going to widow Buckley's, he learned--after some trouble inidentifying himself--that she had several visits from Sir Robert and hismen, at all hours, both by night and day. He therefore hastily gave herthe necessary instructions how to act, and, above all things, to ask tosee Lanigan, and, if possible, to bring some eggs or chickens for sale, which fact, he said, would give a color to her appearance there, andprevent the possibility of any suspicion. Having placed the letter inher keeping, together with some silver to enable her to purchase eitherthe eggs or the chickens, in case she had them not herself, he thenreturned to the farmer's, where he remained quietly and withoutdisturbance of any kind until the third day, when widow Buckley madeher appearance. He brought her out to the garden, because in discussingmatters connected with his _Cooleen Bawn_ he did not wish that even thefarmer's family should be auditors--although we may say here that notonly were the loves of Willy Reilly and _Cooleen Bawn_ known to thefarmer and his family, but also to the whole country, and, indeed, through the medium of ballads, to the greater portion of the kingdom. 

"Well, Mrs. Buckley, " said he, "did you see her?"

"Oh, bad scran to you, Mr. Reilly! you're the very sarra among thegirls when you could persuade that lovely creature to fall in love withyou--and you a Catholic, an' her a Protestant! May I never, if I thinkthere's her angil out o' heaven! Devil an angel I think in it couldhould a candle to her for beauty and figure. She only wants the wings, sir--for they say that all the angels have wings; and upon my conscienceif she had them I know the man she'd fly to. "

"But what happened, Mrs. Buckley?"

"Why, I sould some chickens and eggs to the cook, who at wanst knew me, because I had often sould him chickens and eggs before. He came up tothe hall-door, and--'Well, Mrs. Buckley, ' says he, 'what's the news?''_Be dhe husth_, ' says I, 'before I sell you the chickens, let me axis the _Cooleen Bawn_ at home?' 'She is, ' says he, lookin' me sharp andstraight in the face; 'do you want her?' 'I would like to see her, ' saysI, 'for a minute or two. ' 'Ay, ' says he, back agin to me, 'you have amessage--and you know besides that she never buys chickens; that's mybusiness. ' 'But, ' says I, back agin, 'I was tould by him that you werefaithful, and could be depinded on. ' 'Ay, ' says he; 'but I thought hehad left the counthry. ' 'Troth, then, ' says I, 'he's to the fore still, and won't lave the counthry till he sees her wanst more, at all events. ''Have you a letther?' 'Betherahin, ' says I, 'could you let me see her;for he tould me to say to her that she is not, to indite letthers tohim, for fraid of discovery. ' 'Well, ' says he, 'as the master's at home, I'll have some difficulty in spakin' to her. Devil a move she gives buthe watches; and we got a new servant the other day, and devil a thingshe is but a spy from Sir Robert Whitecraft, and some people say thather master and she forgot the Gospel between them. Indeed I believethat's pretty well known; and isn't he a horrid villain to send such avagabone to attend and be about the very woman that he expects to be hisown wife?'"

"Don't be so particular in your descriptions, Mrs. Buckley, " saidReilly. "Did you see the _Cooleen Bawn_?"

"Look at that, " she replied, opening her hand, and showing him a goldenguinea--"don't you know by that that I seen her? but you must let me goon my own way. 'Well, ' says Lanigan, the cook, 'I must go and see whatI can do. ' He then went upstairs, and contrived to give her a hint, andthat was enough. 'The Lord bless us, Mr. Reilly, what won't love do?This girl--as Lanigan tould me--that the villain Whitecraft had sent asa spy upon her actions, was desired to go to her wardrobe, to pick outfrom among her beautiful dresses one that she had promised her as apresent some days before. The cook had this from the girl herself, whowas the sarra for dress; but, anyhow, while the the spy was tumblingabout _Cooleen Bawn_'s dresses, the darlin' herself whipped downstairs, and coming to me says, 'The cook tells me you have a message forme. ' Jist at this moment, and after she had slipped the letter intoher bosom, her father turns a corner round the garden, and seeing hisdaughter, which was a very unusual thing, in conversation with a personlike myself, he took the alarm at once. 'How, Helen? who is this youare speaking to'? No go-between, I hope? Who are you, you blasted oldshe-whelp?' 'I am no more a she-whelp than you are. ' 'Then maybe you area he one in disguise. What brought you here?' 'Here! I came to sellmy eggs and my chickens, as I done for years. ' 'Your eggs and yourchickens! curse you, you old Jezebel, did you ever lay the eggs or hatchthe chickens? And if you did, why not produce the old cock himself, inproof of the truth of what you say? I'll have you searched, though, inspite of your eggs and chickens. Here, ' he said to one of the footmen, who was passing through the hall--'here, Jones, send up Lanigan, till wesee whether he knows this old faggot, who has the assurance to tell methat she lays eggs and hatches chickens. ' When Lanigan came up again, he looked at me as at an old acquaintance, which, in point of fact, wewere. 'Why, your honor, ' said he, 'this is a poor, honest creature thathas been selling us eggs and chickens for many years. ' 'She wouldn't bea go-between, Lanigan--eh? What's your name, you old faggot--eh?''My name | is Scrahag, your honor, ' says I, 'one of the Scrahags ofBallycumpiatee--an honest and dacint family, sir; but if your honorwould buy the eggs, at any rate, and hatch them yourself, ' says I to him(for she had a large stock of Irish humor), 'you know, sir, you couldhave the chickens at first cost. ' 'Ha, ha, ha, ' and the squire laughedtill he nearly split his sides; 'by --- I'm hit'--God pardon me forrepeatin' his oaths. 'Here, Lanigan, bring her down to the kitchen, andgive her a fog meal. ' 'I understand you, sir, ' said Lanigan, smiling athim. 'Yes, Lanigan, give her a cargo of the best in the pantry. She'sa shrewd and comical old blade, ' said he; 'give her a kegful of beefor mutton, or both, and a good swill of ale or porter, or whatever sheprefers. Curse me, but I give the old whelp credit for the hit she gaveme. Pay her, besides, whatever she asks for her eggs and chickens. Here, you bitter old randle-tree, there are three thirteens for you; andif you will go down to the kitchen with the cook, he will give you aregular skinful. ' The cook, knowing that the _Cooleen Bawn_ wished tosend some message back to you, sir, brought me down, and gave me notonly plenty to ait and drink, but stuffed the praskeen that I hadcarried the eggs and chickens in with as much cold meat and bread as itcould contain. "

"Well, but did you not see her afterwards? and did she send no message?"

"Only two or three words; the day afther to-morrow, at two o'clock, cometo look for labor, and she will contrive to see you. "

This was enough, and Reilly did not allow his ambassadress to leave himwithout substantial marks of his bounty also. 

When the old squire went to his study, he desired the gardener to besent for, and when that individual entered, he found his master in atowering passion. 

"What is the reason, Malcomson, " said he, "that the garden is in such ashameful state? I declare to God it is scandalous. "

"Ou, your honor, " replied Malcomson, who was a Scotchman, "e'en becauseyou will not allow me an under gerdener. No one man could manageyour gerden, and it canna be managed without some clever chiel, whatunderstands the sceence. "

"The what?"

"The sceence, your honor. "

"Why, confound you, sir, what science is necessary in gardening?"

"I tell your honor that the management of a gerden requires baith skeeland knowledge, and feelosophy. "

"Why, confound you, sir, again, what kind of doctrine is this?"

"It's vera true doctrine, sir. You have large and spacious green-hooses, and I wad want some one to assist me wha understands buttany. "

"Buttony--Buttony--why, confound you, sirra, send for a tailor, then, for he understands buttony. "

"I see your honor is detarmined to indulge in a jocular spirit the day. The truth is, your honor, I hae no men to assist me but common laborers, who are athegether ignorant of gerdening; now, if I had a man who coulddirect the operations--"

"Operations! curse your Scotch impudence, do you think yourself ageneral?"

"Na, na, sir; but a better man; and I tell ye that I winna remain inyour service unless I get an assistant; and I say that, if itwere-na for the aid of Miss Folliard, I wouldna been able to keep thegreen-hoose e'en in its present state. She has trailed the passionflowerwi' her ain hands until it is nourishing. Then she has a beautifullittle plot of forget-me-nots; but, above a', it wad do your honor'sheart gude to see the beautiful bed she has of sweet-william andlove-lies-bleeding. "

"Ay, ay! love-lies-bleeding; no doubt but she'll take care of that. Well, go and get an under-gardener wherever you can, and let my gardenbe, at all events, such as a stranger can walk through, and such asbecomes my name and property. Engage such a person, give him whateveryou consider fair wages, and the house-steward will pay him weekly. These are matters I can't trouble myself with now-I have other things tothink of. "

On the day mentioned in _Cooleen Bawn's_ message, Reilly hazarded avisit to the squire's house, and after giving a single knock, begged tosee the cook. The porter having looked at him with the usual contemptwhich menials of his class bestow upon poor persons, went down to thekitchen with a good deal of reluctance, and told the cook, with a grin, that one of his relations wanted to see him. 

"Well, " replied Lanigan, who had been made aware of the intended visit, "it's wonderful, in these hard times, the number of respectable butreduced families that's goin' about. What kind of a gentleman is he, John? because I am very busy now. To be sure there is a great deal ofcold vittles left, that would be lost and destroyed if we didn't givethem to the poor; and you know the masther, who is a charitable man, desired us to do so. I'll go up and see what the poor devil wants. "

He accordingly went up to the hall-door, and found Reilly there. It wasto no purpose that he had been already apprised of his disguise--it wasso complete that he did not know him--his beard was half an inch long;and, besides, Reilly, knowing the risk he ran in this daring adventure, had discolored his complexion with some wash that gave it the tinge of amulatto. The cook was thunderstruck. 

"Well, my good fellow, " said he, not in the slightest degree recognizinghim, "what do you want with me?"

"Lanigan, " replied Reilly, "don't you know me?"

"Know you! how the devil should I know you?--I never saw you before. What do you want with me?"

"Lanigan, " whispered the other, "did you never hear of Willy Reilly?"

"Yes, I did; have you any message from him?"

"I am the man myself, " said Reilly, "but you don't know me, I am socompletely disguised. Don't you know my voice?"

"Merciful Father!" said the cook, "I'm in a doldrum; can I be sure thatyou don't come from Sir Robert Whitecraft, the notorious blackguard?"

"Lanigan, I am Willy Reilly: my voice ought to tell you so; but I wishto see and speak with my dear _Cooleen Bawn_. "

"Oh, my God, sir!" replied Lanigan, "but this love makes strangetransmigrations. She won't know you, sir. "

"Make your mind easy on that point, " replied Reilly; "only let her knowthat I am here. "

"Come down to the kitchen then, sir, and I shall put you into theservants' hall, which branches off it. It is entered, besides, by adifferent door from that of the kitchen, and while you stay there--andyou can pass into it without going through the kitchen--I will try tolet her know where you are. She has at present a maid who was sent bySir Robert Whitecraft, and she is nothing else than a spy; but it'll gohard, or I'll baffle her. "

He accordingly placed Reilly in the servants' hall, and on his way tothe drawing-room met Miss Folliard going to her own apartment, whichcommanded a view of the front of the house. He instantly communicatedto her the fact of Reilly's presence in the servants' hall; "but, "added Lanigan, "you won't know him--his own mother, if she was livin', wouldn't know a bone in his body. "

"Oh!" she replied, whilst her eyes flashed fearfully, in fact, in amanner that startled the cook--"oh! if he is there I shall soon knowhim. He has a voice, I think--he has a voice! Has he not, Lanigan?"

"Yes, ma'am, " replied Lanigan, "he has a voice, and a heart too. "

"Oh! yes, yes, " she said, "I must go to him; they want to marry me tothat monster--to that bigot and persecutor, on this very day month; but, Lanigan, it shall never be--death a thousand times sooner than sucha union. If they attempt to bind us, death shall cut the linkasunder--that I promise you, Lanigan. But I must go to him--I must go tohim. "

She ran down the stairs as she spoke, and Lanigan, having looked afterher, seemed deeply concerned. 

"My God!" he exclaimed, "what will become of that sweet girl if she isforced to marry that wealthy scoundrel? I declare to my God I hardlythink she is this moment in her proper senses. There's a fire in hereyes; and something in her manner, that I never observed before. Atall events, I have locked the door that opens from the kitchen into theservants' hall, so that they cannot be interrupted from that quarter. "

When the _Cooleen Bawn_ entered, she shrank back instinctively. The disguise was so complete that she could not impose even on herimagination or her senses. The complexion was different, in fact, quitesallow; the beard long, and the costume such as we have described it. There was, in fact, something extremely ludicrous in the meeting. Herewas an elegant and beautiful young woman of fashion, almost ready, as itwere, to throw herself in the arms of a common pauper, with a beard uponhim better than half an inch long. As it was, she stopped suddenly andretreated a step or two, saying, as she did so:

"This must be some mistake. Who are you?"

"Helen!"

"Reilly! oh, that voice has set all right. But, my God, who could knowyou--in this disguise?"

They approached, and Reilly, seizing her hand, said, "I will shake handswith you; but until this disguise is off I would consider it sacrilegeto approach nearer to your person. "

"No disguise can ever shut you out from my heart, dear Reilly; but whatis to be done? I have discovered, by one of my maids, who overheardmy father say, in a short soliloquy--'Well, thank God, she'll be SirRobert's wife within a month, and then my mind will be easy at last. 'Oh! I'm glad you did not leave this country. But, as I said, what is tobe done? What will become of us?"

"Under our peculiar circumstances, " replied Reilly, "the questioncannot, for the present at least, be answered. As for leaving thecountry, I might easily have done it, but I could not think of leavingyou to the snares and windings of that villain. I declare solemnly, Iwould rather die than witness a union between you and him. "

"But what, think you, should I feel? You would be only a spectator ofthe sacrifice, whereas I should be the victim. "

"Do not be cast down, my love; whilst I have life, and a strong arm, itsnail never be. Before I go I shall make arrangements with Lanigan whenand where to see you again. "

"It will be a matter of some difficulty, " she replied, "for I amnow under the strictest surveillance. I am told, and I feel it, thatWhitecraft has placed a spy upon all my motions. "

"How is that?" inquired Reilly. "Are you not under the protectionof your father, who, when occasion is necessary, has both pride andspirit?"

"But my poor credulous father is, notwithstanding, easily imposed on. Iknow not exactly the particulars, " replied the lovely girl, "but I caneasily suspect them. My father it was, certainly, who discharged my lastmaid, Ellen Connor, because, he said, he did not like her, and because, he added, he would put a better and a more trustworthy one in her place. I cannot move that she is not either with me or after me; nay, I cannotwrite a note that she does not immediately acquaint papa, who is certainto stroll into my apartment and ask to see the contents of it, adding, 'Helen, when a young lady of rank and property forms a clandestineand disgraceful attachment it is time that her father should be on thelookout; so I will just take the liberty of throwing my eye over thislittle billet-doux. ' I told him often that he was at liberty to inspectevery line I should write, but that I thought that very few parentswould express such want of confidence in their daughters, if, like me, the latter had deserved such confidence at their hands as I did at his. "

"What is the name of your present maid?" asked Reilly, musing. 

"Oh, " replied Miss Folliard, "I have three maids altogether, but she hasbeen installed as own maid. Her name is Eliza Herbert. "

"A native of England, is she not? Eliza Herbert!" he exclaimed; "in thelowermost depths of perdition there is not such a villain. This ElizaHerbert is neither more nor less than one of his--but I will not painyour pure and delicate mind by mentioning at further length what she isand was to him. The clergyman of the parish, Mr. Brown, knows the wholecircumstances. See him at church, and get him to communicate them toyour father. The fact is, this villain, who is at once cunning andparsimonious, had a double motive, each equally base and diabolical, insending her here. In the first place, he wished, by getting her agood place, to make your father the unconscious means of rewarding herprofligacy; and in the second of keeping her as a spy upon you. "

A blush, resulting from her natural sense of delicacy, as well as fromthe deepest indignation at a man who did not scruple to place the womanwhom he looked upon as almost immediately to become his wife, in thesociety of such a wretch--such a blush, we say, overspread her wholeneck and face, and for about two minutes she shed bitter tears. But shefelt the necessity of terminating their interview, from an apprehensionthat Miss Herbert, as she was called, on not finding her in the room, might institute a search, and in this she was not mistaken. 

She had scarcely concluded when the shrill voice of Miss Herbert washeard, as she rushed rapidly down the stairs, screaming, "Oh, la! oh, dear me! oh, my goodness! Where, where--oh, bless me, did any one seeMiss Folliard?"

Lanigan, however, had prepared for any thing like a surprise. He plantedhimself, as a sentinel, at the foot of the stairs, and the moment heheard the alarm of Miss Herbert on her way down, he met her half way up, after having given a loud significant cough. 

"Oh, cook, have you seen Miss Folliard? I can't find her in the house!"

"Is her father in his study, Miss Herbert? because I want to see him;I'm afeared there's a screw loose. I did see Miss Folliard; she went outa few minutes ago--indeed she rather stole out towards the garden, and, I tell you the truth, she had a--condemned look of her own. Try thegarden, and if you don't find her there, go to the back gate, whichyou'll be apt to find open. "

"Oh, I will, I will; thank you, cook. I'm certain it's an elopement. "

"Indeed, I wouldn't be surprised to find, " replied Lanigan, "that she iswith Reilly this moment; any way you haven't a minute to lose. "

She started towards the garden, which she ran over and over; and therewe shall leave her, executing the fool's errand upon which Lanigan hadsent her. "Now, " said he, going in, "the coast's clear; I have sent thatimpertinent jade out to the garden, and as the back gate is open--thegardener's men are wheeling out the rubbish--and they are now atdinner--I say, as the back gate is open, it's ten to one but she'llscour the country. Now, Miss Folliard, go immediately to your room; asfor this poor man, I will take care of him. "

"Most sincerely do I thank you, Lanigan; he will arrange with you whenand where to see me again. Farewell, Reilly--farewell; rely upon myconstancy;" and so they parted, Reilly to the kitchen, and the _CooleenBawn_ to her own room. 

"Come into the pantry, poor man, " said good-natured Lanigan, addressingour hero, "till I give you' something to eat and drink. "

"Many thanks to you, sir, " replied he; "troth and whaix, I didn't tastea morshel for the last fwhour--hugh--hugh-and twenty hours; and sure, sir, it's this cough that's killin' me by inches. "

A thought struck Lanigan, who had been also spoken to by the gardener, about half an hour before, to know if he could tell him where he mighthave any chance of finding an assistant. At all events they went intothe pantry, when Lanigan, after having pulled to the door, to preventtheir conversation from being overheard, disclosed a project, which hadjust entered his head, of procuring Reilly employment in the garden. Here it was arranged between them that the latter, who was both agood botanist and florist, should be recommended to the gardener asan assistant. To be sure, his dress and appearance were both decidedlyagainst him; but still they relied upon the knowledge which Reillyconfidently assured the cook that he possessed. After leaving the pantrywith Lanigan, whom our hero thanked in a thorough brogue, the formercalled after him, as he was going away:

"Come here again, my good man. "

"What is it, shir? may God bless you anyhow, for your charity tothe--hugh--hugh--hugh--to the poor man. Oh, then, but it's no wondherfor you all to be fat and rosy upon sich beautiful vittles as you gaveto me, shir. What is it, achora? and may the Lord mark you with grace!"

"Would you take employment from the master, his honor Mr. Folliard, ifyou got it?"

"Arrah now, shir, you gave me my skinful of what was gud; but don't beluakin' fwhun o' me after. Would I take employment, achora?--ay, butwhere would I get it?"

"Could you work in a garden? Do you know any thing about plants orflowers?"

"Oh thin, that I may never sup sarra (sorrow), but that's just what I'mfwhit fwhor. "

"I'm afeared this scoundrel is but an imposthor afther all, " whisperedLanigan to the other servants; "but in ordher to make sure, we'll tryhim. I say--what's this your name is?"

"Solvesther M'Bethershin, shir. "

"Well, now, would you have any objection to come with me to the gardenand see I the gardener? But hould, here he is. Mr. Malcomson, " continuedLanigan, "here is a poor man, who says he understands plants andflowers, and weeds of that kind. "

"Speak wi' reverence, Mr. Lanigan, o' the art o' gerdening. Dinna ye kenthat the founder o' the hail human race was a gerdener?-Hout awa, moil;speak o' it wi' speck. "

"Upon my conscience, " replied Lanigan, "whether he was a good gardeneror not is more than I know; but one thing I do know, that he didn'thould his situation long, and mismanaged his orchard disgracefully; and, indeed, like many more of his tribe, he got his walkin' papers in doublequick--was dismissed without a characther--ay, and his wife, like manyanother gardener's wife, got a habit of stalin' the apples. However, Iwish Mr. Malcomson, that you, who do undherstand gardenin', would thrythis fellow, because I want to know whether he's an imposthor or not. "

"Weel, " replied Malcomson, "I dinna care if I do. We'll soon find thatout. Come wi' me and Maisther Lanigan here, and we'll see what you kenabout the sceentific profession. "

They accordingly went to the garden, and it is unnecessary to say thatReilly not only bore the examination well, but proved himself by far thebetter botanist of the two. He tempered his answers, however, in such away as not to allow the gardener's vanity to be hurt, in which case hefeared that he might have little chance of being engaged. 

CHAPTER XV. --More of Whitecraft's Plots and Pranks

On the Sunday following, Miss Folliard, as was her usual custom, attended divine service at her parish church, accompanied by thevirtuous Miss Herbert, who scarcely ever let her for a moment out of hersight, and, in fact, added grievously to the misery of her life. Afterservice had been concluded, she waited until Mr. Brown had descendedfrom the pulpit, when she accosted him, and expressed a wish to havesome private conversation with him in the vestry-room. To this roomthey were about to proceed, when Miss Herbert advanced with an evidentintention of accompanying them. 

"Mr. Brown, " said the _Cooleen Bawn_, looking at him significantly, "Iwish that our interview should be private. "

"Certainly, my dear Miss Folliard, and so it shall be. Pray, who is thislady?"

"I am forced, sir, to call her my maid. "

Mr. Brown was startled a good deal, not only at the words, but the tonein which they were uttered. 

"Madam, " said he, "you will please to remain here until your mistressshall return to you, or, if you wish, you can amuse yourself by readingthe inscriptions on the tombstones. "

"Oh, but I have been ordered, " replied Miss Herbert, "by her father andanother gentleman, not to let her out of my sight. "

Mr. Brown, understanding that something was wrong, now looked at hermore closely, after which, with a withering frown, he said, "I think I know you, madam, and I am very sorry to hear that you arean attendant upon this amiable lady. Remain where you are, and don'tattempt to intrude yourself as an ear-witness to any communication MissFolliard may have to make to me. "

The profligate creature and unprincipled spy bridled, looked disdain andbitterness at the amiable clergyman, who, accompanied by our heroine, retired to the vestry. It is unnecessary to detail their conversation, which was sustained by the _Cooleen Bawn_ with bitter tears. It isenough to say that the good and pious minister, though not aware untilthen that Miss Herbert had, by the scoundrel baronet, been intruded intoSquire Folliard's family, was yet acquainted, from peculiar sources, with the nature of the immoral relation in which she stood to thathypocrite. He felt shocked beyond belief, and assured the weeping girlthat he would call the next day and disclose the treacherous designto her father, who, he said, could not possibly have been aware ofthe wretch's character when he admitted her into his family. They thenparted, and our heroine was obliged to take this vile creature into thecarriage with her home. On their return, Miss Herbert began to displayat once the malignity of her disposition, and the volubility of hertongue, in a fierce attack upon, what she termed, the ungentlemanlyconduct of Mr. Brown. To all she said, however, Helen uttered not onesyllable of reply. She neither looked at her nor noticed her, but sat inprofound silence, not, however, without a distracted mind and breakingheart. 

On the next day the squire took a fancy to look at the state of hisgarden, and, having got his hat and cane, he sallied out to observehow matters were going on, now that Mr. Malcomson had got an assistant, whom, by the way, he had not yet seen. 

"Now, Malcomson, " said he, "as you have found an assistant, I hope youwill soon bring my garden into decent trim. What kind of a chap is he, and how did you come by him?"

"Saul, your honor, " replied Malcomson, "he's a divilish clever chiel, and vara weel acquent wi' our noble profession. "

"Confound yourself and your noble profession! I think every Scotchgardener of you believes himself a gentleman, simply because he can naila few stripes of old blanket against a wall. How did you come by thisfellow, I say?"

"Ou, just through Lanigan, the cook, your honor. "

"Did Lanigan know him?"

"Hout, no, your honor--it was an act o' charity like. "

"Ay, ay, Lanigan's a kind-hearted old fool, and that's just like him;but, in the meantime, let me see this chap. "

"There he is, your honor, trimming, and taking care of that bed of'love-lies-bleeding. '"

"Ay, ay; I dare say my daughter set him to that task. "

"Na, na, sir. The young leddy hasna seen him yet, nor hasna been in thegerden for the last week. "

"Why, confound it, Malcomson, that fellow's more like a beggarman than agardener. "

"Saul, but he's a capital hand for a' that. Your honor's no' to tak thebeuk by the cover. To be sure he's awfully vulgar, but, ma faith, hehas a richt gude knowledgeable apprehension o' buttany and gerdening ingenerhal. "

The squire then approached our under-gardener, and accosted him, "Well, my good fellow, so you understand gardening?"

"A little, your haner, " replied the other, respectfully touching hishat, or caubeen rather. 

"Are you a native of this neighborhood?"

"No, your haner. I'm fwaither up--from Westport, your haner. "

"Who were you engaged with last?"

"I wasn't engaged, shir--it was only job-work I was able to do--thehealth wasn't gud wid me. "

"Have you no better clothes than these?"

"You see all that I have on me, shir. "

"Well, come, I'll give you the price of a suit rather than see such ascarecrow in my garden. "

"I couldn't take it, shir. "

"The devil you couldn't! Why not, man?"

"Bekaise, shir, I'm under pinance. "

"Well, why don't you shave?"

"I can't, shir, for de same raison. "

"Pooh, pooh! what the devil did you do that they put such a penance onyou. "

"Why, I runned away wit' a young woman, shir. "

"Upon my soul you're a devilish likely fellow to run away with a youngwoman, and a capital taste she must have had to go with you; but perhapsyou took her away by violence, eh?"

"No, slur; she was willin' enough to come; but her fadher wouldn'tconsint, and so we made off wit' ourselves. "

This was a topic on which the squire, for obvious reasons, did notlike to press him. It was in fact a sore subject, and, accordingly, hechanged it. 

"I suppose you have been about the country a good deal?"

"I have, indeed, your haner. "

"Did you ever happen to hear of, or to meet with, a person calledReilly?"

"Often, shir; met many o' dem. "

"Oh, but I mean the scoundrel called Willy Reilly. "

"Is dat him dat left the country, shir?"

"Why, how do you know that he has left the country?"

"I don't know myself, shir; but dat de people does be sayhi' it. Dey saydat himself and wan of our bishops went to France togither"

The squire seemed to breathe more freely as he said, in a low soliloquy, "I'm devilish glad of it; for, after all, it would go against my heartto hang the fellow. "

"Well, " he said aloud, "so he's gone to France?"

"So de people does be sayin, shir. "

"Well, tell me--do you know a gentleman called Sir Robert Whitecraft?"

"Is dat him, shir, dat keeps de misses privately?"

"How do you know that he keeps misses privately?"

"Fwhy, shir, dey say his last one was a Miss Herbert, and dat she hada young one by him, and dat she was an Englishwoman. It isn't ginerallyknown, I believe, shir, but dey do be sayin' dat she was brought tobed in de cottage of some bad woman named Mary Mahon, dat does be on delookout to get sweethearts for him. "

"There's five thirteens for you, and I wish to God, my good fellow, thatyou would allow yourself to be put in better feathers. "

"Oh, I expect my pinance will be out before a mont', shir; but, untilden, I couldn't take any money. "

"Malcomson, " said he to the gardener, "I think that fellow's a halffool. I offered him a crown, and also said. I would get him a suitof clothes, and he would not take either; but talked about some sillypenance he was undergoing. "

"Saul, then, your honor, he may be a fule in ither things, but de'il aane of him's a fule in the sceence o' buttany. As to that penance, it'sjust some Papistrical nonsense, he has gotten into his head--de'il hae'tmair: but sure they're a' full o't--a' o' the same graft, an' a bad oneI fear it is. "

"Well, I believe so, Malcomson, I believe so. However, if theunfortunate fool is clever, give him good wages. "

"Saul, your honor, I'll do him justice; only I think that, anent thatpenance he speaks o', the hail Papish population, bad as we think them, are suffering penance eneuch, one way or tither. It disna' beseem aProtestant--that is, a prelatic Government--to persecute ony portion o'Christian people on, account o' their religion. We have felt and kennedthat in Scotland, sairly. I'm no freend to persecution, in ony shape. But, as to this chiel, I ken naething aboot him, but that he is a gudebuttanist. Hout, your honor, to be sure I'll gi'e him a fair wage forhis skeel and labor. "

Malcomson, who was what we have often met, a pedant gardener, saw, however, that the squire's mind was disturbed. In the short conversationwhich they had, he spoke abruptly, and with a flushed countenance; buthe was too shrewd to ask him why he seemed so. It was not, he knew, hisbusiness to do so; and as the squire left the garden, to pass intothe house, he looked after him, and exclaimed to himself, "my certie, there's a bee in that man's bonnet. "

On going to the drawing-room, the squire found Mr. Brown there, andHelen in tears. 

"How!" he exclaimed, "what is this? Helen crying! Why, what's thematter, my child? Brown, have you been scolding her, or reading her ahomily to teach her repentance. Confound me, but I know it would teachher patience, at all events. What is the matter?"

"My dear Miss Folliard, " said the clergyman, "if you will have thegoodness to withdraw, I will explain this shocking business to yourfather. "

"Shocking business! Why, in God's name, Brown, what has happened? Andwhy is my daughter in tears, I ask again?"

Helen now left the drawing-rooom, and Mr. Brown replied:

"Sir, a circumstance which, for baseness and diabolical iniquity, isunparalleled in civilized society. I could not pollute your daughter'sears by reciting it in her presence, and besides she is already aware ofit. "

"Ay, but what is it? Confound you, don't keep me on tenter hooks. "

"I shall not do so long, my dear friend. Who do you imagine yourdaughter's maid--I mean that female attendant upon your pure-minded andvirtuous child--is?"

"Faith, go ask Sir Robert Whitecraft. It was he who recommended her;for, on hearing that the maid she had, Ellen Connor, was a Papist, he said he felt uneasy lest she might prevail on my daughter to turnCatholic, and marry Reilly. "

"But do you not know who the young woman that is about your daughter'sperson is? You are, however, a father who loves your child, and I neednot ask such a question. Then, sir, I will tell you who she is. Sir, she is one of Sir Robert Whitecraft's cast-off mistresses--a profligatewanton, who has had a child by him. "

The fiery old squire had been walking to and fro the room, in a stateof considerable agitation before--his mind already charged with thesame intelligence, as he had heard it from the gardener (Reilly). Henow threw himself into a chair, and' putting his hands before his face, muttered out between his fingers--"D--n seize the villain! It is true, then. Well, never mind, I'll demand satisfaction for this insult; Iam not too old to pull a trigger, or give a thrust yet; but then thecowardly hypocrite won't fight. When he has a set of military at hisback, and a parcel of unarmed peasants before him, or an unfortunatepriest or two, why, he's a dare devil--Hector was nothing to him; no, confound me, nor mad Tom Simpson, that wears a sword on each side, anda double case of pistols, to frighten the bailiffs. The scuundrel ofhell!--to impose on me, and insult my child!"

"Mr. Folliard, " observed the clergyman calmly, "I can indeed scarcelyblame your indignation; it is natural; but, at the same time, it isuseless and unavailable. Be cool, and restrain your temper. Of course, you could not think of bestowing your daughter, in marriage, upon thisman. "

"I tell you what, Brown--I tell you what, my dear friend---let thedevil, Satan, Beelzebub, or whatever you call him from the pulpit--Isay, let him come here any time he pleases, in his holiday hoofs andhorns, tail and all, and he shall have her sooner than Whitecraft. "

Mr. Brown could not help smiling, whilst he said:

"Of course, you will instantly dismiss this abandoned creature. "

He started up and exclaimed, "Cog's 'ounds, what am I about?" Heinstantly rang the bell, and a footman attended. "John, desire thatwench Herbert to come here. "

"Do you mean Miss Herbert, sir?"

"I do--_Miss_ Herbert--egad, you've hit it; be quick, sirra. "

John bowed and withdrew, and in a few minutes Miss Herbert entered. 

"Miss Herbert, " said the squire, "leave this house as fast as the devilcan drive you; and he has driven you to some purpose before now; ay, and, I dare say, will again. I say, then, as fast as he can drive you, pack up your luggage, and begone about your business. Ill just give youten minutes to disappear. "

"What's all this about, master?"

"Master!--why, curse your brazen impudence, how dare you call me master?Begone, you jade of perdition. "

"No more a jade of perdition, sir, than you are; nor I shan't begonetill I gets a quarter's wages--I tell you that. "

"You shall get whatever's coming to you; not another penny. Thehouse-steward will pay you--begone, I say!"

"No, sir, I shan't begone till I gets a, quarter's salary in full. Youbroke your agreement with me, wich is wat no man as is a gentleman woulddo; and you are puttin' me away, too, without no cause. "

"Cause, you vagabond! you'll find the cause squalling, I suppose, inMary Mahon's cottage, somewhere near Sir Robert Whitecraft's; and whenyou see him, tell him I have a crow to pluck with him. Off, I say. "

"Oh, I suppose you mean the love-child I had by him--ha, ha! is thatall? But I never had a hankerin' after a rebel and a Papist, which isfar worser; and I now tell you you're no gentleman, you nasty old Hirishsquire. You brought me here, and Sir Robert sent me here, to watchyour daughter. Now, what kind of a young lady must she be as requireswatching? I was never watched; because as how I was well conducted, andnothing could ever be laid to my charge but a love-child. "

"By the great Boyne, " he exclaimed, running to the window and throwingup the sash--"yes, by the great Boyne, there is Tom Steeple, and if hedoesn't bring you and the pump acquainted, I'm rather mistaken. Here, Tom, I have a job for you. Do you wish to earn a bully dinner, my boy?"

Miss Herbert, on hearing Tom's name mentioned, disappeared likelightning, and set about packing her things immediately. The steward, by his master's desire, paid her exactly what was due to her, which shereceived without making a single observation. In truth, she entertainedsuch a terror of Tom Steeple, who had been pointed out to her as a wildIrishman, not long caught in the mountains, that she stole out by theback way, and came, by making a circuit, out upon the road that led toSir Robert Whitecraft's house, which she passed without entering, but went directly to Mary Malion's, who had provided a nurse for herillegitimate child in the neighborhood. She had not been there long whenshe sent her trusty friend, Mary, to acquaint Sir Robert with what hadhappened. He was from home, engaged in an expedition of which we feelcalled upon to give some account to the reader. 

At this period, when the persecution ran high against the Catholics, butwith peculiar bitterness against their priesthood, it is but justice toa great number of the Protestant magistracy and gentry--nay, and many ofthe nobility besides--to state that their conduct was both liberal andgenerous to the unfortunate victims of those cruel laws. It is a wellknown fact that many Protestant justices of the peace were imprisonedfor refusing to execute such oppressive edicts as had gone abroadthrough the country. Many of them resigned their commissions, and manymore were deprived of them. Amongst the latter were several liberalnoblemen--Protestants--who had sufficient courage to denounce the spiritin which the country was governed and depopulated at the same time. Oneof the latter--a nobleman of the highest rank and acquirements, and ofthe most amiable disposition, a warm friend to civil freedom, and a firmantagonist to persecution and oppression of every hue--this nobleman, wesay, married a French lady of rank and fortune, who was a Catholic, and with whom he lived in the tenderest love, and the utmost domesticfelicity. The lady being a Catholic, as we said, brought over withher, from France, a learned, pious, and venerable ecclesiastic, as herdomestic chaplain and confessor. This man had been professor of divinityfor several years in the college of Louvain; but having lost his health, he accepted a small living near the chateau of ----, the residenceof Marquis De------, in whose establishment he was domesticated aschaplain. In short, he accompanied Lord ------ and his lady to Ireland, where he acted in the same capacity, but so far only as the lady wasconcerned; for, as we have already said, her husband, though a liberalman, was a firm but not a bigoted Protestant. This harmless old man, aswas very natural, kept up a correspondence with several Irish and Frenchclergymen, his friends, who, as he had done, held professorships inthe same college. Many of the Irish clergymen, knowing the dearth ofreligious instruction which, in consequence of the severe state ofthe laws, then existed in Ireland, were naturally anxious to know thecondition of the country, and whether or not any relaxation in theirseverity had taken place, with a hope that they might be able withsafety to return to the mission here, and bestow spiritual aid andconsolation to the suffering and necessarily neglected folds of theirown persuasion. On this harmless and pious old man the eye of Hennessyrested. In point of fact he set him for Sir Robert Whitecraft, to whomhe represented him as a spy from France, and an active agent of theCatholic priesthood, both here and on the Continent; in fact, anincendiary, who, feeling himself sheltered by the protection of thenobleman in question and his countess, was looked upon as a safe manwith whom to hold correspondence. The Abbe, as they termed him, was inthe! habit, by his lordship's desire, and that of his lady, of attendingthe Catholic sick of his large estates, administering to them religiousinstruction, and the ordinance of their Church, at a time when theycould obtain them from no other source. He also acted as their almoner, and distributed relief to the sick, the poor, and the distressed, andthus passed his pious, harmless, and inoffensive, but useful life. Nowall these circumstances were noted by Hennessy, who had been on thelookout, to make a present of this good old man to his new patron, SirRobert. At length having discovered--by; what means it is impossible toconjecture--that the Abbe was to go on the day in question to relievea poor sick family, at about a distance of two miles from Castle------, the intelligence was communicated by Hennessy to Sir Robert, whoimmediately set out for the place, attended by a party of his myrmidons, conducted to it by the Red Rapparee, who, as we have said, was now oneof Whitecraft's band. There is often a stupid infatuation in villanywhich amounts to what they call in Scotland fey--that is, when a mangoes on doggedly to commit some act of wickedness, or rush upon someimpracticable enterprise, the danger and folly of which must be evidentto every person but himself, and that it will end in the loss of hislife. Sir Robert, however, had run a long and prosperous career ofpersecution--a career by which he enriched himself by the spoils he hadtorn, and the property he had wrested from his victims, generally underthe sanction of Government, but very frequently under no other sanctionthan his own. At all events the party, consisting of about thirtymen, remained in a deep and narrow lane, surrounded by high whitethornhedges, which prevented the horsemen--for they were all dragoons--frombeing noticed by the country people. Alas, for the poor Abbe! they hadnot remained there more than twenty minutes when he was seen approachingthem, reading his breviary as he came along. They did not move, however, nor seem to notice him, until he had got into the midst of them, when they formed a circle round him, and the loud voice of Whitecraftcommanded him to stand. The poor old priest closed his breviary, andlooked around him; but he felt no alarm, because he was conscious ofno offence, and imagined himself safe under the protection of adistinguished Protestant nobleman. 

"Gentlemen, " said he, calmly and meekly, but without fear, "what is thecause of this conduct towards an inoffensive old man? It is true I am aCatholic priest, but I am under the protection of the Marquis of------. He is a Protestant nobleman, and I am sure the very mention of his namewill satisfy you, that I cannot be the object either of your suspicionor your enmity. "

"But, my dear sir, " replied Sir Robert, "the nobleman you mention isa suspected man himself, and I have reported him as such to theGovernment. He is married to a Popish wife, and you are a seminarypriest and harbored by her and her husband. "

"But what is your object in stopping and surrounding me, " asked thepriest, "as if I were some public delinquent who had violated the laws?Allow me, sir, to pass, and prevent me at your peril; and permit me, before I proceed, to ask your name?" and the old man's eyes flashed withan indignant sense of the treatment he was receiving. 

"Did you ever hear of Sir Robert Whitecraft?"

"The priest-hunter, the persecutor, the robber, the murderer? I did, with disgust, with horror, with execration. If you are he, I say to youthat I am, as you see, an old man, and a priest, and have but one life;take it, you will anticipate my death only by a short period; but I lookby the light of an innocent conscience into the future, and I now tellyou that a woful and a terrible retribution is hanging over your head. "

"In the meantime, " said Sir Robert, very calmly, as he dismounted fromhis horse, which he desired one of the men to hold. "I have a warrantfrom Government to arrest you, and send you back again to your owncountry without delay. You are here as a spy, an incendiary, and mustgo on your travels forthwith. In this, I am acting as your friend andprotector, and so is Government, who do not wish to be severe upon you, as you are not a natural subject. See sir, here is another warrantfor your arrest and imprisonment. The fact is, it was left to my owndiscretion, either to imprison you, or send you out of the country. Now, sir, from a principle of lenity, I am determined on the latter course. "

"But, " replied the priest, after casting his eye over both documents, "as I am conscious of no offence, either against your laws or yourGovernment, I decline to fly like a criminal, and I will not; put me inprison, if you wish, but I certainly shall not criminate myself, knowingas I do that I am innocent. In the meantime, I request that you willaccompany me to the castle of my patron, that I may acquaint him withthe charges against me, and the cause of my being forced to leave hisfamily for a time. "

"No, sir, " replied Whitecraft, "I cannot do so, unless I betray thetrust which Government reposes in me. I cannot permit you to hold anyintercourse whatever with your patron, as you call him, who is justlysuspected of being a Papist at heart. Sir, you have been going abroadthrough the country, under pretence of administering consolation to thesick, and bestowing alms upon the poor; but the fact is, you havebeen stirring them up to sedition, if not to open rebellion. You must, therefore, come along with us, this instant. You proceed with us toSligo, from whence we shall ship you off in a vessel bound for France, which vessel is commanded by a friend of mine, who will treat youkindly, for my sake. What shall we do for a horse for him?" he asked, looking at his men for information on that point. 

"That, your honor, we'll provide in a crack, " replied the Red Rapparee, looking up the road; "here comes Sterling, the gauger, very wellmounted, and, by all the stills he ever seized, he must walk homeupon shank's mare, if it was only to give him exercise and improve hisappetite. "

We need not detail this open robbery on the king's officer, and on theking's highway besides. It is enough to say that the Rapparee, confidentof protection and impunity, with the connivance, although not by theexpress orders of the baronet, deprived the man of his horse, and, ina few minutes, the poor old priest was placed upon the saddle, andthe whole cavalcade proceeded on their way to Sligo, the priest in thecentre of them. Fortunately for Sir Robert's project, they reached thequay just as the vessel alluded to was about to sail; and as therewas, at that period, no novelty in seeing a priest shipped out of thecountry, the loungers about the place, whatever they might have thoughtin their hearts, seemed to take no particular notice of the transaction. 

"Your honor, " said the Red Rapparee, approaching and giving a militarysalute to his patron, "will you allow me to remain in town for an houror two? I have a scheme in my head that may come to something. I willtell your honor what it is when I get home. "

"Very well, O'Donnel, " replied Sir Robert; "but I'd advise you not toride late, if you can avoid it. You know that every man in your uniformis a mark for the vindictive resentment of these Popish rebels. "

"Ah! maybe I don't know that, your honor; but you may take my word forit that I will lose little time. "

He then rode down a by-street, very coolly, taking the gauger's horsealong with him. The reader may remember the fable of the cat that hadbeen transformed into a lady, and the unfortunate mouse. The Rapparee, whose original propensities were strong as ever, could not, for the soulof him, resist the temptation of selling the horse and pocketing theamount. He did so, and very deliberately proceeded home to his barracks, but took care to avoid any private communication with his patron forsome days, lest he might question him as to what he had done with theanimal. 

In the meantime, this monstrous outrage upon an unoffending priest, whowas a natural subject of France, perpetrated, as it was, in the openface of day, and witnessed by so many, could not, as the reader mayexpect, be long concealed. It soon reached the ears of the Marquis of------and his lady, who were deeply distressed at the disappearance oftheir aged and revered friend. The Marquis, on satisfying himself of thetruth of the report, did not, as might have been expected, wait upon SirRobert Whitecraft; but without loss of time set sail for London, to waitupon the French Ambassador, to whom he detailed the whole circumstancesof the outrage. And here we shall not further proceed with an accountof those circumstances, as they will necessarily intermingle with thatportion of the narrative which is to follow. 

CHAPTER XVI. --Sir Robert ingeniously extricates Himself out of a greatDifficulty. 

On the day after the outrage we have described, the indignant oldsquire's carriage stopped at the hall-door of Sir Robert Whitecraft, whom he found at home. As yet, the latter gentleman had heard nothing ofthe contumelious dismissal of Miss Herbert; but the old squire was notignorant of the felonious abduction of the priest. At any other time, that is to say, in some of his peculiar stretches of loyalty, the actmight, have been a feather in the cap of the loyal baronet; but, atpresent, he looked both at him and his exploits through the medium ofthe insult he had offered to his daughter. Accordingly, when he enteredthe baronet's library, where he found him literally sunk in papers, anonymous letters, warrants, reports to Government, and a vast varietyof other documents, the worthy Sir Robert rose, and in the most cordialmanner, and with the most extraordinary suavity of aspect, held out hishand, saying:

"How much obliged am I, Mr. Folliard, at the kindness of this visit, especially from one who keeps at home so much as you do. "

The squire instantly repulsed him, and replied:

"No, sir; I am an honest, and, I trust, and honorable man. My hand, therefore, shall never touch that of a villain. "

"A villain!--why, Mr. Folliard, these are hard and harsh words, and theysurprise me, indeed, as proceeding from your lips. May I beg, my friend, that you will explain yourself?"

"I will, sir. How durst you take the liberty of sending one of yourcast-off strumpets to attend personally upon my pure and virtuousdaughter? For that insult I come this day to demand that satisfactionwhich is due to the outraged feelings of my daughter--to my own also, as her father and natural protector, and also as an Irish gentleman, whowill brook no insult either to his family or himself. I say, then, nameyour time and place, and your weapon--sword or pistol, I don't carewhich, I am ready. "

"But, my good sir, there is some mystery here; I certainly engaged afemale of that name to attend on Miss Folliard, but most assuredly shewas a well-conducted person. "

"What! Madam Herbert well conducted! Do you imagine, sir, that I am afool? Did she not admit that you debauched her?"

"It could not be, Mr. Folliard; I know nothing whatsoever about her, except that she was daughter to one of my tenants, who is besides asergeant of dragoons. "

"Ay, yes, sir, " replied the squire sarcastically; "and I tell you itwas not for killing and eating the enemy that he was promoted to hisseirgeantship. But I see your manoeuvre, Sir Robert; you wish to shiftthe conversation, and sleep in a whole skin. I say now, I have providedmyself with a friend, and I ask, will you fight?"

"And why not have sent your friend, Mr. Folliard, as is usual upon suchoccasions?"

"Because he is knocked up, after a fit of drink, and I cannot be just socool, under such an insult, as to command patience to wait. My friend, however, will attend us on the ground; but, I ask again, will youfight?"

"Most assuredly not, sir; I am an enemy to duelling on principle; butin your case I could not think of it, even if I were not. What! raise myhand against the life of Helen's father!--no, sir, I'd sooner die thando so. Besides, Mr. Folliard, I am, so to speak, not my own property, but that of my King, my Government, and my country; and under thesecircumstances not at liberty to dispose of my life, unless in theirquarrel. "

"I see, " replied the squire bitterly; "it is certainly an admirabledescription of loyalty that enables a man, who is base enough to insultthe very woman who was about to become his wife, and to involve her ownfather in the insult, to ensconce himself, like a coward, behind hisloyalty, and refuse to give the satisfaction of a man, or a gentleman. "

"But, Mr. Folliard, will you hear me? there must, as I said, be somemystery here; I certainly did recommend a young female named Herbert toyou, but I was utterly ignorant of what you mention. "

Here the footman entered, and whispered something to Sir Robert, whoapologized to the squire for leaving him two or three minutes. "Here isthe last paper, " said he, "and I trust that before you go I will be ableto remove clearly and fully the prejudices which you entertain againstme, and which originate, so far as I am concerned, in a mystery which Iam unable to penetrate. "

He then followed the servant, who conducted him to Hennessy, whom hefound in the back parlor. 

"Well, Mr. Hennessy, " said he, impatiently, "what is the matter now?"

"Why, " replied the other, "I have one as good as bagged, Sir Robert. "

"One what?"

"Why, a priest, sir. "

"Well, Mr. Hennessy, I am particularly engaged now; but as to Reilly, can you not come upon his trail? I would rather have him than a dozenpriests; however, remain here for about twenty minutes, or say half anhour, and I will talk with you at more length. For the present I am mostparticularly engaged. "

"Very well, Sir Robert, I shall await your leisure; but, as to Reilly, Ihave every reason to think that he has left the country. "

Sir Robert, on going into the hall, saw the porter open the door, andMiss Herbert presented herself. 

"Oh, " said he, "is this you? I am glad you came; follow me into thefront parlor. "

She accordingly did so; and after he had shut the door he addressed heras follows:

"Now, tell me how the devil you were discovered; or were you accessoryyourself to the discovery, by your egregious folly and vanity?"

"Oh, la, Sir Robert, do you think I am a fool?"

"I fear you are little short of it, " he replied; "at all events, youhave succeeded in knocking up my marriage with Miss Folliard. How did ithappen that they found you out?"

She then detailed to him the circumstances exactly as the reader isacquainted with them. 

He paused for some time, and then said, "There is some mystery at thebottom of this which I must fathom. Have you any reason to know how thefamily became acquainted with your history?"

"No, sir; not in the least. "

"Do you think Miss Folliard meets any person privately?"

"Not, sir, while I was with her. "

"Did she ever attempt to go out by herself?"

"Not, sir, while I was with her. "

"Very well, then, I'll tell you what you must do; her father is abovewith me now, in a perfect hurricane of indignation. Now you must saythat the girl Herbert, whom I recommended to the squire, was a friend ofyours; that she gave you the letter of recommendation which I gave herto Mr. Folliard; that having married her sweetheart and left the countrywith him, you were tempted to present yourself in her stead, and toassume her name. I will call you up by and by; but what name will youtake?"

"My mother's name, sir, was Wilson. "

"Very good; what was her Christian name?"

"Catherine, sir. "

"And you must say that I know nothing whatsoever of the imposture youwere guilty of. I shall make it worth your while; and if you don't getwell through with it, and enable me to bamboozle the old fellow, I havedone with you. I shall send for you by and by. "

He then rejoined the squire, who was walking impatiently about the room. 

"Mr. Folliard, " said he, "I have to apologize to you for this seemingneglect; I had most important business to transact, and I merely wentdownstairs to tell the gentleman that I could not possibly attend to itnow, and to request him to come in a couple of hours hence; pray excuseme, for no business could be so important as that in which I am nowengaged with you. '"

"Yes, but in the name of an outraged father, I demand again to knowwhether you will give me satisfaction or not?"

"I have already answered you, my dear sir, and if you will reflect uponthe reasons I have given you, I am certain you will admit that I havethe laws both of God and man on my side, and I feel it my duty toregulate my conduct by both. As to the charge you bring against me, about the girl Herbert, I am both ignorant and innocent of it. "

"Why, sir, how can you say so? how have you the face to say so?--did younot give her a letter of recommendation to me, pledging yourself for hermoral character and fidelity?"

"I grant it, but still I pledge you my honor that I looked upon her asan extremely proper person to be about your daughter; you know, sir, that you as well as I have had--and have still--apprehensions as toReilly's conduct and influence over her; and I did fear, and so didyou, that the maid who then attended her, and to whom I was told she wasattached with such unusual affection, might have availed herself of herposition, and either attempted to seduce her from her faith, or conniveat private meetings with Reilly. "

"Sir Robert, I know your plausibility--and, upon my soul, I pay it ahigh compliment when I say it is equal to your cowardice. "

"Mr. Folliard, I can bear all this with patience, especially fromyou--What's this?" he exclaimed, addressing the footman, who rushed intothe room in a state of considerable excitement. 

"Why, Sir Robert, there is a young woman below, who is crying andlamenting, and saying she must see Mr. Folliard. "

"Damnation, sir, " exclaimed Sir Robert, "what is this? why am Iinterrupted in such a manner? I cannot have a gentleman ten minutes inmy study, engaged upon private and important business, but in bolts someof you, to interrupt and disturb us. What does the girl want with me?"

"It is not you she wants, sir, " replied the footman, "but his honor, Mr. Folliard. "

"Well, tell her to wait until he is disengaged. "

"No, " replied Mr. Folliard, "send her up at once; what the devil canthis be? but you shall witness it. "

The baronet smiled knowingly. "Well, " said he, "Mr. Folliard, upon myhonor, I thought you had sown your wild oats many a year ago; and, bythe way, according to all accounts--hem--but no matter; this, to besure, will be rather a late crop. "

"No, sir, I sowed my wild oats in the right season, when I was hot, young, and impetuous; but long before your age, sir, that field had beenallowed to lie barren. "

He had scarcely concluded when Miss Herbert, acting upon a plan ofher own, which, were not the baronet a man of the most imperturbablecoolness, might have staggered, if not altogether confounded him, entered the room. 

"Oh, sir!" she exclaimed, with a flood of tears, kneeling before Mr. Folliard, "can you forgive and pardon me?"

"It is not against you, foolish girl, that my resentment is or shall bedirected, but against the man who employed you--and there he sits. "

"Oh, sir!" she exclaimed, again turning to that worthy gentleman, whoseemed filled with astonishment. 

"In God's name!" said he, interrupting his accomplice, "what can thismean? Who are you, my good girl?"

"My name's Catherine Wilson, sir. "

"Catherine Wilson!" exclaimed the squire--"why, confound your brazenface, are you not the person who styled yourself Miss Herbert, and wholived, thank God, but for a short time only, in my family?"

"I lived in your family, sir, but I am not the Miss Herbert that SirRobert Whitecraft recommended to you. "

"I certainly know nothing about you, my good girl, " replied Sir Robert, "nor do I recollect having ever seen you before; but proceed with whatyou have to say, and let us hear it at once. "

"Yes, sir; but perhaps you are not the gentleman as is known to be SirRobert Whitecraft--him as hunts the priests. Oh, la, I'll surely be sentto jail. Gentlemen, if you promise not to send me to jail, I'll tell youeverything. "

"Well, then, proceed, " said the squire; "I will not send you to jail, provided you tell the truth. "

"Nor I, my good girl, " added Sir Robert, "but upon the same conditions. "

"Well, then, gentlemen, I was acquainted with Miss Herbert--she isHirish, but I'm English. This gentleman gave her a letter to you, Mr. Folliard, to get her as maid to Miss Helen--she told me--oh, mygoodness, I shall surely be sent to jail. "

"Go on, girl, " said the baronet somewhat sternly, by which tone of voicehe intimated--to her that she was pursuing the right course, and she wasquick enough to understand as much. 

"Well, " she proceeded, "after Miss Herbert had got the letter, she toldher sweetheart, who wouldn't by no means allow her to take service, because as why, he wanted to marry her; well, she consented, and theydid get married, and both of them left the country because her fatherwasn't consenting. As the letter was of no use to her then, I asked herfor it, and offered myself in her name to you, sir, and that was the wayI came into your family for a short time. "

The baronet rose up, in well-feigned agitation, and exclaimed, "Unfortunate girl! whoever you may be, you know not the serious mischiefand unhappiness that your imposture was nearly entailing upon me. "

"But did you not say that you bore an illegitimate child to thisgentleman?" asked the squire. 

"Oh, la! no, sir; you know I denied that; I never bore an illegitimatechild; I bore a love-child, but not to him; and there is no harm inthat, sure. "

"Well, she certainly has exculpated you, Sir Robert. "

"Gentlemen, will you excuse and pardon me? and will you promise not tosend me to jail?"

"Go about your business, " said Sir Robert, "you unfortunate girl, and beguilty of no such impostures in future. Your conduct has nearly beenthe means of putting enmity between two families of rank; or rather ofalienating one of them from the confidence and good-will of the other. Go. "

She then courtesied to each, shedding, at the same time, what seemed tobe bitter tears of remorse--and took her departure, each of them lookingafter her, and then at the other, with surprise and wonder. 

"Now, Mr. Folliard, " said Sir Robert solemnly, "I have one question toask you, and it is this: could I possibly, or by any earthly naturalmeans, have been apprised of the honor of your visit to me this day? Iask you in a serious--yes, and in a solemn spirit; because the happinessof my future life depends on your reply. "

"Why, no, " replied the credulous squire, "hang it, no, man--no, SirRobert; I'll do you that justice; I never mentioned my intention ofcoming to call you out, to any individual but one, and that on my wayhither; he was unwell, too, after a hard night's drinking; but he saidhe would shake himself up, and be ready to attend me as soon as theplace of meeting should be settled on. In point of fact, I did notintend to see you to-day, but to send him with the message; but, as Isaid, he was knocked up for a time, and you know my natural impatience. No, certainly not, it was in every sense impossible that you could haveexpected me: yes, if the devil was in it, I will do you that justice. "

"Well, I have another question to ask, my dear friend, equally importantwith, if not more so than, the other. Do you hold me free from all blamein what has happened through the imposture of that wretched girl?"

"Why, after what has occurred just now, I certainly must, Sir Robert. Asyou laid no anticipation of my visit, you certainly could not, nor hadyou time to get up a scene. "

"Well, now, Mr. Folliard, you have taken a load off my heart; and I willcandidly confess to you that I have had my frailties like other men, sown my wild oats like other men; but, unlike those who are not ashamedto boast of such exploits, I did not think it necessary to trumpet myown feelings. I do not say, my dear friend, that I have always been asaint. "

"Why, now, that's manly and candid, Sir Robert, and I like you thebetter for it. Yes, I do exonerate you from blame in this. Therecertainly was sincerity in that wench's tears, and be hanged to her;for, as you properly said, she was devilish near putting between ourfamilies, and knocking up our intimacy. It is a delightful thing tothink that I shall be able to disabuse poor Helen's mind upon thesubject; for, I give you my honor, it caused her the greatest distress, and excited her mind to a high pitch of indignation against you; but Ishall set all to rights. "

"And now that the matter is settled, Mr. Folliard, we must have lunch. Iwill give you a glass of Burgundy, which, I am sure, you will like. "

"With all my heart, " replied the placable and hearty old squire;"after the agitation of the day a good glass of Burgundy will serve mecertainly. "

Lunch was accordingly ordered, and the squire, after taking half adozen bumpers of excellent wine, got into fine spirits, shook hands ascordially as ever with the baronet, and drove home completely relievedfrom the suspicions which he had entertained. 

The squire, on his return home, immediately called for his daughter, butfor some time to no purpose. The old man began to get alarmed, and hadnot only Helen's room searched, but every room in the house. At length aservant informed him that she was tending and arranging the green-houseflowers in the garden. 

"Oh, ay!" said he, after he had dismissed the servants, "ThankGod--thank God! I will go out to the dear girl; for she is a dear girl, and it is a sin to suspect her. I wish to heaven that that scoundrelReilly would turn Protestant, and he should have her with all the veinsof my heart. Upon my soul, putting religion out of the question, onewould think that, in other respects, they were made for each other. Butit's all this cursed pride of his that prevents him; as if it signifiedwhat any person's religion is, provided he's an honest man, and a loyalsubject. "

He thus proceeded with his soliloquy until he reached the garden, wherehe found Reilly and her arranging the plants and flowers in a superbgreen-house. 

"Well, Helen, my love, how is the greenhouse doing? Eh! why, what isthis?"

At this exclamation the lovers started, but the old fellow was admiringthe improvement, which even he couldn't but notice. 

"Why, what is this?" he proceeded; "by the light of day, Helen, you havemade this a little paradise of flowers. "

"It was not I, papa, " she replied; "all that I have been able tocontribute to the order; and beauty of the place has been very slightindeed. It is all the result of this poor man's taste and skill. He's anadmirable botanist. "

"By the great Boyne, my girl, I think he could lick Malcomson himself, as a botanist. "

"Shir, " observed Reilly, "the young lady is underwaluin' herself; sure, miss, it was yourself directed me what to do, and how to do it. "

"Look at that old chap, Helen, " said her father, who felt in great goodhumor; first, because he found that Helen was safe; and again, becauseSir Robert, as the unsuspecting old man thought, had cleared up thecircumstances of Miss Herbert's imposture; "I say, Helen, look at thatold chap: isn't he a nice bit of goods to run away with a pretty girl?and what a taste she must have had to go with him! Upon my soul, itbeats cock-fighting--confound me, but it does. "

[Illustration PAGE 115--Isn't he a nice bit of goods to run away with apretty girl?]

Helen's face became crimson as he spoke; and yet, such was theludicrous appearance which Reilly made, when put in connection with thefalse scent on which her father was proceeding at such a rate, and theact of gallantry imputed to him, that a strong feeling of humor overcameher, and she burst into a loud ringing laugh, which she could not, forsome time, restrain; in this she was heartily joined by her father, wholaughed till the tears came down his cheeks. 

"And yet, Helen--ha--ha--ha, he's a stalwart old rogue still, and musthave been a devil of a tyke when he was young. "

After another fit of laughter from both father and daughter, the squiresaid:

"Now, Helen, my love, go in. I have good news for you, which I willacquaint you with by and by. "

When she left the garden, her father addressed Reilly as follows:

"Now, my good fellow, will you tell me how you came to know about MissHerbert having been seduced by Sir Robert Whitecraft?"

"Fvhy, shir, from common report, shir. "

"Is that all? But don't you think, " he replied, "that common report isa common liar, as it mostly has been, and is, in this case. That's allI have to say upon the subject. I have traced the affair, and find itto be a falsehood from beginning to ending. I have. And now, go on asyou're doing, and I will make Malcomson raise your wages. "

"Thank you, shir, " and he touched his nondescript with an air of greatthankfulness and humility. 

"Helen, my darling, " said her father, on entering her own sitting-room, "I said I had good news for you. "

Helen looked at him with a doubtful face, and simply said, "I hope it isgood, papa. "

"Why, my child, I won't enter into particulars; it is enough to say thatI discovered from an accidental meeting with that wretched girl we hadhere that she was not Miss Herbert, as she called herself, at all, butanother, named Catherine Wilson, who, having got from Herbert theletter of recommendation which I read to you, had the effrontery topass herself for her; but the other report was false. The girl Wilson, apprehensive that either I or Sir Robert might send her to jail, havingseen my carriage stop at Sir Robert's house, came, with tears in hereyes, to beg that if we would not punish her she would tell us thetruth, and she did so. "

Helen mused for some time, and seemed to decide instantly upon thecourse of action she should pursue, or, rather, the course which she hadpreviously proposed to herself. She saw clearly, and had long known thatin the tactics and stratagems of life, her blunt but honest father wasno match at all for the deep hypocrisy and deceitful plausibility of SirRobert Whitecraft, the consequence was, that she allowed her father totake his own way, without either remonstrance or contradiction. She knewvery well that on this occasion, as on every other where their wits andwishes came in opposition, Sir Robert was always able to outgeneral andoverreach him; she therefore resolved to agitate herself as littleas possible, and to allow matters to flow on tranquilly, until thecrisis--the moment for action came. 

"Papa, " she replied, "this intelligence must make your mind very easy; Ihope, however, you will restore poor faithful Connor to me. I never hadsuch an affectionate and kind creature; and, besides, not one of themcould dress me with such skill and taste as she could. Will you allow meto have her back, sir?"

"I will, Helen; but take care she doesn't make a Papist of you. "

"Indeed, papa, that is a strange whim: why, the poor girl never openedher lips to me on the subject of religion during her life; nor, if I sawthat she attempted it, would I permit her. I am no theologian, papa, and detest polemics, because I have always heard that those who are mostaddicted to polemical controversy have least religion. "

"Well, my love, you shall have back poor Connor; and now I must go andlook over some papers in my study. Good-by, my love; and observe, Helen, don't stay out too late in the garden, lest the chill of the air mightinjure your health. "

"But you know I never do, and never did, papa. "

"Well, good-by again, my love. "

He then left her, and withdrew to his study to sign some papers, andtransact some business, which he had allowed to run into arrear. When hehad been there better than an hour, he rang the bell, and desired thatMalcomson, the gardener, should be sent to him, and that self-sufficientand pedantic person made his appearance accordingly. 

"Well, Malcomson, " said he, "how do you like the bearded fellow in thegarden?"

"Ou, yer honor, weel eneugh; he does ken something o' the sceence o'buttany, an' 'am thinkin' he must hae been a gude spell in Scotland, forI canna guess whare else he could hae become acquent wi' it. "

"I see Malcomson, you'll still persist in your confounded pedantryabout your science. Now, what the devil has science to do with botany orgardening?"

"Weel, your honor, it wadna just become me to dispute wi' ye upon thator any ither subjeck; but for a' that, it required profoond sceence, and vera extensive learnin' to classify an' arrange a' the plants o' theyearth, an' to gie them names, by whilk they dan be known throughout a'the nations o' the warld. "

"Well, well--I suppose I must let you have your way. "

"Why, your honor, " replied Malcomson, "'am sure it mair becomes me tolet you hae yours; but regerding this ould carl, I winna say, but he hasbeen weel indoctrinated in the sceence. "

"Ahem! well, well, go on. "

"An' it's no easy to guess whare he could hae gotten it. Indeed, 'amof opinion that he's no without a hantle o' book lair; for, to do himjustice, de'il a question I spier at him, anent the learned names o' therare plants, that he hasna at his finger ends, and gies to me off-hand. Naebody but a man that has gotten book lair could do yon. "

"Book lair, what is that?"

"Ou, just a correck knowledge o' the learned names of the plants. Idinna say, and I winna say, but he's a velliable assistant to me, an'I shouldna wish to pairt wi' him. If he'd only shave off yon beard, an'let himsel' be decently happed in good claiths, why he might pass in onygentleman's gerden for a skeelful buttanist. "

"Is he as good a kitchen gardener as he is in the green-house, and amongthe flowers?"

"Weel, your honor, guid troth, 'am sairly puzzled there; hoot, no, sir;de'il a thing almost he kens about the kitchen gerden--a' his strengthlies among the flowers and in the green-house. "

"Well, well, that's where we principally want him. I sent for you, Malcomson, to desire you'd raise his wages--the laborer is worthy ofhis hire; and a good laborer of good hire. Let him have four shillings aweek additional. "

"Troth, your honor, 'am no sayin' but he weel deserves it; but, Lordhaud a care o' us, he's a queer one, yon. "

"Why, what do you mean?"

"Why, de'il heat he seems to care about siller any mair than if it wassklate stains. On Saturday last, when he was paid his weekly wages bythe steward, he met a puir sickly-lookin' auld wife, wi' a string o'sickly-looking weans at the body's heels; she didna ask him for charity, for, in troth, he appeared, binna it wearna for the weans, as great anobjeck as hersel'; noo, what wad yer honor think? he gaes ower and giestill her a hale crown o' siller out o' his ain wage. Was ever onythingheard like yon?"

"Well, I know the cause of it, Malcomson. He's under a penance, and canneither shave nor change his dress till his silly penance is out; andI suppose it was to wash off a part of it that he gave this foolishcharity to the poor woman and her children. Come, although I condemn thefolly of it, I don't like him the worse for it. "

"Hout awa', your honor, what is it but rank Papistry, and a dependenceupon filthy works. The doited auld carl, to throw aff his siller thatgate; but that's Papistry a' ower--substituting works for grace andfaith--a' Papistry, a' Papistry! Well, your honor, I sal be conform toyour wushes--it's my duty, that. "

CHAPTER XVII. --Awful Conduct of Squire Folliard

--Fergus Reilly begins to Contravene the Red Rapparee

After Malcomson quitted him, the squire, with his golden-headed cane, went to saunter about his beautiful grounds and his noble demesne, proud, certainly, of his property, nor insensible to the beautifulscenery which it presented from so many points of observation. Hehad not been long here when a poor-looking peasant, dressed in shabbyfrieze, approached him at as fast a pace as he could accomplish; and thesquire, after looking at him, exclaimed, in an angry tone:

"Well, you rascal, what the devil brings you here?"

The man stood for a little, and seemed so much exhausted and out ofbreath that he could not speak. 

"I say, you unfortunate old vagrant, " repeated the squire, "what broughtyou here?"

"It is a case of either life or death, sir, " replied the poor peasant. 

"Why, " said the squire, "what crime did you commit? Or, perhaps, youbroke prison, and are flying from the officers of justice; eh! is thatit? And you come to ask a magistrate to protect you!"

"I am flying from the agents of persecution, sir, and know not where tohide my head in order to avoid them. "

The hard-pressed but amiable priest--for such he was--adopted thislanguage of truth, because he knew the squire's character, and felt thatit would serve him more effectually than if he had attempted to concealhis profession. "I am a Catholic priest, sir, and felt from bitterexperience that this disguise was necessary to the preservation of mylife. I throw myself upon your honor and generosity, for although hasty, sir, you are reported to have a good and kind heart. "

"You are disposed to place confidence in me, then?"

"I am, sir; my being before you now, and putting myself in your power, is a proof of it. "

"Who are pursuing you? Sir Robert Whitecraft--eh?"

"No, sir, Captain Smellpriest and his gang. "

"Ay, out of the frying pan into the fire; although I don't know that, either. They say Smellpriest can do a generous thing sometimes--but theother, when priest-hunting, never. What's your name?"

"I'll tell you, without hesitation, sir--Macguire; I'm of the Macguiresof Fermanagh. "

"Ay! ay! why, then, you have good blood in your veins. But what offencewere you guilty of that you--but I need not ask; it is enough, inthe present state of the laws, that you are a Catholic priest. In themeantime, are you aware that I myself transported a Catholic priest, andthat he would have swung only for my daughter, who went to the viceroy, and, with much difficulty, got his sentence commuted to transportationfor life? I myself had already tried it, and failed; but she succeeded, God bless her!"

"Yes, God bless her!" replied the priest, "she succeeded, and her famehas gone far and near, in consequence; yes, may God of his mercy blessand guard her from all evil!" and as the poor hunted priest spoke, thetears came to his eyes. This symptom of respect and affection, promptedby the generous and heroic conduct of the far-famed Cooleen Bawn, touched her father, and saved the priest. 

"Well, " said he, after musing for a while, "so you say Smellpriest isafter you?"

"He is, sir; they saw me at a distance, across the country, scramblingover the park wall, and indeed I was near falling into their hands bythe difficulty I had in getting over it. "

"Well, come, " replied the squire, "since you have had the courageto place confidence in me, I won't abuse it; come along, I will bothconceal and protect you. I presume there is little time to be lost, for those priest hounds will be apt to ride round to the entrance gate, which I will desire the porter to close and lock, and then leave thelodge. "

On their way home he did so, and ordered the porter up to the house. Themagnificent avenue was a serpentine one, and our friends had barely timeto get out of sight of the lodge, by a turn in it, when they heard thevoices of the pursuers, hallooing for the porter, and thundering at thegate. 

"Ay, thunder away, only don't injure my gate, Smellpriest, or I'll makeyou replace it; bawl yourselves hoarse--you are on the wrong side foronce!"

When they were approaching the hall-door, which generally lay open--

"Confound me, " said the squire, "if I know what to do with you; Itrust in God I won't get into odium by this. At all events, let us stealupstairs as quietly as we can, and, if possible, without any one seeingus. "

To the necessity of this the priest assented, and they had reached thefirst landing of the staircase when out popped right in their teeth twohousemaids each with brush in hand. Now it instantly occurred to thesquire that in this unlucky crisis bribery was the safest resource. Heaccordingly addressed them:

"Come here, you jades, don't say a word about this man's presencehere--don't breathe it; here's five shillings apiece for you, and letone of you go and bring me up, secretly, the key of the green-room inthe garret; it has not been opened for some time. Be quick now; or stay, desire Lanigan to fetch it, and refreshment also; there's cold venisonand roast beef, and a bottle of wine; tell Lanigan I'm going to lunch, and to lay the table in my study. Lanigan can be depended on, " he added, after the chambermaid had gone, "for when I concealed another priesthere once, he was entrusted with the secret, and was faithful. "

Now it so happened that one of those maids, who was a bitter Protestant, at once recognized Father Maguire, notwithstanding his disguise. She hadbeen a servant for four or five years in the house of a wealthy farmerwho lived adjoining him, and with whom he had been in the habitof frequently dining when no danger was to be apprehended from theoperation of the laws. Indeed, she and Malcomson, the gardener, werethe only two individuals in the squire's establishment who were notCatholics. Malcomson was a manoeuvrer, and, as is pretty usual withindividuals of his class and country, he looked upon "Papistry" asan abomination that ought to be removed from the land. Still, he wascautious and shrewd, and seldom or never permitted those opinions tointerfere with or obstruct his own interests. Be this is it may, thesecret was not long kept. Esther Wilson impeached her master's loyalty, and she herself was indignantly assailed for her treachery by MollyFinigan, who hoped in her soul that her master and young mistress wouldboth die in the true Church yet. 

The whole kitchen was in a buzz; in fact, a regular scene ensued. Everyone spoke, except Lanigan, who, from former experience, understoodthe case perfectly; but, as for Malcomson, whose zeal on this occasioncertainly got the better of his discretion, he seemed thunderstruck. 

"Eh, sirs! did ony one ever hear the like o' this?--to hide a rebelpriest frae the offended laws! But it canna be that this puir man isathegether right in his head. Lord ha'e a care o' us! the man surelymust be demented, or he wouldna venture to bring such a person into hisain house--into the vara house. I think, Maisther Lanigan, it wad bejust a precious bit o' service to religion and our laws to gang and tellthe next magistrate. Gude guide us! what an example he is settin' tohis loyal neighbors, and his hail connections! That ever we should see thelike o' this waefu' backsliding at his years! Lord ha'e a care o' us, Isay aince mair. "

"Oh, but there's more to come, " said one of them, for, in the turmoilproduced by this shocking intelligence, they had forgotten to deliverthe message to Lanigan. 

"Mr. Lanigan, " said Esther, and her breath was checked by a hysterichiccup, "Mr. Lanigan, you are to bring up the key of the green-room, andplenty of venison, roast beef, and a bottle of wine! There!"

"Baal, Maisther Lanigan, I winna stay langer under this roof; it's naecannie; I'll e'en gang out, and ha'e some nonsense clavers wi' yon queerauld carl i' the gerden. The Lord ha'e a eare o' us!--what will thewarld come to next!"

He accordingly repaired to the garden, where the first thing he didwas to give a fearful account to Reilly of their master's politicalprofligacy. The latter felt surprised, but not at all at Malcomson'snarrative. The fact was, he knew the exact circumstances of the case, because he knew the squire's character, which was sometimes good, andsometimes the reverse--just according to the humor he might be in: andin reply observed to Malcomson, that--

"As his honor done a great dale o' good! to the poor o' the counthry, I think it wouldn't be daicent in us, Misther Malcomson, to go for topublish this generous act to the poor priesht; if he is wrong, let uslave him to Gad, shir. "

"Ou ay, weel I dinna but you're richt; the mair that we won't hae toanswer for his transgressions; sae e'en let every herring hang by itsain tail. "

In the meantime, Lanigan, who understood the affair well enough, addressed the audience in the kitchen to the following effect:

"Now, " said he, "what a devil of a hubbub you all make about nothing!Pray, young lady, " addressing Esther Wilson, who alone had divulged thecircumstance, "did his honor desire you to keep what you seen saicret?"

"He did, cook, he did, " replied Esther; "and gave us money not to speakabout it, which is a proof of his guilt. "

"And the first thing you did was to blaze it to the whole kitchen! I'lltell you what it is now--if he ever hears that you breathed a syllableof it to mortal man, you won't be under his roof two hours. "

"Oh, but, surely, cook--"

"Oh, but, surely, madam, " replied Lanigan, "you talk of what you don'tunderstand; his honor knows very well what he's about, mid has authorityfor it. "

This sobered her to some purpose; and Lanigan proceeded to execute hismaster's orders. 

It is true Miss Esther and Malcomson were now silent, for their ownsakes; but it did not remove their indignation; so far from that, Lanigan himself came in for a share of it, and was secretly looked uponin the light of the squire's confidant in the transaction. 

Whilst matters were in this position, the Red Rapparee began graduallyto lose the confidence of his unscrupulous employer. He had promisedthat worthy gentleman to betray his former gang, and deliver them up tojustice, in requital for the protection which he received from him. Thishe would certainly have done, were it not for Fergus, who, happening tomeet one of them a day or two after the Rapparee had taken service withWhitecraft upon the aforesaid condition, --informed the robber of thatfact, and advised him, if he wished to provide for his own safety andthat of his companions, to desire them forthwith to leave the country, and, if possible, the kingdom. They accordingly took the hint; some ofthem retired to distant and remote places, and others went beyond seasfor their security. The promise, therefore, which the Rapparee had madeto the baronet as a proof of gratitude for his protection, he now foundhimself incapable of fulfilling, in consequence of the dispersion anddisappearance of his band. When he stated this fact to Sir Robert, hegained little credit from him; and the consequence was that his patronfelt disposed to think that he was not a man to be depended on. Still, what he had advanced in his own defence might be true; and although hisconfidence in him was shaken, he resolved to maintain him yet in hisservice, and that for two reasons--one of which was, that by having himunder his eye, and within his grasp, he could pounce upon him at anymoment; the other was, that, as he knew, from the previous shifts andnecessities of his own lawless life, all those dens and recesses andcaverns to which the Catholic priesthood, and a good number of thepeople, were obliged to fly and conceal themselves, he must necessarilybe a useful guide to him as a priest-hunter. It is true he assured himthat he had procured his pardon from Government, principally, he said, in consequence of his own influence, and because, in all his robberies, it had not been known that he ever took away human life. In general, however, this was the policy of the Rapparees, unless when theyidentified themselves with political contests and outrages, and on thoseoccasions they were savage and cruel as fiends. In simple robbery on theking's highway, or in burglaries in houses, they seldom, almost never, committed murder, unless when resisted, and in defence of their lives. On the contrary, they were quite gallant to females, whom they treatedwith a kind of rude courtesy, not unfrequently returning the lady of thehouse her gold watch--but this only on occasions when they had secureda large booty of plate and money. The Threshers of 1805-6 and '7, so faras cruelty goes, were a thousand times worse; for they spared neitherman nor woman in their infamous and nocturnal visits; and it is enoughto say, besides, that their cowardice was equal to their cruelty. It hasbeen proved, at special commissions held about those periods, that fouror five men, with red coats on them, have made between two or threehundred of the miscreants run for their lives, and they tolerablywell-armed. Whether Sir Robert's account of the Rapparee's pardon wastrue or false will appear in due time; for the truth is, that Whitecraftwas one of those men who, in consequence of his staunch loyaltyand burning zeal in carrying out the inhuman measures of the thenGovernment, was permitted with impunity to run into a licentiousnessof action, as a useful public man, which no modern government would, ordare, permit. At the period of which we write, there was no press, so tospeak, in Ireland, and consequently no opportunity of at once bringingthe acts of the Irish Government, or of public men, to the testof public opinion. Such men, therefore, as Whitecraft, looked uponthemselves as invested with irresponsible power; and almost in everyinstance their conduct was approved of, recognized, and, in general, rewarded by the Government of the day. The Beresford family enjoyedsomething like this unenviable privilege, during the rebellion of'98, and for some time afterwards. We have alluded to Mrs. Oxley, thesheriffs, fat wife; whether fortunately or unfortunately for the poorsheriff, who had some generous touches of character about him, it sohappened, at this period of our narrative she popped off one day, in afit of apoplexy, and he found himself a widower. Now, our acquaintance, Fergus Reilly, who was as deeply disguised as our hero, had made hismind up, if possible, to bring the Rapparee into trouble. This man hadled his patron to several places where it was likely that the persecutedpriests might be found; and, for this reason, Fergus knew that he wasserious in his object to betray them. This unnatural treachery of therobber envenomed his heart against him, and he resolved to run a risk inwatching his motions. He had no earthly doubt that it was he who robbedthe sheriff. He knew, from furtive observations, as well as from generalreport, that a discreditable intimacy existed between him and MaryMahon. This woman's little house was very convenient to that ofWhitecraft, to whom she was very useful in a certain capacity. Shehad now given up her trade of fortune-telling--a trade which, at thatperiod, in consequence of the ignorance of the people, was very generalin Ireland. She was now more beneficially employed. Fergus, therefore, confident in his disguise, resolved upon a bold and hazardous stroke. He began to apprehend that if ever Tom Steeple, fool though he was, kept too much about the haunts and resorts of the Rapparee, that cunningscoundrel, who was an adept in all the various schemes and forms ofdetection, might take the alarm, and, aided probably by Whitecraft, makehis escape out of the country. At best, the fool could only assure himof his whereabouts; but he felt it necessary, in addition to this, toprocure, if the matter were possible, such evidence of his guilt asmight render his conviction of the robbery of the sheriff complete andcertain. One evening a wretched-looking old man, repeating his prayers, with beads in hand, entered her cottage, which consisted of two roomsand a kitchen; and after having presented himself, and put on hishat--for we need scarcely say that no Catholic ever prays covered--heasked lodging in Irish, for the night, and at this time it was dusk. 

"Well, good man, " she replied, "you can have lodgings here for thisnight. God forbid I'd put a poor wandherer out, an' it nearly dark. "

Fergus stared at her as if he did not understand what she said; she, however, could speak Irish right well, and asked him in that language ifhe could speak no English--"_Wuil Bearlha agud?_" (Have you English?)

"_Ha neil foccal vaun Bearlha agum_. " (I haven't one word of English. )

"Well, " said she, proceeding with the following short conversation inIrish, "you can sleep here, and I will bring you in a wap o' straw fromthe garden, when I have it to feed my cow, which his honor, Sir Robert, gives me grass for; he would be a very kind man if he was a little moregenerous--ha! ha! ha!"

"Ay, but doesn't he hunt an' hang, an' transport our priests?"

"Why, indeed, I believe he doesn't like a bone in a priest's body;but then he's of a different religion--and it isn't for you or me toconstrue him after our own way. "

"Well, well, " said Fergus, "it isn't him I'm thinking of; but if I had amouthful or two of something to ait I'd go to sleep--for dear knows I'mtired and hungry. "

"Why, then, of coorse you'll have something to ait, poor man, andwhile you're eatin' it I'll fetch in a good bunch of straw, and make acomfortable shake-down for you. "

"God mark you to grace, avourneen!"

She then furnished him with plenty of oaten bread and mixed milk, andwhile he was helping himself she brought in a large launch of straw, which she shook out and settled for him. 

"I see, " said she, "that you have your own blankets. "

"I have, acushla. Cheerna, but this is darlin' bread! Arra was thisbaked upon a griddle or against the _muddhia arran?_"*. 

 * The muddhia arran was a forked branch, cut from a tree, and shaped exactly like a letter A--with a small stick behind to support it. A piece of hoop iron was nailed to it at the bottom, on which the cake rested--not horizontally, but opposite the fire. When one side was done the other was turned, and thus it was baked. 

"A griddle! Why, then, is it the likes o' me would have a griddle? thatindeed! No; but, any how, sure a griddle only scalds the bread; butyou'll find that this is not too much done; bekaise you know the ouldproverb, 'a raw dad makes a fat lad. '"

"Troth, " replied Fergus, "it's good bread, and fills the _boast_** of aman's body; but now that I've made a good supper, I'll throw myself onthe straw, for I feel as if my eyelids had a millstone apiece upon them. I never shtrip at night, but just throws my blanket over me, an' sleepslike a top. Glory be to God! Oh, then, there's nothing like the healthma'am: may God spare it to us! Amin, this night!"

 ** Boast--a figurative term, taken from a braggadocio or boaster; it applies to any thing that is hollow or deceitful: for instance, when some potatoes that grow unusually large are cut in two, an empty space is found in the centra, and that potato is termed boast, or empty. 

He accordingly threw himself on the shakedown, and in a short time, aswas evident by his snoring, fell into a profound sleep. 

This was an experiment, though a hazardous one, as we have said; but sofar it was successful. In the course of half an hour the Red Rappareecame in, dressed in his uniform. On looking about him he exclaimed, withan oath, "Who the hell is here?"

"Why, " replied Mary Mahon, "a poor ould man that axed for charity an'lodgin' for the night. "

"And why did you give it to him?"

"Bekaise my charity to him may take away some of my sins. "

"Some of your devils!" replied the savage, "and I think you have enoughof them about you. Didn't you know I was to come here to-night, as I doalmost every night, for an hour or two?"

"You was drinkin', " she replied, "and you're drunk. "

"I am drunk, and I will be drunk as often as I can. It's a good man'scase. Why did you give a lodgin' to this ould vagabone?"

"I tould you the raison, " she replied; "but you needn't care about him, for there's not a word of English in his cheek. "

"Faith, but he may have something in his purse, for all that. Is heould?"

"A poor ould man. "

"So much the betther; be the livin' I'll try whether he has any ouldcoins about him. Many a time--no, I don't say many a time--but twic'tI did it, and found it well worth my while, too. Some of these ouldscamers lie wid a purse o' goolden guineas under their head, and won'tconfess it till the last moment. Who knows what this ould lad may haveabout him? I'll thry anyhow, " said the drunken ruffian; "It's not aisyto give up an ould custom, Molly--the sheriff, my darlin', for that. Iaised him of his fines, and was near strikin' a double blow--I securedhis pocket-book, and made a good attempt to hang Willy Reilly for therobbery into the bargain. Now, hang it, Molly, didn't I look a gentlemanin his' clothes, shoes, silver buckles, and all; wasn't it well wesecured them before the house was burned? Here, " he added, "take asneeshin of this, " pulling at the same time a pint bottle of whiskeyout of his pocket; "it'll rise your spirits, an' I'll see what cash thisould codger has about him; an', by the way, how the devil do weknow that he doesn't understand every word we say. Suppose, now--(hiccup)--that he heard me say I robbed the sheriff, wouldn't I bein a nice pickle? But, tell me, can you get no trace of Reilly?"

"Devil a trace; they say he has left the country. "

"If I had what that scoundrel has promised me for findin' him out orsecurin' him--here's--here's--here's to you--I say, if I had, you and Iwould"--Here he pointed with his thumb over his shoulder, as much as tosay they would try another climate. 

"And now, " he proceeded, "for a search on the shake-down. Who knows butthe ould fellow has the yellow boys (guineas) about him? "--and he wasproceeding to search Fergus, when Mary flew at him like a tigress. 

"Stop, you cowardly robber!" she exclaimed; "would you bring down thecurse and the vengeance of God upon both of us. We have enough and toomuch to answer for, let alone to rob the ould an' the poor. "

"Be aisy now, " said he, "I'll make the search; sure I'm undher thescoundrel Whitecraft's protection. "

"Yes, you are, and you're undher my protection too; and I tell you, ifyou lay a hand upon him it'll be worse for you. "

"What--what do you mane?"

"It's no matther what I mane; find it out. "

"How do I know but he has heard us?"

We must now observe that Fergus's style of sleeping was admirablyadapted for his purpose. It was not accompanied by a loud and unbrokensnore; on the contrary, after it had risen to the highest andmost disagreeable intonations, it stopped short, with a loud andindescribable backsnort in his nose, and then, after a lull of somelength, during which he groaned and muttered to himself, he againresumed his sternutations in a manner so natural as would have imposedupon Satan himself, if he had been present, as there is little doubt hewas, though not exactly visible to the eyes of his two precious agents. 

"Listen to that, " replied the woman; "do you think, now, he's notasleep? and even if he was sitting at the fire beside us, devil asyllable we said he could understand. I spoke to him in English when hecame in, but he didn't know a word I said. "

"Well, then, let the ould fellow sleep away; I won't touch him. "

"Why, now, that's a good boy; go home to your barracks, and take a goodsleep yourself. "

"Ay, yes, certainly; but have you Reilly's clothes safe--shoes, silverbuckles, and all?"

"Ay, as safe as the head on your shoulders; and, upon my soul, a greatdale safer, if you rob any more sheriffs. "

"Where are they, then?"

"Why, they're in my flat box, behind the bed, where nobody could seethem. "

"Very well, Molly, that will do; I may want them wanst more, " hereplied, pointing again with his thumb over his shoulder towardsWhitecraft's residence; "so goodnight; be a good girl, and take care ofyourself. "

"No, " she replied, "but do you be a good boy, and take care ofyourself. " And so they parted for the night. 

The next day Fergus, possessed of very important evidence against theRapparee, was travelling along the public road, not more than half amile from the residence of Sir Robert Whitecraft, when whom should hemeet but the identical sheriff, on horseback, that the Rapparee hadrobbed. He put his hand to his hat, and asked him for charity. 

"Help a poor ould man, for the love and honor of God. "

"Why don't you go to work--why don't you go to work?" replied thesheriff. 

"I am not able, sir, " returned Fergus; "it wouldn't be good for myhealth, your honor. "

"Well, pass on and don't trouble me; I have nothing for you. "

"Ah! thin, sir, if you'd give me a trifle, maybe I'd make it worth yourwhile. "

"What do you mean?" asked the sheriff, who knew that persons like himhad opportunities of hearing and knowing more about local circumstances, in consequence of their vagrant life, than any other class of persons insociety. 

"What do you mean by what you have just said?"

"Aren't you the sheriff, sir, that was robbed some time ago?"

"I am. "

"Ah, sir, I see you are dressed in black; and I heard of the death ofthe misthress, sir. "

"Well, but what has that to do with what you have just now said--thatyou would make it worth my while if I gave you alms?"

"I said so, sir; and I can, if you will be guided by me. "

"Speak out; I don't understand you. "

"Would you like to see the man that robbed you, sir, and would you knowhim if you did see him?"

"Unquestionably I would know him. They say it was Reilly, but I haveseen Reilly since; and although the dress was the same which Reillyusually wears, yet the faces were different. "

"Is your honor going far?" asked Fergus. 

"No, I am going over to that farm-house, Tom Brady's; two or three ofhis family are ill of fever, and I wish to do something for him; I amabout to make him my land bailiff. "

"What stay will you make there, your honor?"

"A very short one--not more than ten or fifteen minutes. "

"Would it be inconvenient for your honor to remain there, or somewhereabout the house, for an hour, or may be a little longer?"

"For what purpose? You are a mysterious old fellow. "

"Bekaise, if you'd wish to see the man that robbed you, I'll undhertaketo show him to you, face to face, within that time. Will your honorpromise this?"

The sheriff paused upon this proposal, coming as it did from such anequivocal authority. What, thought he, if it should be a plot for mylife, in consequence of the fines which I have been forced to levy uponthe Catholic priests and bishops in my official capacity. God knows Ifeel it to be a painful duty. 

"What is your religion?" he asked, "and why should a gentleman in mycondition of life place any confidence upon the word of a common vagrantlike you, who must necessarily be imbued with all the prejudices of yourcreed--for I suppose you are a Catholic?"

"I am, sir; but, for all that, in half an hour's time I'll be a rankProtestant. "

The sheriff smiled and asked, "How the devil's that?"

"You are dressed in black, sir, in murnin' for your wife. I have seenyou go into Tom Brady's to give the sick creatures the rites of theirChurch. I give notice to Sir Robert Whitecraft that a priest is there;and my word to you, he and his hounds will soon be upon you. The manthat robbed you will be among them--no, but the foremost of them; and ifyou don't know him, I can't help it--that's all, your honor. "

"Well, " replied the sheriff, "I shall give you nothing now; becauseI know not whether what you say can be relied upon or not. In themeantime, I shall remain an hour or better, in Brady's house; and ifyour words are not made good, I shall send to Sir Robert Whitecraft fora military party to escort me home. "

"I know, your honor, " replied Fergus, "that Sir Robert and his men areat home to-day; and if I don't fulfil my words, I'll give your honorlave to whip me through the county. "

"Well, " said the sheriff, "I shall remain an hour or so in Brady's; butI tell you that if you are deceiving me you shall not escape me; so lookto it, and think if what you propose to me is honest or not--if it benot, woe betide you. "

Fergus immediately repaired to Sir Robert Whitecraft, to whom herepresented himself as a poor Protestant of the name of Bingham, and informed him that a Popish priest was then in Tom Brady's house, administering the rites of Popery to those who were sick in the family. 

"I seen him, your honor, go into the house; and he's there this minute'. If your honor makes haste you'll catch him. "

In less than a quarter of an hour Sir Robert and his crew were instirrups, and on their way to Tom Brady's; and in the meantime, too, thesheriff, dressed as he was, in black, came outside the door, from timeto time, more in apprehension of a plot against his life than of a visitfrom Whitecraft, which he knew must end in nothing. Now, Whitecraft andhis followers, on approaching Brady's house, caught a glimpse of him--acircumstance which not only confirmed the baronet in the correctness ofthe information he had received, but also satisfied the sheriff that themendicant had not deceived him. Rapid was the rush they made to Brady'shouse, and the very first that entered it was the Red Rapparee. He wasabout to seize the sheriff, whom he pretended not to know; but in amoment Sir Robert and the rest entered, when, on recognizing each other, an explanation took place, with all due apologies to the functionary, who said:

"The mistake, Sir Robert, is very natural. I certainly have a clericalappearance, as I am in mourning for my wife. I trust you will neitherhang nor transport me. "

"I am very sorry indeed, Mr. Oxley; but I only acted on informationreceived. "

"And I don't doubt, Sir Robert, " replied the sheriff, "that the personwho gave you the information may have been deceived himself by myecclesiastical looking dress. I am sorry you have had so much troublefor nothing; but, upon my word, I feel extremely delighted that I am nota priest. "

In the meantime the sheriff had recognized the Rapparee, by a singleglance, as the man that had robbed him. He was now certain; but he tookcare not to bestow the least sign of recognition upon him; so far fromthat, he appeared to pay no attention whatsoever to the men; but chattedwith Sir Robert for some time, who returned home deeply disappointed, though without imputing blame to his informant, who, he thought, wasvery naturally misled by the dress of the sheriff. Fergus, however, apprehensive of being involved in the prosecution of the Rapparee, and thus discovered, made a point to avoid the sheriff, whosecross-examination a consciousness of his previous life led him to dread. Still, he had, to a certain extent, though not definitely, resolved tobecome evidence against him; but only, as we have said, on the conditionof previously receiving a full pardon for his own misdeeds, which wasgranted. For upwards of a month, however, the sheriff was confined tohis bed, having caught, whilst in Brady's, the malignant fever whichthen raged throughout the country. 

CHAPTEE XVIII. --Something not very Pleasant for all Parties. 

The position of England at this period was any thing but an easy one. The Rebellion of '45 had commenced, and the young Pretender had gainedsome signal victories. Independently of this, she was alarmed by therumor of a French invasion on her southern coast. Apprehensive lest theIrish Catholics, galled and goaded as they were by the influence ofthe penal laws, and the dreadful persecution which they caused themto suffer, should flock to the standard of Prince Charles, himself aCatholic, she deemed it expedient, in due time, to relax a little, and accordingly she "checked her hand, and changed her pride. " Mildermeasures were soon resorted to, during this crisis, in order that by amore liberal administration of justice the resentment of the sufferingCatholics might be conciliated, and their loyalty secured. This, however, was a proceeding less of justice than expediency, and resultedmore from the actual and impending difficulties of England than fromany sincere wish on her part to give civil and religious freedom to herCatholic subjects, or prosperity to the country in which, even then, their numbers largely predominated. Yet, singular to say, when theRebellion first broke out, all the chapels in Dublin were closed, andthe Administration, as if guided by some unintelligible infatuation, issued a proclamation, commanding the Catholic priesthood to departfrom the city. Those who refused this senseless and impolitic edict werethreatened with the utmost severity of the law. Harsh as that law was, the Catholics obeyed it; yet even this obedience did not satisfy theProtestant party, or rather that portion of them who were active agentsin carrying out this imprudent and unjustifiable rigor at such a period. They were seized by a kind of panic, and imagined forsooth that a brokendown and disarmed people might engage in a general massacre of the IrishProtestants. Whether this incomprehensible terror was real, is a matterof doubt and uncertainty; or whether it was assumed as a justificationfor assailing the Catholics in a general massacre, similar to thatwhich they apprehended, or pretended to apprehend, is also a matter ofquestion; yet certain it is, that a proposal to massacre them in coldblood was made in the Privy Council. "But, " says O'Connor, "the humanityof the members rejected this barbarous proposal, and crushed in itsinfancy a conspiracy hatched in Lurgan to extirpate the Catholics ofthat town and vicinity. "

In the meantime, so active was the persecuting spirit of such menas Whitecraft and Smellpriest that a great number of the unfortunatepriests fled to the metropolis, where, in a large and populous city, they had a better chance of remaining _incogniti_ than when livingin the country, exposed and likely to be more marked by spies andinformers. A very dreadful catastrophe took place about this time. Acongregation of Catholic people had heard mass upon an old loft, whichhad for many years been decayed--in fact, actually rotten. Mass wasover, and the priest was about to give them the parting benediction, when the floor went down with a terrific crash. The result was dreadful. The priest and a great many of the congregation were killed on the spot, and a vast number of them wounded and maimed for life. The Protestantinhabitants of Dublin sympathized deeply with the sufferers, whomthey relieved and succored as far as in them lay, and, by theirremonstrances, Government was shamed into a more human administration ofthe laws. 

In order to satisfy our readers that we have not overdrawn our pictureof what the Catholics suffered in those unhappy times, we shall give aquotation from the. Messrs. Chambers, of Edinburgh, themselves fair andliberal men, and as impartial as they are able and well informed:

"Since the pacification of Limerick, Ireland had been ruled exclusivelyby the Protestant party, who, under the influence of feelings arisingfrom local and religious antipathies, had visited the Catholics withmany severities. The oath which had excluded the Catholics fromoffice had been followed, in 1698, by an Act of the Irish Parliament, commanding all Romish priests to leave the kingdom, under the penaltyof transportation, a return from which was to be punishable by death. Another law decreed forfeiture of property and civil rights to allwho should send their children abroad to be educated in the Catholicfaith. "*

 * "History and Present State of the British Empire. " Edinburgh, W. And R. Chambers. 

Can any reasonable person be in doubt for a moment that those laws werelaws of extermination? In the meantime, let us hear the Messrs. Chambersfurther:

"After the death of William, who was much opposed to severities onaccount of religion, Acts of still greater rigor were passed forpreventing the growth of Popery. Any child of a Roman Catholic whoshould declare himself a Protestant was entitled to become the heir ofhis estate, the father merely holding it for his lifetime, and havingno command over it. Catholics were made incapable of succeeding toProtestants, and lands, passing over them, were to go to the nextProtestant heir. Catholic parents were prevented from being guardians, totheir own children; no Protestant possessing property was to bepermitted to marry a Catholic; and Catholics were rendered incapableof purchasing landed property or enjoying long leases. These measuresnaturally rendered the Catholics discontented I subjects, and led tomuch turbulence. The common people of that persuasion, being denied allaccess to justice, took it into their own hands, and acquired all thoselawless habits for which they have since been remarkable. Treachery, cruelty, and all the lower passions, were called into vigorous exercise. Even the Protestants, for their own sakes, were often obliged to conniveat the evasion of laws so extremely severe, and which introduced muchdifficulty in their dealings with Catholics; but, when any Protestantwished to be revenged upon a Catholic, or to extort money from him, hefound in these laws a ready instrument for his purpose. By an additionalAct, in 1726, it was ordained that a Roman Catholic priest, marrying aProtestant to a Catholic, should suffer death; and in order that legalredress might be still less accessible to the Catholics, it was enacted, in 1728, that no one should be entitled to practise as an attorney whohad not been two years a Protestant. "

This is a clear and succinct epitome of the penal laws; true, much moremight be added; but it is enough to say that those who sow the wind willreap the whirlwind. It is not by placing restrictions upon creeds orceremonies that religion can ever be checked, much less extinguished. Like the camomile plant, the more it is trampled on the more it willspread and grow; as the rude winds and the inclemency of the elementsonly harden and make more vigorous the constitutions of those whoare exposed to them. In our state of the world, those who have theadministration of political laws in their hands, if they ever readhistory, or can avail themselves of the experiences of ages, ought toknow that it is not by severity or persecution that the affectionsof their fellow-subjects can be conciliated. We ourselves once knewa brutal ruffian, who was a dealer in fruit in the little town ofMaynooth, and whose principle of correcting his children was to continuewhipping the poor things until they were forced to laugh! A person wasone day present when he commenced chastising one of them--a child ofabout seven--upon this barbarous principle. This individual was thenyoung and strong, and something besides of a pugilist; but on witnessingthe affecting efforts of the little fellow to do that which was notwithin the compass of any natural effort, he deliberately knocked theruffian down, after having first remonstrated with him to no purpose. Hearose, however, and attacked the other, but, thanks to a good arm and aquick eye, he prostrated him again, and again, and again; he thencaught him by the throat, for he was already subdued, and squeezing hiswindpipe to some purpose, the fellow said, in a choking voice, "Are yougoing to kill me?"

"No, " replied the other, "I only want to see the length of your tongue;don't be alarmed, the whole thing will end merrily; come, now, givethree of the heartiest laughs you ever gave in your life, or down goesyour apple-cart--you know what that means?"

"I--I c--a--n'--t, " said he. 

"Yes, you can, " replied his castigator; "nothing's more easy; come, bemerry. "

The caitiff, for he was a coward, and wanted bottom, upon getting alittle wind, whilst the other held him by the throat, gave three of themost ludicrous, but disastrous, howls that ever were witnessed. On hisopponent letting him go, he took to his heels, but got a kick on goingout that was rather calculated to accelerate his flight. Legislators, therefore, ought to know that no political whipping will ever make apeople laugh at the pleasure of it. 

But to resume our narrative. England, now apprehensive, as we have said, of a descent of the French upon her southern coast, and startled by thesuccesses of the young Pretender, who had cut Cope's army to pieces, deemed it expedient to send over the celebrated Earl of Chesterfieldas Viceroy, with instructions to relax the rigor of the laws, andconciliate the Catholics, as well as he could, so, at least, as toprevent them from joining the Pretender, whose object it was understoodto be to cross the frontier and march upon London. Lord Chesterfield'spolicy afforded great gratification to the Catholics, who were nowrestored to their usual privileges; and its political object was so farsuccessful that, as we have said, not a single man of them ever joinedthe Pretender. Still, the liberal Protestants, or, as they were termed, the patriotic party, were not satisfied with the mere removal of theCatholic restrictions. Ireland, at that time, was studded with men, orrather with monsters, like Smellpriest and Whitecraft, who were stainedwith the blood of their fellow-subjects and fellow-Christians. SirRobert Whitecraft, especially, was now in a bad position, although hehimself was ignorant of it. The French Ambassador demanded satisfaction, in the name of his Court and the French nation, for the outrage that hadbeen committed upon a French. Subject, and by which internationallaw was so grossly violated. We must say here that Whitecraft, in theabundance of his loyalty and zeal, was in the habit, in his searchesafter priests, and suspected lay Catholics, to pay domiciliary visits tothe houses of many Protestant magistrates, clergymen, and even gentlemenof wealth and distinction, who were suspected, from their known enmityto persecution, of harboring Catholic priests and others of thatpersuasion; so that, in point of fact, he had created more enemies inthe country than any man living. The Marquis of------, Mr. Hastings, Mr. Brown, together with a great number of the patriotic party, hadalready transmitted a petition to the Lord Lieutenant, under the formerAdministration; but it was not attended to, the only answer they gothaving been a simple acknowledgment of its receipt. This, on comingto Sir Robert's ears, which it did from one of the underlings of theCastle, only gave a spur to his insolence, and still more fiercelystimulated his persecuting spirit. He felt conscious that Governmentwould protect him, or rather reward him, for any acts of violence whichhe might commit against the Catholic party, and so far, under his ownpet Administration, he was right. 

The petition we have alluded to having been treated with studiedcontempt, the persons and party already mentioned came to thedetermination of transmitting another, still more full and urgent, tothe new Viceroy, whose feeling it was, for the reasons we have stated, to reverse the policy of his predecessor. 

His liberal administration encouraged them, therefore, to send hima clear statement of the barbarous outrages committed by such men asSmellpriest and Sir Robert Whitecraft, not only against his Majesty'sRoman Catholic subjects, but against many loyal Protestant magistrates, and other Protestants of distinction and property, merely because theywere supposed to entertain a natural sympathy for their persecutedfellow-subjects and fellow-countrymen. They said that the conduct ofthose men and of the Government that had countenanced and encouragedthem had destroyed the prosperity of the country by interrupting andannulling all bonafide commercial transactions between, Protestants andCatholics. That those men had not only transgressed the instructionsthey received, from his predecessor, but all those laws that go to thesecurity of life and property. That they were guilty of several crueland atrocious murders, arsons, and false imprisonments, for which theywere never brought to account; and that, in fine, they were steepedin crime and blood, because they knew that his predecessor, ignorant, perhaps, of the extent of their guilt, threw his shield over them, andheld them irresponsible to the laws for those savage outrages. 

They then stated that, in their humble judgment, a mere relaxation inthe operation of the severe and penal laws against Catholics would notbe an act of sufficient atonement to them for all they had greviouslysuffered; that to overlook, or connive at, or protect those greatcriminals would be at variance, not only with all principles of justice, but with the spirit of the British Constitution itself, which neverrecognizes, much less encourages, a wicked and deliberate violation ofits own laws. That the present was a critical moment, which demandedgreat judgment and equal humanity in the administration of the laws inIreland. A rebellion was successfully progressing in Scotland, and itappeared to them that not only common justice but sound policy ought toprompt the Government to attract and conciliate the Catholic populationof Ireland by allowing them to participate in the benefits of theConstitution, which hitherto existed not for them, thousands of whom, finding their country but a bed of thorns, might, from a mere sense ofrelief, or, what was more to be dreaded, a spirit of natural vengeance, flock to the standard of the Pretender. 

His excellency, already aware of the startling but just demand whichhad been made by the French Ambassador, for the national insult byWhitecraft to his country, was himself startled and shocked by theatrocities of those blood-stained delinquents. 

His reply, however, was brief, but to the purpose. 

His secretary acknowledged the receipt of the memorial, and stated thatthe object of his Excellency was not to administer the laws in cruelty, but in mercy; that he considered all classes of his Majesty's subjectsequally entitled to their protection; and that with respect to thepersons against whom such serious charges and allegations had been made, he had only to say, that if they were substantiated against them in acourt of justice, they must suffer like other criminals--if they can beproved, Government will leave them, as it would any common felons, tothe laws of the country. His Excellency is determined to administerthose laws with the strictest impartiality, and without leaning to anyparticular class or creed. So far as the laws will allow him, theirprotection shall be extended, on just and equal principles to the poorand to the rich, to the Catholic and to the Protestant. 

This communication, which was kept strictly secret, reached the Marquisof ---- at a critical period of our narrative. Whitecraft, who wasignorant of it, but sufficiently aware of the milder measures which thenew Administration had adopted, finding that the trade of priest-huntingand persecution was, for the present, at an end, resolved to acceleratehis marriage with Miss Folliard, and for this purpose he waited upon herfather, in order to secure his consent. His object was to retire tohis English estates, and there pass the remainder of his life with hisbeautiful but reluctant bride. He paid his visit about two o'clock, andwas told that Miss Folliard and her father were in the garden. Hither heaccordingly repaired, and found the squire, his daughter, and Reilly, inthe green-house. When the squire saw him he cried out, with somethingof a malicious triumph: "Hallo, Sir Robert! why art thou so pale, young lover? why art thou so pale?--and why does thy lip hang, Sir Robert?--new men, new measures, Sir Robert--and so, 'Othello'soccupation's gone, ' and the Earl of Chesterfield goes to mass everySunday, and is now able to repeat his padareem in Irish. "

"I am glad to find you so pleasant, Mr. Folliard; but I'm delighted tosee the beautiful state of your green-house--oh, Miss Folliard!--excuseme. Your back was to me, and you were engaged in trailing that beautifulshrub; allow me the honor of shaking hands with you. "

"Sir Robert, I bid you good-day, but you see that I have my gardengloves on; you will excuse me. "

"Oh, Miss Folliard, " he replied, "your will is the spirit of the BritishConstitution to me. "

"A spirit which, I fear, you have too frequently violated, Sir Robert;but, as papa says, I believe your cruel occupation is gone--at least Ihope so. "

"'Gad, you got it there, Sir Robert, " replied her father, laughing. 

"I must confess it, " replied the baronet; "but I think, in order toingratiate myself with Miss Folliard, I shall take whatever side sherecommends me. How, Mr. Folliard, " he proceeded, fixing his eyes uponReilly--"what the deuce is this? Have you got Robinson Crusoe here?"

"We have, " replied the squire; "but his man Friday has got married to aTipperary woman, and he's now in quest of a desert, island for him andher to settle in. "

"I think, papa, " said Helen, "that if the principles of Sir Robert andhis class were carried out, he would not have far to go to look forone. "

"Another hit, Bob, you dog--another hit. W'ell said, Helen--well said, I say. Crusoe, you villain, hold up your head, and thank God you'rechristened. "

"Wid de help o' Gad, shir, I was christhened afwhore, sure, by depriesht. "

This visit occurred about six weeks after the appointment of the newViceroy to the Government of Ireland, and about five after the sheriff'sillness. 

"Come, Whitecraft, " said the squire, "come and let us have lunch: I'llhold a crown I give you as good a glass of Burgundy as you gave me theother day, and will say done first. "

"Won't Miss Folliard join us at lunch?" asked Whitecraft, looking to herfor an assent. 

"Why, I suppose so, " replied her father; "won't you come, Helen?"

"You know, papa, I never lunch. "

"'Gad, and neither you do, Helen. Come, Sir Robert, we will have amouthful to eat, and something good to wash it down; come along, man. What the devil are you scrutinizing poor old Robinson Crusoe for? Comealong. I say, the old chap is making the green-house thrive; he beatsMalcomson. Here. Malcomson, you know Sir Robert Whitecraft, don't you?"

"Hout, your honor, wha' disna ken Sir Robert Whitecraft? Isn't his namefar and near, as a braw defender o' the faith, and a putter down o'Papistry?"

"By the way, Malcomson, " said Sir Robert, "where did you get RobinsonCrusoe, by which I mean that wild-looking man in the green-house?"

"Saul, sir, it's a question I never speered at him. He cam' here as agaberlunzie, and on stating that he was indoctrinated in the sceence o'buttany, his honor garred me employ him. De'il hae't but the truth I'lltell--he's a clever buttanist, and knows a' the sceentific names affhand. "

"So that's all you know about him?" said Sir Robert. "He has a devil ofa beard, and is shockingly dressed. Why doesn't he shave?"

"Ou, just some Papistry nonsense, " replied the gardener; "but we haenaething to do wi' that, sae lang's we get the worth o' our siller outo' him. "

"Here's a shilling, Malcomson, " said Sir Robert. 

"Na, na, your honor; a shilling's no for a man that understands thesceence o' buttany: a shilling's for a flunky in livery; but as for me, I couldna conscientiously condescend upon less than ten o' them, ormay be a pund British, but I'm feart that's contrair to your honor'shabits. "

"Well, then, " said Sir Robert, "I have no more silver, and so I leaveyou to the agreeable society of Robinson Crusoe. "

Reilly had watched Sir Robert's motions, as well as his countenance, ina manner as furtively as possible. Sometimes, indeed, he stared at himbroadly, and with a stupid, oafish look, and again placed himself insuch a position behind the range of flower-pots which were placed uponthe ledges, that he could observe him without being perceived himself. The force of habit, however, is extraordinary. Our hero was a manexceedingly remarkable for personal cleanliness, and consequently made apoint to wash his hands morning and evening with peculiar care. Be thisas it may, the lynx eye of Sir Robert observed their whiteness, and heinstantly said to himself, "This is no common laborer; I know that heis not, from the whiteness of his hands. Besides, he is disguised; it isevident from the length of his beard, and the unnecessary coarseness ofhis apparel. Then his figure, the symmetry and size of which no disguisecan conceal; this, and everything else, assures me that he is disguised, and that he is, besides, no other individual than the man I want, William Reilly, who has been hitherto my evil genius; but it shall gohard with me, or I shall be his now. " Such were his meditations as hepassed along with the squire to join him at lunch. 

When they had left the garden, Reilly addressed his _Cooleen Bawn_ asfollows:

"Helen, I am discovered. "

"Discovered! O my God, no!"

"Unquestionably, there is no doubt of it; it is certain. "

"But how do you know that it is certain?"

"Because I observed that Whitecraft's eyes were never off my hands; heknew that a common laborer could not possibly have such hands. Helen, Iam discovered, and must fly. "

"But you know that there is a change of Administration, and that theseverity of the laws has been relaxed against Catholics. "

"Yes, you told me so, and I have no fear for myself; but what Iapprehend is that this discovery, of which I feel certain, willprecipitate your marriage with that miscreant; they will entrap you intoit, and then I am miserable for ever. "

"Then, William, we must fly this very night; we will proceed to theContinent, to some Protestant state, where we can get married withoutany danger to the clergyman who may unite us. "

"It is all that is left for us, " replied Reilly; "I should sooner loselife than you, my beloved Helen; and now, what is to be done? fly wemust; and in anticipation of the necessity of this step I left a suit ofclothes with Lanigan: or rather with a poor widow, who was a pensionerof mine--a Mrs. Buckley, from whom Lanigan got them, and has them. Icould not think of accompanying you in this vile dress. On your way in, try to see Lanigan, and desire him to come out to me. There is not amoment to be lost; and, my dear Helen, show no marks of agitation; becalm and firm, or we are undone. "

"Rely on me, dear Reilly, rely on me; I shall, send Lanigan to you. "

She left him, and went to her room, when she rang the bell, and hermaid, the faithful Connor, who had been restored to her service, came toher. 

"Connor, " said she, "I shall not be able to dine with papa to-day, especially as that wretch Whitecraft is likely to dine with him. Go toLanigan, and tell him to come to me, for I wish to know if he has anything light and delicate that he could send to my room; Connor, I amvery unhappy. "

"But, miss, sure they say that the laws are changed, and that Mr. Reillymay go at large if he wishes. "

"I know that, Connor; but send Lanigan to me immediately. "

"When Lanigan entered he found the _Cooleen Bawn_ in tears. 

"My God, Miss Folliard, " said he, "what is the matter with you? why areyou crying, or what have they done to you?"

"Lanigan, " she replied, wiping her eyes, "you and Connor only are in oursecret; we must fly this night. "

"This night, Miss Folliard!"

"This night, Lanigan; and you must assist us. "

"To the last drop of my blood, I will. "

"Lanigan, Reilly is discovered. "

"Discovered, miss! good God, how was he discovered?"

"By his hands--by the whiteness of his beautiful hands. Now, Lanigan, Sir Robert, aware that he cannot act the tyrant at present, as he usedto do, will instigate my father to some act of outrage against him;for you know, Lanigan, how cowardly, how cruel, how vindictive, thedetestable villain is; and most assuredly he will make my credulous andgenerous, but hot-tempered, father the instrument of his vengeanceupon Reilly; and, besides, he will certainly urge him to bring aboutan immediate marriage between himself and me, to which, it is true, Iwould, and will die, sooner than consent. I will dine here, Lanigan, forI cannot bear to look upon my dear father, whom I am about to--" Hereher tears interrupted her, and she could proceed no farther; atlength she recovered herself, and resumed: "I know, " she added, "thatWhitecraft is now detailing his discovery and his plans. Oh!! that, forReilly's sake, I could become acquainted with them!"

"What would you wish for dinner, Miss Folliard?" asked Lanigan calmly. 

"For dinner? oh, any thing, any thing; I care not what; but see Reilly, tell him I have a second key for the back gate in the garden, and alsofor the front; and, Lanigan--"

"Well, Miss Folliard; but, for God's sake, don't cry so; your eyes willget red, and your father may notice it. "

"True, thank you, Lanigan; and Reilly, besides, told me to keep myselfcalm; but how can I, Lanigan? Oh, my father! my beloved father! how canI abandon--desert him? No, Lanigan, I will not go; say to Reilly--sayI have changed my mind; tell him that my affection for my father hasovercome my love for him; say I will never marry--that my heart ishis, and never will or can be another's. But then again--he, thenoble-minded, the brave, the generous, the disinterested--alas! I knownot what to do, Lanigan, nor how to act. If I remain here, they willstrive to force this odious marriage on me; and then some fearfulcatastrophe will happen; for, sooner than marry Whitecraft, I wouldstab either him or myself. Either that, Lanigan, or I should go mad;for do you know, Lanigan, that there is insanity in our family, by myfather's side?"

"Unfortunately I know it, Miss Folliard; your uncle died in a mad-house, and it was in that way the estate came to your father. But rememberwhat you say Mr. Reilly told you; be calm; I will send up some lightnourishing dinner to you, at the usual hour; and in the meantime I willsee him before then, and forge some excuse for bringing it up myself. "

"Stay, Lanigan, I am sadly perplexed; I scarcely know what I say; Iam in a state of inconceivable distraction. Suppose I should change mymind; it is not unlikely; I am whirled about by a crowd of contendingemotions; but--well--let me see--oh, yes--it will be as well, Lanigan, to have two horses ready saddled; that is no crime, I hope, if we shouldgo. I must, of course, put on my riding habit. "

"Begging your pardon, Miss Folliard, you'll do no such thing; would youwish to have yourself discovered in the first inn you might put up at?No, dress yourself in one of Connor's dresses so that you may appear ashumble as possible, and any thing but a lady of rank; otherwise, it willbe difficult for you to escape observation. "

"Well, Lanigan, all I can say is, that he and I shall place ourselvesunder your advice and guidance. But my father--oh, my dear father!" andagain she wrung her hands and wept bitterly. 

"Miss Helen, " said he, "as sure as the Lord's in heaven, you willdiscover yourself; and, after all, how do you know that Sir Robert hasfound out Mr. Reilly? Sure it's nothing but bare suspicion on both yourparts. At any rate, I'll saddle Paudeen O'Rafferty wid my own hands, andI'll put on Molly Crudden's big pillion, for you know she's too fat towalk to mass, and you will feel yourself quite easy and comfortable init"

"No, no, Lanigan; I know not why the impression is on me; but I feel asif I were never to experience comfort more. Go to Mr. Reilly; makewhat arrangements he and you may think proper, and afterwards you canacquaint me with them. You see, Lanigan, in what a state of excitementand uncertainty I am. But tell Reilly that, rather than be forced into amarriage, with Whitecraft--rather than go distracted--rather thandie--I shall fly with him. "

CHAPTER XIX. --Reilly's Disguise Penetrated

--Fergus Reilly is on the Trail of the Rapparee--He Escapes--Sir Robertbegins to feel Confident of Success. 

Lanigan, on passing the dining parlor, heard what he conceived to beloud and angry voices inside the room, and as the coast was clearhe deliberately put his ear to the key-hole, which ear drank in thefollowing conversation:

"I say, Sir Robert, I'll shoot the villain. Do not hold me. My pistolsare unloaded and loaded every day in the year; and ever since Itransported that rebel priest I never go without them. But are you sure, Sir Robert? Is it not possible you may be mistaken? I know you are asuspicious fellow; but still, as I said, you are, for that very reason, the more liable to be wrong. But, if it is he, what's to be done, unlessI shoot him?"

"Under the last Administration, sir, I could have answered yourquestion; but you know that if you shoot him now you will be hanged. All that's left for us is simply to effect this marriage the day aftertomorrow; the documents are all ready, and in the course of to-morrowthe license can be procured. In the meantime, you must dispatch himto-night. "

"What do you mean, Sir Robert?"

"I say you must send him about his business. In point of fact, I thinkthe fellow knows that he is discovered, and it is not unlikely that hemay make an effort to carry off your daughter this very night. "

"But, Sir Robert, can we not seize him and surrender him to theauthorities? Is he not an outlaw?"

"Unfortunately, Mr. Folliard, he is not an outlaw; I stretched a littletoo far there. It is true I got his name put into the _Hew and-Cry_, butupon representations which I cannot prove. "

"And why did you do so, Sir Robert?"

"Why, Mr. Folliard, to save your daughter. "

The old man paused. 

"Ah, " he exclaimed, "that is a bad business--I mean for you; Sir Robert;but we will talk it over. You shall stop and dine with me; I want someone to talk with--some one who will support me and keep me in spirits;"and as he spoke he sobbed bitterly. "I wish to God, " he exclaimed, "thatneither I nor Helen--my dear Helen--had ever seen that fellow's face. You will dine with me, Bob?"

"I will, upon the strict condition that you keep yourself quiet, andwon't seem to understand any thing. "

"Would you recommend me to lock her up?"

"By no means; that would only make matters worse. I shall dine withyou, but you must be calm and quiet, and not seem to entertain anysuspicions. "

"Very well, I shall; but what has become of our lunch? Touch the bell. "

This hint sent Lanigan downstairs, who met the butler coming up with it. 

"Why, Pat, " said he, "what kept you so long with the lunch?"

"I was just thinking, " replied Pat, "how it would be possible to poisonthat ugly, ill-made, long-legged scoundrel, without poisoning my master. What's to be done, Lanigan? He will marry this darlin' in spite of us. And sure, now we have our privileges once more, since this great Earlcame to rule over us; and sure, they say, he's a greater gentleman thanthe king himself. All I can say is, that if this same Sir Robert forcesthe Cooleen Baum to such an unnatural marriage, I'll try a dose, hit ormiss, for a cowheel anyway. "

Lanigan laughed, and the butler passed on with the lunch. 

We may state here that the squire, notwithstanding his outspoken manneragainst Popery, like a terrible reverend baronet not long deceased, who, notwithstanding his discovery of the most awful Popish plots, andnotwithstanding the most extravagant denunciations against Popery, likehim, we say, the old squire seldom had more than one or two Protestantservants under his roof. Pat hated Longshanks, as he termed him, as didall the household, which, indeed, was very natural, as he was such anotorious persecutor of their religion and their clergy. 

Lanigan lost no time in acquainting Reilly with what he had heard, andthe heart of the latter palpitated with alarm on hearing that thenext day but one was likely to join his _Cooleen Bawn_, by violent andunnatural proceedings, to the man whom she so much detested. He feltthat it was now time to act in order to save her. Arrangements wereconsequently made between them as to the time and manner of theirescape, and those arrangements, together with the dialogue he hadoverheard, Lanigan communicated to the _Cooleen Bawn_. 

The squire on that day experienced strange alternations of feeling. His spirits seemed to rise and sink, as the quicksilver in the glass isaffected by the state of the atmosphere. He looked into the future withterror, and again became, to the astonishment of his guest--we now talkof their conduct after dinner--actuated by some thought or impulse thatput him into high spirits. Whitecraft, cool and cautious, resolvedto let him have his way; for the squire was drinking deeply, and theBurgundy was good and strong. 

"Bob, my boy, " said he, "you don't drink, and that is a bad sign. Youhave either a bad head of late, or a bad heart, which is worse. Hangyou, sir, why don't you drink? I have seen you lay lots of my guestsunder the table when you were quite cool; but now, what are you at? Theycan't run away to-night. Helen doesn't know that the discovery has beenmade. And now, Bob, you dog, listen to me, I say--would you have had themanliness and courage to expose yourself for the sake of a pretty girlas he did?--that is--here's a bumper to Helen! Curse you, will nothingmake you drink? No, faith, he hadn't seen Helen at the time; it was fora worthless old fellow like me that he exposed himself; but no matter, you may be right; perhaps it was a plot to get acquainted with her. Still, I'm not sure of that; but if it was, I'll make him smart. "

After dinner the squire drank deeply--so deeply, indeed, that Whitecraftwas obliged to call up some of the male servants to carry him to hischamber and put him to bed. In this task Lanigan assisted, and thankedhis stars that he was incapacitated from watching the lovers, or takingany means to prevent their escape. As for Whitecraft, thought he, I willsoon send him about his business. Now, this gentleman's suspicions werethe more deeply excited, in consequence of Helen's refusal to meethim at either lunch or dinner, a refusal which she gave on the plea ofindisposition. He had therefore made up his mind to watch the motionsof _Cooleen Bawn_, and he would have included Reilly in his surveillancewere it not that Lanigan informed him of what he termed the mysteriousdisappearance of the under-gardener. 

"What!" exclaimed Whitecraft, "is he gone?"

"He has gone, Sir Robert, and he left his week's wages behind him, forhe never came to the steward to ask it. And now, Sir Robert, to tell youthe truth, I'm not sorry he's gone; he was a disagreeable old fellow, that nobody could make either head or tail of; but, Sir Robert, listen--wait, sir, till I shut the door--it will soon be getting dusk:you know you're not liked in the country, and now that we--I mean theCatholics--have the countenance of Government, I think that riding latewon't be for your health. The night air, you know, isn't wholesome tosome people. I am merely givin' you a hint, Sir Robert, bekaise you area friend of my masther's, and I hope for your own sake you'll take it. The sooner you mount your horse the better; and if you be guided by me, you'll try and reach your own house before the darkness sets in. Whoknows what Reilly may be plotting? You know he doesn't like a bone inyour honor's skin; and the Reillys are cruel and desperate. "

"But, Lanigan, are you aware of any plot or conspiracy that has been gotup against my life?"

"Not at all, your honor; but I put it to yourself, sir, whether youdon't feel that I'm speaking the truth. "

"I certainly know very well, " replied the baronet, "that I amexceedingly unpopular with the Popish party; but, in my conduct towardsthem, I only carried out the laws that had been passed against them. "

"I know that, Sir Robert, and, as a Catholic, I am sorry that you andothers were supported and egged on by such laws. Why, sir, a hangmancould--give the same excuse, because if he put a rope about your neck, and tied his cursed knot nately under your left ear, what was he doin'but fulfillin' the law as you did? And now, Sir Robert, who wouldshake hands with a hangman, unless some unfortunate highway robber ormurderer, that gives him his hand because he knows that he will neversee his purty face agin. This discourse is all folly, however--youhaven't a minute to lose--shall I order your horse?"

"Yes, you had better, Lanigan, " replied the other, with a doggedappearance of cowardice and revenge. He could not forgive Lanigan theillustration that involved the comparison of the hangman; still hisconscience and his cowardice both whispered to him that the cook was inthe right. 

This night was an eventful one. The course of our narrative brings usand our readers to the house of Captain Smellpriest, who had for hisnext-door neighbor the stalwart curate of the parish, the Rev. SamsonStrong, to whom some allusion has been I already made in thesepages. Now the difference between Smellpriest and Whitecraft wasthis--Smellpriest was not a magistrate, as Whitecraft was, and in hispriest-hunting expeditions only acted upon warrants issued by somebigoted and persecuting magistrate or other who lived in the district. But as his propensity to hunt those unfortunate persons was known, theexecution of the warrants was almost in every instance entrusted to hishands. It was not so with Sir Robert, who, being himself a magistrate, might be said to have been in the position at once of judge andexecutioner. At all events, the race of blood was pretty equal betweenthem, so far as the clergy was concerned; but in general enmity tothe Catholic community at large, Whitecraft was far more cruel andcomprehensive in his vengeance. It is indeed an observation founded upontruth and experience, that in all creeds, in proportion to his ignoranceand bigotry, so is the violence of the persecutor. Whitecraft, theself-constituted champion of Protestantism, had about as much religionas Satan himself--or indeed less, for we are told that he believesand trembles, while Whitecraft, on the contrary, neither believed nortrembled. But if he did not fear God, he certainly feared man, andon the night in question went home with as craven a heart--thanksto Lanigan--as ever beat in a coward's bosom. Smellpriest, however, differed from Whitecraft in many points; he was brave, though cruel, andaddicted to deep potations. Whitecraft, it is true, drank more deeplystill than he did; but, by some idiosyncrasy of stomach or constitution, it had no more effect upon him than it had upon the cask from which ithad been drawn, unless, indeed, to reduce him to greater sobriety andsharpen his prejudices. 

Be this as it may, the Rev. Samson Strong made his appearance inSmellpriest's house with a warrant, or something in the shape of one, which he placed in the gallant captain's hands, who was drunk. 

"What's this, oh, Samson the Strong? said Smellpriest, laughing andhiccuping both at the same time. 

"It's a hunt, my dear friend. One of those priests of Baal has unitedin unholy bands a Protestant subject with a subject of the harlot ofabominations. "

"Samson, my buck, " said Smellpriest, "I hope this Popish priest of yourswill not turn out to be a wild-goose. You know you have sent me uponmany a wild-goose chase before; in--in--in fact, you nev--never sent meupon any other. You're a blockhead, oh, divine Samson; and that--thatthick head of yours would flatten a cannon-ball. But what is it?--anintermarriage between the two P's--Popish and Protestant?"

"My dear, " said his wife, "you must be aware that the Popishers haveonly got liberty to clatter their beads in public; but not to marry aPopisher to a Protestanter. This is a glorious opportunity for you tocome home with a feather in your cap, my dear. Has he far to go, Mr. Strong? because he never goes out after the black game, as you callthem, sir, that I don't feel as if I--but I can't express what I feel athis dear absence. "

Now we have said that Smellpriest was drunk, which, in point of fact, was true; but not so drunk but that he observed some intelligent glancespass between his wife and the broad-shouldered curate. 

"No, madam, only about two miles. Smellpriest, you know Jack Houlaghan'sstripe?"

"Yes--I know Jack Houlaghan's stripe, in Kilrudden. "

"Well, when you g'et to the centre of the stripe, look a little toyour right, and--as the night is light enough--you will see a house--acottage rather; to this cottage bring your men, and there you will findyour game. I would not, captain, under other circumstances, advise youto recruit your spirits with an additional glass or two of liquor; but, as the night is cold, I really do recommend you to fortify yourself witha little refreshment. "

He was easily induced to do so, and he accordingly took a couple ofglasses of punch, and when about to mount his horse, it was found thathe could not do so without the assistance of his men who were on duty, in all about six, every one of whom, as well as the captain himself, waswell armed. It is unnecessary to state to the reader that the pursuitwas a vain one. They searched the house to no purpose; neither priestor friar was there, and he, consequently, had the satisfaction ofperforming another wild-goose chase with his usual success, whenever theRev. Samson Strong sent him in pursuit. In the meantime the moon wentdown, and the night became exceedingly dark; but the captain's spiritswere high and boisterous, so much so that they began to put themselvesforth in song, the song in question being the once celebrated satireupon James the Second and Tyrconnell, called "Lillibullero, " now "TheProtestant Boys. " How this song gained so much popularity it isdifficult to guess, for we are bound to say that a more pointless andstupid production never came from the brain of man. Be this as it may, we must leave the gallant captain and his gang singing it in fullchorus, and request our readers to accompany us to another locality. 

The sheriff had now recovered from a dreadful attack of the prevailingepidemic, and was able to resume his duties. In the meantime he hadheard of the change which had taken place in the administration ofaffairs at headquarters--a change at which he felt no regret, but rathera good deal of satisfaction, as it relieved him from the performance ofvery disagreeable and invidious duties, and the execution of many severeand inhuman laws. He was now looking over and signing some papers, whenhe rang the bell, and a servant entered. "Tom, " said he, "there is anold man, a poor mendicant, to call here, who was once a servant in ourfamily; when he comes show him into the office. I expect some importantfamily information from him respecting the property which we aredisputing about in the Court of Chancery. "

"Very well, sir, " replied the servant, "I shall do so. "

This occurred on the day of Whitecraft's visit to Squire Folliard, andit was on the evening of the same that Smellpriest was sent upon theusual chase, on the information of the Rev. Samson Strong; so that theevents to which we have alluded occurred, as if by some secret relationto each other, on the same day. 

At length our friend Fergus entered the office, in his usual garb of anaged and confirmed mendicant. 

"Well, Reilly, " said the sheriff, "I am glad you have come. I could havetaken up this ruffian, this Red Rapparee, as he is properly called, uponsuspicion; but that would have occasioned delay; and it is my objectto lodge him in jail this night, so as to give him no chance of escapeunless he breaks prison; but in order to prevent that, I shall givestrict injunctions, in consequence of the danger to be apprehended fromso powerful and desperate a character, that he be kept in strong irons. "

"If it be within the strength of man, sir, to break prison, he will; hedone it twice before; and he's under the notion that he never was bornto be hanged; some of the ould prophecy men, and Mary Mahon, it seems, tould him so. "

"In the meantime, Reilly, we shall test the truth of such prophecies. But listen. What is your wish that I should do for you, in addition towhat I have already done. You know what I have promised you, and thatfor some time past, and that I have the Secretary's letter stating thatyou are free, and have to dread neither arrest nor punishment; but thatis upon the condition that you shall give all the evidence against thisman that you are possessed of. In that case the Government will alsobountifully reward you besides. "

"The Government need not think of any such thing, your honor, " repliedReilly; "a penny of Government money will never cross my pocket. Itisn't for any reward I come against this man, but because he joined theblood-hounds of Sir Robert Whitecraft against his own priests and hisown religion; or at last against the religion he professed, for I don'tthink he ever had any. "

"Well, then, I can make you one of my officers. "

"Is it to go among the poor and distressed, sir, and help, maybe, totake the bed from undher the sick father or the sick mother, and toleave them without a stick undher the ould roof or naked walls? No, sir;sooner than do that I'd take to the highway once more, and rob likea man in the face of danger. That I may never see to-morrow, " heproceeded, with vehemence, "but I'd rather rob ten rich men thanharish one poor family. It was that work that druv me to the coorse Ileft--that an' the persecution that was upon us. Take my word, sir, that in nineteen cases out of twenty it was the laws themselves, and thepoverty they brought upon the country, that made the robbers. "

"But could you not give evidence against some others of the gang?"

"No, sir; there is not one of them in this part of the kingdom, and Ibelieve the most of them all are out of it altogether. But, even if theywere not, I, sir, am not the man to betray them; the Red Rapparee would, if he could get at them; but, thank God, I've put every man of thembeyond his reach. "

"You did! and pray, now, why, may I ask, did that happen?"

"Bekaise it came to my ears that it was his intention to inform againstthem, and to surrender them all to the Government. "

"Well, Reilly, after all, I believe you to be an honest fellow, evenalthough you were once a robber; but the question now is, what is to bedone? Are you sure of his whereabouts?"

"I think so, sir; or, if I am not, I know one that is. But I have anobservation to make. You know, sir, I would a' gone abroad, a freemanbefore this time, only that it's necessary I should still keep on mydisguise, in ordher that I may move about as I wish until I secure thisRed Rapparee. After that, sir, please God, I'll taste a mouthful offreedom. In the meantime I know one, as I said, that will enable us tomake sure of him. "

"Pray, who is that?"

"Tom Steeple, sir. "

"Do you mean the poor fool of that name--or rather, I believe, of thatnickname?"

"I do, sir; and in many things he's less of a fool than wiser men. Hehas been dodg-in' him for the last two or three days; and he's aperson that no one would ever suspect, unless, indeed, the cautious andpractised Rapparees; but in ordher to meet any such suspicion, I havegot upon the right trail myself--we're sure of him now, I think. "

"Well, Reilly, " proceeded the sheriff, "I leave the management of thecapture of this man to yourself. You shall have a strong and determinedparty to support you. Do you only show them the man, and, take my wordfor it, they will secure the robber. After this affair is over you mustthrow off those rags. I will furnish you with decent clothes, and youcan go out at large without fear or risk, and that under your own nametoo. I took your hint, and declined swearing the informations againsthim before the old squire, as I had intended, from an apprehension thathe might possibly blab the fact to Whitecraft, who, if your informationbe correct, would have given him notice to fly, or otherwise concealedhim from justice. "

"Well, sir, " said Reilly, "it's my opinion that the Rapparee will lodgein Sligo jail before to-morrow mornin'; and it's a thousand pities thatWhitecraft shouldn't be sent there to keep him company. "

"He certainly is the most unpopular man living. In the exuberance of hisloyalty he has contrived to offend almost every liberal Protestantin the county, and that with an unjustifiable degree of wanton, andoverbearing insolence, arising from his consciousness of impunity. However, thank God, his day is gone by. But, mark me, Reilly--I hadalmost forgotten--don't neglect to secure the clothes in which thevillain robbed me; they will be important. "

"I had no intention of forgetting them, sir; and that scheme forthrowing the guilt of his own villany on Mr. Reilly is another reasonwhy I appear against him. "

It was not, indeed, very easy for the Rapparee to escape. Whitecraft gothome safe, a little before dusk, after putting his unfortunate horseto more than his natural speed. On his arrival he ordered wine tobe brought, and sat down to meditate upon the most feasible plan forreinstating himself in the good graces of the new Government. Afterpondering over many speculations to that effect, it occurred to him thatto secure the Rapparee, now that he could, as an agent and a guide, beof no further use to him, was the most likely procedure to effect hispurpose. He accordingly rang for his usual attendant, and asked him ifhe knew where O'Donnel was. The man replied that he waa generally in orabout Mary Mahon's. 

"Then, " proceeded his master, "let him be with me to-morrow morning ateleven o'clock. "

"If I see him, sir, I shall tell him. "

"And say that I have something to his advantage to mention to him. "

"Yes, sir; I shan't forget it. "

"Now, " said he, after the servant had withdrawn, and taking a bumper ofwine, "I know not how it is, but I feel very uncomfortable somehow. I certaintly did not expect a change in the Administration, nor arelaxation in the carrying out of the laws against Papists; and, underthis impression, I fear I have gone too far, and that I may be broughtover the coals for my conduct. I understand that the old French Abbe isreturned, and once more a resident in the family of that cursed marquis. I think, by the way, I should go and apologize to both the marquis andthe Abbe, and throw the blame of my own violence upon the conduct andinstructions of the last Government; that, and the giving up of thisruffianly Rapparee to the present, may do something for me. Thiscountry, however, now that matters have taken such an unexpected turn, shall not long be my place of residence. As for Reilly, my marriage onthe day after tomorrow with that stubborn beauty, Helen Folliard, will place an impassable barrier between him and her. I am glad hehas escaped, for he will not be in our way, and we shall start for myEnglish estates immediately after the ceremony. To-morrow, however, Ishall secure the Rapparee, and hand him over to the authorities. I couldhave wished to hang Reilly, but now it is impossible; still, we shallstart for England immediately after the nuptial knot is tied, for Idon't think I could consider myself safe, now that he is at large, andat liberty to appear in his proper name and person especially after allthe mischief I have done him, in addition to the fact of my bearing awayhis _Cooleen Bawn_, as she is called. "

In fact, the man's mind was a turbid chaos of reflections upon the pastand the future, in which selfishness, disappointed vengeance, terror, hypocritical policy, and every feeling that could fill the imaginationof a man possessed of a vacillating, cowardly, and cruel heart, with theexception only of any thing that could border upon penitence or remorse. That Miss Folliard was not indifferent to him is true; but the feelingwhich he experienced towards her contained only two elements--sensualityand avarice. Of love, in its purest, highest, and holiest sense, he wasutterly incapable; and he was not ignorant himself that, in the foulattachment which he bore her, he was only carrying into effect theprinciples of his previous life--those of a private debauchee, and amiser. That amiable, but unhappy and distracted, lady spent that wholeevening in making preparations for her flight with Reilly. Her mannerwas wild and excited; indeed, so much so that the presence of mind andcool good sense, for which her maid Connor was remarkable, were scarcelysufficient to guide and direct her in this distressing emergency. Sheseemed to be absorbed by but one thought, and that was of her father. His affection for her enlarged and expanded itself in her loving heart, with a force and tenderness that nearly drove her into delirium. Connor, in the meantime, got all things ready, she herself having entrusted themanagement of every thing to her. The unhappy girl paced to and fro herroom, sobbing and weeping bitterly, wringing her hands, and exclaimingfrom time to time:

"Oh, my father! my dear and loving father! is this the return I ammaking you for your tenderness and affection? what am I about to do?what steps am I going to take? to leave you desolate, with no heart foryours to repose upon! Alas! there was but one heart that you cared for, and in the duty and affection of that all your hopes for my happinesslay; and now, when you awake, you will find that that heart, the veryheart | on which you rested, has deserted you! When you come down tobreakfast in the morning, and find that your own Helen, your only one, has gone--oh! who will sustain, or soothe, or calm you in the frenziedgrief of your desolation? But alas! what can I do but escape from thatcowardly and vindictive villain--the very incarnation of oppressionand persecution; the hypocrite, the secret debauchee, the mean, thedastardly, whose inhuman ambition was based upon and nurtured by blood?Alas! I have but the one remedy--flight with my noble minded lover, whom that dastardly villain would have hunted, even to his murder, oran ignominious death, which would have been worse. This flight is notspontaneously mine; I am forced to it, and of two evils I will choosethe least; surely I am not bound to seal my own misery forever. "

Connor had by this time attempted, as far as she could, to disguise herin one of her own dresses; but nothing could conceal the elegance andexquisite proportion of her figure, nor the ladylike harmony and graceof her motions. She then went to the oaken cabinet, mentioned by herfather in the opening of our narrative, and as she always had the key ofthat portion of it which contained her own diamonds, and other property, she took a casket of jewels of immense value from it, and returned toher room, where she found Connor before her. 

"Mr. Reilly is ready, miss, " she said, "and is waiting for you behindthe garden; the only one I dread in the house is Andy Cummiskey; he isso much attached to the master that I think if he knew you were about toescape he would tell him. "

"Well, Connor, we must only avoid him as well as we can; but where, or how, shall I carry these jewels? in these slight pockets of yours, Connor, they could not be safe. "

"Well, then, can't you give them to him to keep, and they'll be safe?"

"True, Connor, so they will; but I give him a heart which he prizesabove them all. But, alas! my father! oh! Connor, shall I abandon him?"

"Do not distress yourself, my dear Miss Folliard; your father loves youtoo much to hold out his anger against you long. Did you not tell methat if Reilly was a Protestant your father said he would rather marryyou to him than to Sir Robert, the villain, with all his wealth?"

"I did, Connor, and my father certainly said so; but the serpent, Connor, entwined himself about the poor credulous man, and succeededin embittering him against Reilly, who would rather go to thescaffold--yes, and--which he would consider a greater sacrifice--ratherabandon even me than his religion. And do you think, Connor, that I donot love my noble-minded Reilly the more deeply for this? I tell you, Connor, that if he renounced his religion upon no other principle thanhis love for me, I should despise him as a dishonorable, man, to whom itwould not be safe for me to entrust my happiness. "

"Well, well; but now it is time to start, and Reilly, as I said, iswaiting for you behind the garden. "

"Oh, Connor, and is it come to this? my dear papa! but I cannot go untilI see him; no, Connor, I could not; I shall go quietly into his room, and take one look at him; probably it may be the last. Oh, my God! whatam I about to do! Connor, keep this casket until I return; I shall notbe long. "

She then went to his chamber. The blinds and curtains of the windowshad not been drawn, and it occurred to her that as her dress was sodifferent from any which her father had ever seen on her, somesuspicion might be created should he observe it. She therefore left thecandlestick which she had brought with her on the inside sill of alobby window, having observed at the door that the moonlight streamed inthrough the windows upon his bed. Judge of her consternation, however, when, on entering the room, her father, turning himself in the bed, asked:

"Is that Helen?"

"It is, papa; I thought you had been asleep, and I came up to steal mygood-night kiss without any intention of awakening you. "

"I drank too much, Helen, with Whitecraft, whom wine--myBurgundy--instead of warming, seems to turn into an icicle. However, heis a devilish shrewd fellow. Helen, darling, there's a jug of wateron the table there; will you hand it to me; I'm all in a flame and afever. "

She did so, and her hand trembled so much that she was near spilling it. He took a long draught, after which he smacked his lips, and seemed tobreathe more freely. 

"Helen, " said he. 

"Well, dear papa. "

"Helen, I had something to mention to you, but--"

"Don't disturb yourself to-night, papa; you are somewhat feverish, " sheadded, feeling his pulse; if you will excuse me, papa, I think you dranktoo much; your pulse is very quick; if you could fall into rest again itwould be better for you. "

"Yes, it would; but my mind is uneasy and sorrowful. Helen, I thoughtyou loved me, my darling. "

"Oh, could you doubt it, papa? You see I am come as usual--no, not asusual, either--to kiss you; I will place my cheek against yours, as Iused to do, dear papa, and you will allow me to weep--to weep--andto say that never father deserved the love of a daughter as you havedeserved mine; and never did daughter love an affectionate and indulgentfather more tenderly than your _Cooleen Bawn_ does you. "

"I know it, Helen, I know it; your whole life has been a proof of it, and will be a proof of it; I know you have no other object in this worldthan to make papa happy; I know I feel that you are great-minded enoughto sacrifice everything to that. "

"Well, but, papa, " she continued, "for all my former offences againstyou will you pity and forgive me?"

"I do both, you foolish darling; but what makes you speak so?"

"Because I feel melancholy to-night, papa; and now, papa, if ever Ishould do any thing wrong, won't you pity and forgive your own _CooleenBawn_?"

"Get along, you gipsy--don't be crying. What could you do that papawouldn't forgive you, unless to run away with Reilly? Don't you knowthat you can wind me round your finger?"

"Farewell, papa, " she said, weeping all the time, for, in truth, shefound it impossible to control herself; "farewell--good night! andremember that you may have a great deal to forgive your own _CooleenBawn_ some of these days. "

On leaving the bedroom, where she was hurried by her feelings intothis indiscreet dialogue, she found herself nearly incapable of walkingwithout support. The contending affections for her father and her loverhad nearly overcome her. By the aid of the staircase she got to herown room, where she was met by Connor, into whose arms she fell almosthelpless. 

"Ah, Connor, " she said, alluding to her father, whom she could not trustherself to name, "to-morrow morning what will become of him whenhe finds that I am gone? But I know his affectionate heart. He willrelent--he will relent for the sake of his own _Cooleen Bawn_. The lawsagainst Catholics are now relaxed, and I am glad of it. But I have oneconsolation, my dear girl, that I am trusting myself to a man of honor. We will proceed directly to the Continent;--that is, if no calamitousoccurrence should take place to prevent us; and there, after ournuptials shall have been duly celebrated, I will live happy withReilly--that is, Connor, as happy as absence from my dear father willpermit me--and Reilly will live happy, and, at least, free from thepersecution of bad laws, and such villains as base and vindictiveWhitecraft. You, Connor, must accompany me to the back of the garden, and see me off. Take this purse, Connor, as some compensation for yourtruth and the loss of your situation. "

It was now, when the moment of separation approached, that Connor'stears began to flow, far less at the generosity of her mistress thanher affection, and that which she looked upon as probably their finalseparation. 

"Dear Connor, " said her mistress, "I would expect that support to mybreaking heart which I have hitherto experienced from you. Be firm now, for you see I am not firm, and your tears only render me less adequateto encounter the unknown vicissitudes which lie before me. "

"Well, then, I will be firm, my dear mistress; and I tell you that ifthere is a God in heaven that rewards virtue and goodness like yours, you will be happy yet. Come, now, he is waiting for you, and the lesstime we lose the better. We shall go out by the back way--it is thesafest. "

They accordingly did so, and had nearly reached the back wall of thegarden when they met Malcomson and Cummiskey, on their way into thekitchen, in order to have a mug of strong ale together. The two men, on seeing the females approach, withdrew to the shelter of a clump oftrees, but not until they were known by Connor. 

"Come, my dear mistress, " she whispered, "there is not one second oftime to be lost. Cummiskey, who is a Catholic, might overlook our beinghere at this hour; because, although he is rather in the light of afriend than a servant to your father, still he is a friend to Reilly aswell; but as for that ugly Scotchman, that is nothing but bone and skin, I would place no dependence whatever upon him. "

We will not describe the meeting between Reilly and the _Cooleen Bawn_. They had no time to lose in the tender expressions of their feelings. Each shook hands with, and bid farewell to, poor affectionate Connor, who was now drowned in tears; and thus they set off, with a view ofleaving the kingdom, and getting themselves legally married in Holland, where they intended to reside. 

CHAPTER XX. --The Rapparee Secured

--Reilly and the _Cooleen Bawn_ Escape, and are Captured. 

Cummiskey had a private and comfortable room of his own, to which he andthe cannie Scotchman proceeded, after having ordered from the butler atankard of strong ale. There was a cheerful fire in the grate, andwhen the tankard and glasses were placed upon the table the Scotchmanobserved:

"De'il be frae my saul, maisther Cummiskey, but ye're vera comfortablehere. "

"Why, in troth, I can't complain, Mr. Malcomson; here's your health, sir, and after that we must drink another. "

"Mony thanks, Andrew. "

"Hang it, I'm not Andrew: that sounds like Scotch; I'm Andy, man alive. "

"Wfiel mony thanks, Andy; but for the maitter o' that, what the de'ilwaur wad it be gin it were Scotch?"

"Bekaise I wouldn't like to be considered a Scotchman, somehow. "

"Weel, Andrew--Andy--I do just suppose as muckle; gin ye war consideredScotch, muckle more might be expeck' frae you than, being an Irisher asyou are, you could be prepared to answer to; whereas--"

"Why, hang it, man alive, we can give three answers for your one. "

"Weel, but how is that now, Andy? Here's to ye in the meantime; and 'amno savin' but this yill is just richt gude drink; it warms the pit o'the stamach, man. "

"You mane by that the pit o' the stomach, I suppose. "

"Ay, just that. "

"Troth, Mr. Malcomson, you Scotchers bring everything to the pit o' thestomach--no, begad, I ax your pardon, for although you take care of thepratie bag, you don't forget the pocket. "

"And what for no, Andy? why the de'il war pockets made, gin they wanna tobe filled? but how hae ye Irishers three answers for our ane?"

"Why, first with our tongue; and even with that we bate ye--flog youhollow. You Scotchmen take so much time in givin' an answer that anIrishman could say his pattherin aves before you spake. You think firstand spake aftherwards, and come out in sich a way that one would supposeyou say grace for every word you do spake; but it isn't 'for what we areto receive' you ought to say 'may the Lord make us thankful, but forwhat we are to lose'--that is, your Scotch nonsense; and, in troth, weought to be thankful for losin' it. "

"Weel, man, here's to ye, Andy--ou, man, but this yill is extraordinar'gude. "

"Why, " replied Andy, who, by the way, seldom went sober to bed, and whowas even now nearly three sheets in the wind, "it is. Mr. Malcomson, theright stuff. But, as I was sayin', you Scotchmen think first and spakeafther--one of the most unlucky practices that ever anybody had. Now, don't you see the advantage that the Irishman has over you; he spakesfirst and thinks aftherwards, and then, you know, it gives him plentyof time to think--here's God bless us all, anyhow--but that's the way anIrishman bates a Scotchman in givin' an answer; for if he fails by wordo' mouth, why, whatever he's deficient in he makes up by the fist orcudgel; and there's our three Irish answers for one Scotch. "

"Weel, man, a' richt--a' richt--we winna quarrel aboot it; but I thochtye promised to gie us another toast--de'il be frae my; saul, man, butI'll drink as mony as you like wisiccan liquor as this. "

"Ay, troth, I did say so, and devil a thing but your Scotch nonsenseput it out o' my head. And now, Mr. Malcomson, let me advise you, as afriend, never to attempt to have the whole conversation to yourself; itI isn't daicent. 

"Weel, but the toast, man?"

"Oh, ay; troth, your nonsense would put any thing out of a man's head. Well, you see this comfortable room?"

"Ou, ay; an vara comfortable it is; ma faith, I wuss I had ane like it. The auld squire, however, talks o' buildin' a new gertlen-hoose. "

"Well, then, fill your bumper. Here's to her that got me this room, andhad it furnished as you see, in order that I might be at my aise in itfor the remaindher o' my life--I mane the _Cooleen Bawn_--the Lily ofthe Plains of Boyle. Come, now, off with it; and if you take it fromyour lantern jaws! till it's finished, divil a wet lip ever I'll giveyou. "

The Scotchman was not indisposed to honor the toast; first, because theale was both strong and mellow, and secondly, because the _Cooleen Bawn_was a great favorite of his, in consequence of the deference she paid tohim as a botanist. 

"Eh, sirs, " he exclaimed, after finishing | his bumper, "but she's abonnie lassie that, and as gude as she's bonnie--and de'il a highercompliment she could get, I think. But, Andy, man, don't they talk someclash and havers anent her predilection for that weel-farrant callan, Reilly?"

"All, my poor girl, " replied Cummiskey, shaking his head sorrowfully; "Ipity her there; but the thing's impossible--they can't be married--thelaw is against them. "

"Weel, Andy, they must e'en thole it; but 'am thinkin' they'll justbreak bounds at last, an' tak' the law, as you Irish do, into their amhands. "

"What do you mane by that?" asked Andy, whose temper began to get warm bythe observation. 

"Ah, man, " replied the Scotchman, "dinna let your birses rise at thatgate. Noo, there's the filbert trees, ma friend, of whilk ane is maleand the tither female; and the upshot e'en is, Andy, that de'il a pickleo' fruit ever the female produces until there's a braw halesome maletree planted in the same gerden. But, ou, man, Andy, wasna yon she andthat bonnie jaud, Connor, that we met the noo? De'il be frae my laul, but I jalouse she's aff wi' him this vara nicht. "

"Oh, dear, no!" replied Cummiskey, starting; "that would kill herfather; and yet there must be something in it, or what would bring themthere at such an hour? He and she may love one another as much as theylike, but I must think of my mas-ther. "

"In that case, then, our best plan is to gie the alarm. "

"Hould, " replied Andy; "let us be cautious. They wouldn't go on foot, I think; and before we rise a ruction in the house, let us find outwhether she has made off or not. Sit you here, and I'll try to seeConnor, her maid. "

"Ah, but, Andy, man, it's no just that pleasant to sit hei-e dry-lipped;the tankard's, oot, ye ken. "

"Divil tankard the Scotch sowl o'you--who do you suppose could think ofa tankard, or any thing else, if what we suspect has happened? It willkill him. "

He then proceeded to look for Connor, whom he met in tears, which shewas utterly unable to conceal. 

"Well, Miss Connor, " he asked, "what's the matther? You're cryin', Ipersave. "

"All, Cummiskey, my mistress is unwell. "

"Unwell! why she wasn't unwell a while ago, when the gardener and I mether and you on your way to the back o' the garden. "

"Oh, yes, " replied Connor; "I forced her to come out, to try what alittle cool air-might do for her. "

"Ay, but, Connor, did you force her to come in again?"

"Force! there was no force necessary, Cummiskey. She's now in her ownroom, quite ill. "

"Oh, then, if she's quite ill, it's right that her father should knowit, in ordher that a docther may be sent for. "

"Ah, but she's now asleep, Cummiskey--that sleep may set her to rights;she may waken quite recovered; but you know it might be dangerous todisturb her. "

"Ah, I believe you, " he replied, dissembling; for he saw at once, byConnor's agitated manner, that every word she uttered was a lie; "thesleep will be good for her, the darlin'; but take care of her, Connor, for the masther's sake; for what would become of him if any thinghappened her? You know that if she died he wouldn't live a week. "

"That's true, indeed, " she replied; "and if she get's worse, Cummiskey, I'll let the master know. "

"That's a good girl; ma gragal that you! war--good-by, acushla, " and heimmediately! returned to his own room, after having observed that Connorwent down to the kitchen. 

"Now, Mr. Malcomson, " said he, "there is a good fire before you. I axyour pardon--just sit in the light of it for a minute or so; I want thiscandle. "

"'Am sayin', Andy, gin ye haud awa to the kitchen, it wadna be a crimeto send up anither tankard o' that yill. "

To this the other made no reply, but walked out of the room, and verydeliberately proceeded to that of Helen. The door was open, the bedunslept upon, the window-curtains undrawn; in fact, the room wastenantless, Connor a liar and an accomplice, and the suspicions ofhimself and Malcomson well founded. He then followed Connor to thekitchen; but she too had disappeared, or at least hid herself from him. He then desired the other female servants to ascertain whether MissFolliard was within or not, giving it as his opinion that she had elopedwith Willy Reilly. The uproar then commenced, the house wassearched, but no _Cooleen Bawn_ was found. Cummiskey himself remainedcomparatively tranquil, but his tranquillity was neither more nor lessthan an inexpressible sorrow for what he knew the affectionate old manmust suffer for the idol of his heart, upon whom he doted with suchunexampled tenderness and affection. On ascertaining that she was notin the house, he went upstairs to his master's bedroom, having thecandlestick in his hand, and tapped at the door. There was no replyfrom within, and on his entering he found the old man asleep. Thecase, however, was one that admitted of no delay; but he felt that tocommunicate the melancholy tidings was a fearful task, and he scarcelyknew in what words to shape the event which had occurred. At length hestirred him gently, and the old man, half asleep, exclaimed:

"Good-night, Helen--good-night, darling! I am not well; I had somethingto tell you about the discovery of--but I will let you know it to-morrowat breakfast. For your sake I shall let him escape: there now, go tobed, my love. "

"Sir, " said Cummiskey, "I hope you'll excuse me for disturbing you. "

"What? who? who's there? I thought it was my daughter. "

"No, sir, I wish it was; I'm come to tell you that Miss Folliard can'tbe found: we have searched every nook and corner of the house to nopurpose: wherever she is, she's not undher this roof. I came to tellyou, and to bid you get up, that we may see what's to be done. "

"What, " he exclaimed, starting up, "my child!--my child--my child gone!God of heaven! God of heaven, support me!--my darling! my treasure! mydelight!--Oh, Cummiskey!--but it can't be--to desert me!--to leave me inmisery and sorrow, brokenhearted, distracted!--she that was the prop ofmy age, that loved me as never child loved a, father! Begone, Cummiskey, it is not so, it can't be, I say: search again; she is somewhere in thehouse; you don't know, sirra, how she loved me: why, it was only thisnight that, on taking her good-night kiss, she--ha--what? what?--shewept, she wept bitterly, and bade me farewell! and said--Here, Cummiskey, assist me to dress. Oh, I see it, Cummiskey, I see it! sheis gone! she is gone! yes, she bade me farewell; but I was unsteady andunsettled after too much drink, and did not comprehend her meaning. "

It is impossible to describe the almost frantic distraction of thatloving father, who, as he said, had no prop to lean upon but his_Cooleen Bawn_, for he himself often loved to call her by thatappellation. 

"Cummiskey, " he proceeded, "we will pursue them--we must have mydarling back: yes, and I will forgive her, for what is she but achild, Cummiskey, not yet twenty. But in the meantime I will shoot himdead--dead--dead--if he had a thousand lives; and from this night outI shall pursue Popery, in all its shapes and disguises; I will imprisonit, transport it, hang it--hang it, Cummiskey, as round as a hoop. Ringthe bell, and let Lanigan unload, and then reload my pistols; he alwaysdoes it; his father was my grandfather's gamekeeper, and he understandsfire-arms. Here, though, help me on with my boots first, and then I willbe dressed immediately. After giving the pistols to Lanigan, desire thegrooms and hostlers to saddle all the horses in the stables. We must setout and pursue them. It is possible we may overtake them yet. I willnot level a pistol against my child; but, by the great Boyne! if we meetthem, come up with them, overtake them, his guilty spirit will standbefore the throne of judgment this night. Go now, give the pistols toLanigan, and tell him to reload them steadily. "

We leave them now, in order that we may follow the sheriff and hisparty, who went to secure the body of the Red Rapparee. This worthyperson, not at all aware of the friendly office which his patron, SirRobert, intended to discharge towards him, felt himself quite safe, andconsequently took very little pains to secure his concealment. Indeed, it could hardly be expected that he should, inasmuch as Whitecraft hadled him to understand, as we have said, that Government had pardonedhim his social trangressions, as a _per contra_ for those political oneswhich they still expected from him. Such was his own view of the case, although he was not altogether free from misgiving, and a certain vagueapprehension. Be this as it may, he had yet to learn a lesson which hisemployer was not disposed to teach him by any other means than handinghim over to the authorities on the following day. How matters might haveterminated between him and the baronet it is out of our power to detail. The man was at all times desperate and dreadful, where either revengeor anger was excited, especially as he labored under the superstitiousimpression that he was never to be hanged or perish by a violent death, a sentiment then by no means uncommon among persons of his outrageousand desperate life. It has been observed, and with truth, that the IrishRapparees seldom indulged in the habit of intoxication or intemperance, and this is not at all to be wondered at. The meshes of authoritywere always spread for them, and the very consciousness of this factsharpened their wits, and kept them perpetually on their guard againstthe possibility of arrest. Nor was this all. The very nature of thelawless and outrageous life they led, and their frequent exposure todanger, rendered habits of caution necessary--and those were altogetherincompatible with habits of intemperance. Self-preservation renderedthis policy necessary, and we believe there are but few instances onrecord of a Rapparee having been arrested in a state of intoxication. Their laws, in fact, however barbarous they were in other matters, rendered three cases of drunkenness a cause of expulsion from the gang. O'Donnel, however, had now relaxed from the rigid observation of his ownrules, principally for the reasons we have already stated--by which wemean, a conviction of his own impunity, as falsely communicated to himby Sir Robert Whitecraft. The sheriff had not at first intended to bepersonally present at his capture; but upon second consideration he cameto the determination of heading the party who were authorized to securehim. This resolution of Oxley's had, as will presently be seen, aserious effect upon the fate and fortunes of the _Cooleen Bawn_ and herlover. The party, who were guided by Tom Steeple, did not go to MaryMahon's, but to a neighboring cottage, which was inhabited by adistant relative of O'Donnel. A quarrel had taken place between thefortune-teller and him, arising from his jealousy of Sir Robert, whichcaused such an estrangement as prevented him for some time from visitingher house. Tom Steeple, however, had haunted him as his shadow, withoutever coming in contact with him personally, and on this night he hadhim set as a soho man has a hare in her form. Guided, therefore, by theintelligent idiot and Fergus, the party readied the cottage in whichthe Rapparee resided. The house was instantly surrounded and the doorknocked at, for the party knew that the man was inside. 

"Who is there?" asked the old woman who kept the cottage. 

"Open the door instantly, " said the sheriff, "or we shall smash it in. "

"No, I won't, " she replied; "no, I won't, you bosthoon, whoever you are. I never did nothin' agin the laws, bad luck to them, and I won't open mydoor to any strolling vagabone like you. "

"Produce the man we want, " said the sheriff, "or we shall arrest youfor harboring an outlaw and a murderer. Your house is now surrounded bymilitary, acting under the king's orders. "

"Give me time, " said the crone; "I was at my prayers when you came todisturb me, and I'll finish them before I open the door, if you wereto burn the house over my head, and myself in it. Up, " said she to theRapparee, "through the roof--get that ould table undher your feet--thethatch is thin--slip out and lie on the roof till they go, and then letthem whistle jigs to the larks if they like. "

The habits of escape peculiar to the Rapparees were well known toFergus, who cautioned those who surrounded the house to watch the roof. It was well they did so, for in less-time than we have taken to describeit the body of the Rapparee was seen projecting itself upwards throughthe thin thatch, and in an instant several muskets were levelled at him, accompanied by instant orders to surrender on pain of being shot. Undersuch circumstances there was no alternative, and in a few minutes he washandcuffed and a prisoner. The party then proceeded along the road onwhich some of the adventures already recorded in this narrative hadtaken place, when they were met, at a sharp angle of it, by Reilly andhis _Cooleen Bawn_, both of whom were almost instantly recognized by thesheriff and his party. Their arrest was immediate. 

"Mr. Reilly, " said the sheriff, "I am sorry for this. You must feelaware that I neither am or ever was disposed to be your enemy; but I nowfind you carrying away a Protestant heiress, the daughter of my friend, contrary to the laws of the land, a fact which in itself gives me thepower and authority to take you into custody, which I accordingly do inhis Majesty's name. I owe you no ill will, but in the meantime you mustreturn with me to Squire Folliard's house. Miss Folliard, you must, asyou know me to be your father's friend, consider that I feel it my dutyto restore you to him. "

"I am not without means of defence, " replied Reilly, "but the exerciseof such means would be useless. Two of your lives I might take; butyours, Mr. Sheriff, could not be one of them, and that you must feel. "

"I feel, Mr. Reilly, that you are a man of honor; and, in point of fact, there is ample apology for your conduct in the exquisite beauty of theyoung lady who accompanies you; but I must also feel for her father, whose bereavement, occasioned by her loss, would most assuredly breakhis heart. "

Here a deep panting of the bosom, accompanied by violent sobs, was heardby the party, and _Cooleen Bawn_ whispered to Reilly, in a voice nearlystifled by grief and excitement:

"Dear Reilly, I love you; but it was madness in us to take this step;let me return to my father--only let me see him safe?"

"But Whitecraft?"

"Death sooner. Reilly, I am ill, I am ill; this struggle is too much forme. What shall I do? My head is swimming. "

[Illustration: PAGE 140--discharged a pistol at our hero]

She had scarcely uttered these words when her father, accompanied by hisservants, dashed rapidly up, and Cummiskey, the old huntsman, instantlyseized Reilly, exclaiming, "Mr. Reilly, we have you now;" and whilsthe spoke, his impetuous old master dashed his horse to one side, and discharged a pistol at our hero, and this failing, he dischargedanother. Thanks to Lanigan, however, they were both harmless, thatworthy man having forgotten to put in bullets, or even as much powder aswould singe an ordinary whisker. 

"Forbear, sir, " exclaimed the sheriff, addressing Cummiskey; "unhand Mr. Reilly. He is already in custody, and you, Mr. Folliard, may thank Godthat you are not a murderer this night. As a father, I grant that anapology may be made for your resentment, but not to the shedding ofblood. "

"Lanigan! villain! treacherous and deceitful villain!" shouted thesquire, "it was your perfidy that deprived me of my revenge. Begone, yousneaking old profligate, and never let me see your face again. You didnot load my pistols as you ought. "

"No, sir, " replied Lanigan, "and I thank God that I did not. It wasn'tmy intention to see your honor hanged for murder. "

"Mr. Folliard, " observed the sheriff, you ought to bless God thatgave you a prudent servant, who had too much conscience to become theinstrument of your vengeance. Restrain your resentment for the present, and leave Mr. Reilly to the laws of his country. We shall now proceed toyour house, where, as a magistrate, you can commit him to prison, and Iwill see the warrant executed this night. We have also another prisonerof some celebrity, the Red Rapparee. "

"By sun and moon, I'll go bail for him, " replied the infuriated squire. "I like that fellow because Reilly does not. Sir Robert spoke to me inhis favor. Yes, I shall go bail for him, to any amount. "

"His offence is not a bailable one, " said the cool sheriff; "nor, if thething were possible, would it be creditable in you, as a magistrate, tooffer yourself as bail for a common robber, one of the most notorioushighwaymen of the day. "

"Well, but come along, " replied the squire; "I have changed my mind;we shall hang them both; Sir Robert will assist and support me. I couldoverlook the offence of a man who only took my purse; yes, I couldoverlook that, but the man who would rob me of my child--of the solaceand prop of my heart and life--of--of--of--"

Here the tears came down his cheeks so copiously that his sobs preventedhim from proceeding. He recovered himself, however, for indeed he wasyet scarcely sober after the evening's indulgence, and the two partiesreturned to his house, where, after having two or three glasses ofBurgundy to make his hand steady, he prepared himself to take thesheriff's informations and sign unfortunate Reilly's committal to Sligojail. The vindictive tenacity of resentment by which the heart of theruffian Rapparee was animated against that young man was evinced, onthis occasion, by a satanic ingenuity of malice that was completelyin keeping with the ruffian's character. It was quite clear, fromthe circumstances we are about to relate, that the red miscreant hadintended to rob Folliard's house on the night of his attack upon it, inaddition to the violent abduction of his daughter. We must premise herethat Reilly and the Rapparee were each strongly guarded in differentrooms, and the first thing the latter did was to get some one to informMr. Folliard that he had a matter of importance concerning Reilly tomention to him. This was immediately on their return, and before theinformations against Reilly were drawn up. Folliard, who knew not whatto think, paused for some time, and at! last, taking the sheriff alongwith him, went! to hear what O'Donnel had to say. 

"Is that ruffian safe?" he asked, before entering the room; "have you sosecured him that he can't be mischievous?"

"Quite safe, your honor, and as harmless as a lamb. "

He and the sheriff then entered, and found the huge savage champing histeeth and churning with his jaws, until a line of white froth encircledhis mouth, rendering him a hideous and fearful object to look at. 

"What is this you want with me, you misbegotten villain, " saidthe squire. "Stand between the ruffian and me, fellows, in themeantime--what is it, sirra?"

"Who's the robber now, Mr. Folliard?" he asked, with something, however, of a doubtful triumph in his red glaring eye. "Your daughter had jewelsin a black cabinet, and I'd have secured the same jewels and yourdaughter along with them, on a certain night, only for Reilly; and itwas very natural he should out-general me, which he did; but it was onlyto get both for himself. Let him be searched at wanst, and, although Idon't say he has them, yet I'd give a hundred to one he has; she wouldnever carry them while he was with her. "

The old squire, who would now, with peculiar pleasure, have acted inthe capacity of hangman in Reilly's case, had that unfortunate young manbeen doomed to undergo the penalty of the law, and that no person in theshape of Jack Ketch was forthcoming--he, we say--the squire--startedat once to the room where Reilly was secured, accompanied also by thesheriff, and, after rushing in with a countenance inflamed by passion, shouted out:

"Seize and examine that villain; he has robbed me--examine himinstantly: he has stolen the family jewels. "

Reilly's countenance fell, for he knew his Fearful position; butthat which weighed heaviest upon his heart was a consciousness of themisinterpretations which the world might put upon the motives of hisconduct in this elopement, imputing it to selfishness and a mercenaryspirit. When about to be searched, he said:

"You need not; I will not submit to the indignity of such anexamination. I have and hold the jewels for Miss Folliard, whoseindividual property I believe they are; nay, I am certain of it, becauseshe told me so, and requested me to keep them For her. Let her be sentfor, and I shall hand them back to her at once, but to no other personwithout violence. "

"But she is not in a condition to receive them, " replied the sheriff(which was a fact); "I pledge my honor she, is not. "

"Well, then, Mr. Sheriff, I place them in your hands; you can do withthem as you wish--that is, either return them to Miss Folliard, thelegal owner of them, or to her father. "

The sheriff received the caske't which contained them, and immediatelyhanded it to Mr. Folliard, who put it in his pocket, exclaiming:

"Now, Reilly, if we can hang you for nothing else, we can hang you forthis; and we will, sir. "

"You, sir, " said Reilly, with melancholy indignation, "are privilegedto insult me; so, alas! is every man now; but I can retire into theintegrity of my own heart and find a consolation there of which youcannot deprive me. My life is now a consideration of no importance tomyself since I shall die with the consciousness that your daughter lovedme. You do not hear this for the first time, for that daughter avowedit to yourself! and if I had been mean and unprincipled enough to haveabandoned my religion, and that of my persecuted forefathers, I mightere this have been her husband. "

"Come, " said Folliard, who was not prepared with an answer to this, "come, " said he, addressing the sheriff, "come, till we make out his_mittimus_, and give him the first shove to the gallows. " They then lefthim. 

CHAPTER XXI. --Sir Robert Accepts of an Invitation. 

The next morning rumor had, as they say, her hands and tongues very fullof business. Reilly and the Red Rapparee were lodged in Sligo jail thatnight, and the next morning the fact was carried by the aforesaid rumorfar and wide over the whole country. One of the first whose ears itreached was the gallant and virtuous Sir Robert Whitecraft, who nosooner heard it than he ordered his horse and rode at a rapid rateto see Mr. Folliard, in order, now that Reilly was out of the way, topropose an instant marriage with the _Cooleen Bawn_. He found the oldman in a state very difficult to be described, for he had only justreturned to the drawing-room from the strongly sentinelled chamber ofhis daughter. Indignation against Reilly seemed now nearly lost in themelancholy situation of the wretched _Cooleen Bawn_. He had just seenher, but, somehow, the interview had saddened and depressed his heart. Her position and the state of her feelings would have been pitiable, even to the eye of a stranger; what, then, must they not have been to afather who loved her as he did? "Helen, " said he, as he took a chairin her room, after her guards had been desired to withdraw for a time, "Helen, are you aware that you have eternally disgraced your own name, and that of your father and your family?"

Helen, who was as pale as death, looked at him with vacant andunrecognizing eyes, but made no reply, for it was evident that sheeither had not heard, or did not understand, a word he said. 

"Helen, " said he, "did you hear me?"

She looked upon him with a long look of distress and misery, but therewas the vacancy still, and no recognition. 

This, I suppose, thought the father, is just the case with everylove-sick girl in her condition, who will not be allowed to have her ownway; but of what use is a father unless he puts all this nonsense down, and substitutes his own judgment for that of a silly girl. I will saysomething now that will startle her, and I will say nothing but what Iwill bring about. 

"Helen, my darling, " he said, "are you both deaf and blind, that you canneither see nor hear your father, and to-morrow your wedding-day? SirRobert Whitecraft will be here early; the special license is procured, and after marriage you and he start for his English estates to spend thehoneymoon there, after which you both must return and live with me, forI need scarcely say, Helen, that I could not live without you. Now Ithink you ought to be a happy girl to get a husband possessed of suchimmense property. "

She started and looked at him with something like returningconsciousness. "But where is Willy Reilly?" she asked. 

"The villain that would have robbed me of my property and my daughter isnow safe in Sligo jail. "

A flash of something like joy--at least the father took it assuch--sparkled in a strange kind of triumph from her eyes. 

"Ha, " said she, "is that villain safe at last? Dear papa, I am tired ofall this--this--yes, I am tired of it, and it is time I should; but youtalked about something else, did you not? Something about Sir RobertWhitecraft and a marriage. And what is my reply to that? why, it isthis, papa: I have but one life, sir. Now begone, and leave me, or, uponmy honor, I will push you out of the room. Have I not consented to allyour terms. Let Sir Robert come tomorrow and he shall call me his wifebefore the sun reaches his meridian. Now, leave me; leave me, I say. "

In this uncertain state her father found himself compelled to retire tothe drawing-room, where Sir Robert and he met. 

"Mr. Folliard, " said the baronet, "is this true?"

"Is what true, Sir Robert?" said he sharply. 

"Why, that Reilly and the Red Rapparee are both in Sligo jail?"

"It is true, Sir Robert; and it must be a cursed thing to be in jail fora capital crime. "

"Are you becoming penitent, " asked the other, "for bringing the laws ofthe land to bear upon the villain that would have disgraced, and mighthave ruined, your only daughter?"

The father's heart was stung by the diabolical pungency of thisquestion. 

"Sir Robert, " said he, "we will hang him if it was only to get thevillain out of the way; and if you will be here to-morrow at teno'clock, the marriage must take place. I'll suffer no further nonsenseabout it; but, mark me, after the honeymoon shall have passed, you andshe must come and reside here; to think that I could live without her isimpossible. Be here, then, at ten o'clock; the special license is ready, and I have asked the Rev. Samson Strong to perform the ceremony. Acouple of my neighbor Ashford's daughters will act as bridesmaids, andI myself will give her away: the marriage articles are drawn up, as youknow, and there will be little time lost in signing them; and yet, it'sa pity to--but no matter--be here at ten. "

Whitecraft took his leave in high spirits. The arrest and imprisonmentof Reilly had removed the great impediment that had hitherto lain in theway of his marriage; but not so the imprisonment of the Red Rapparee. The baronet regretted that that public and notorious malefactor had beentaken out of his own hands, because he wished, as the reader knows, tomake the delivering of him up to the Government one of the elements ofhis reconciliation to it. Still, as matters stood, he felt on the wholegratified at what had happened. 

Folliard, after the baronet had gone, knew not exactly how to disposeof himself. The truth is, the man's heart was an anomaly--a series ofcontradictions, in which one feeling opposed another for a brief space, and then was obliged to make way for a new prejudice equally transitoryand evanescent. Whitecraft he never heartily liked; for though the manwas blunt, he could look through a knave, and appreciate a man ofhonor, with a great deal of shrewd accuracy. To be sure, Whitecraft wasenormously rich, but then he was penurious and inhospitable, two vicesstrongly and decidedly opposed to the national feeling. 

"Curse the long-legged scoundrel, " he exclaimed; "if he should begetme a young breed of Whitecrafts like himself I would rather my daughterwere dead than marry him. Then, on the other hand, Reilly; hang thefellow, had he only recanted his nonsensical creed, I could--but then, again, he might, after marriage, bring her over to the Papists, andthen, by the Boyne, all my immense property would become Roman Catholic. By Strongbow, he'd teach the very rivers that run through it to singPopish psalms in Latin: he would. However, the best way is to hang himout of the way, and when Jack Ketch has done with him, so has Helen. Curse Whitecraft, at all events!"

We may as well hint here that he had touched the Burgundy to somepurpose; he was now in that state of mental imbecility where reason, baffled and prostrated by severe mental suffering and agitation, wasincapable of sustaining him without having recourse to the bottle. Inthe due progress of the night he was helped to bed, and had scarcelybeen placed and covered up there when he fell fast asleep. 

Whitecraft, in the meantime, suspected, of course, or rather he wasperfectly aware of the fact, that unless by some ingenious manoeuvre, of which he could form no conception, a marriage with the _Cooleen Bawn_would be a matter of surpassing difficulty; but he cared not, providedit could be effected by any means, whether foul or fair. The attachmentof this scoundrel to the fair and beautiful _Cooleen Bawn_ was composedof two of the worst principles of the heart--sensuality and avarice;but, in this instance, avarice came in to support sensuality. What thelicentious passions of the debauchee might have failed to tempt him to, the consideration of her large fortune accomplished. And such was thesordid and abominable union of the motives which spurred him on to themarriage. 

The next morning, being that which was fixed for his wedding-day, he wasroused at an early hour by a loud rapping at his hall-door. He startedon his elbow in the bed, and ringing the bell for his valet, asked, whenthat gentleman entered his apartment half dressed, "What was the matter?what cursed knocking was that? Don't they know I can hunt neither priestnor Papist now, since this polite viceroy came here. "

"I don't know what the matter is, Sir Robert; they are at it again;shall I open the door, sir?"

"Certainly; open the door immediately. "

"I think you had better dress, Sir Robert, and see what they want. "

The baronet threw his long fleshless shanks out of the bed, and began toget on his clothes as fast as he could. 

"Ha!" said he, when he was nearly dressed, "what if this should bea Government prosecution for what I have undertaken to do on my ownresponsibility during the last Administration? But no, surely it cannotbe; they would have given me some intimation of their proceedings. Thiswas due to my rank and station in the country, and to my exertions, azealous Protestant, to sustain the existence of Church and State. CurseChurch and State if it be! I have got myself, perhaps, into a prettymess by them. "

He had scarcely uttered the last words when Mr. Hastings, accompanied bytwo or three officers of justice, entered his bedroom. 

"Ah, Hastings, my dear friend, what is the matter? Is there any thingwrong, or can I be of any assistance to you? if so, command me. But weare out of power now, you know. Still, show me how I can assist you. Howdo you do?" and as he spoke he put his hand out to shake hands with. Mr. Hastings. 

[Illustration: PAGE 143--No, Sir Robert, I cannot take your hand]

"No, Sir Robert, I cannot take your hand, nor the hand of any man thatis red with the blood of murder. This, " said he, turning to the officers, "is Sir Robert Whitecraft; arrest him for murder and arson. "

"Why, bless me, Mr. Hastings, are you mad? Surely, I did nothing, unlessunder the sanction and by the instructions of the last Government?"

"That remains to be seen, Sir Robert; but, at all events, I cannot enterinto any discussion with you at present. I am here as a magistrate. Informations have been sworn against you by several parties, and youmust now consider yourself our prisoner and come along with us. There isa party of cavalry below to escort you to Sligo jail. "

"But how am I to be conveyed there? I hope I will be allowed my owncarriage?"

"Unquestionably, " replied Mr. Hastings; "I was about to have proposed itmyself. You shall be treated with every respect, six. "

"May I not breakfast before I go?"

"Certainly, sir; we wish to discharge our duty in the mildest possiblemanner. "

"Thank you, Hastings, thank you; you were always a good-hearted, gentlemanly fellow. You will, of course, breakfast with me; and thesemen must be attended to. "

And he rang the bell. 

"I have already breakfasted, Sir Robert; but even if I had not, it wouldnot become me, as your prosecutor, to do so; but perhaps the men--"

"What, " exclaimed the baronet, interrupting him, you my prosecutor! Forwhat, pray?"

"That will come in time, " replied the other; "and you may rest assuredthat I would not be here now were I not made aware that you were aboutto be married to that sweet girl whom you have persecuted with such amean and unmanly spirit, and designed to start with her for England thisday. "

Whitecraft, now that he felt the dreadful consequences of the awfulposition in which he was placed, became the very picture of despair andpusillanimity; his complexion turned haggard, his eyes wild, and hishands trembled so much that he was not able to bring the tea or breadand butter to his lips; in fact, such an impersonation of rank and Iunmanly cowardice could not be witnessed. He rose up, exclaiming, ina faint and hollow voice, that echoed no other sensation than that ofhorror:

"I cannot breakfast; I can eat nothing. What a fate is this! on the veryday, too, which I thought would have consummated my happiness! Oh, it isdreadful!"

His servant then, by Mr. Hastings' orders, packed up changes of linenand apparel in his trunk, for he saw that he himself had not thepresence of mind to pay attention to any thing. In the course of a fewminutes the carriage was ready, and with tottering steps he went downthe stairs, and was obliged to be assisted into it by two constables, who took their places beside, him. Mr. Hastings bowed to him coldly, but said nothing; the coachman smacked his whip, and was about to start, when he turned round and said:

"Where am I to drive, Sir Robert?"

"To Sligo jail, " replied one of the constables, "as quick as you cantoo. "

The horses got a lash or two, and bounded on, whilst an escort ofcavalry, with swords drawn, attended the coach until it reached itsgloomy destination, where we will leave it for the present. 

The next morning, as matters approached to a crisis, the unsteady oldsquire began to feel less comfortable in his mind than he could haveexpected. To say truth, he had often felt it rather an unnatural processto marry so lovely a girl to "such an ugly stork of a man as Whitecraftwas, and a knave to boot. I cannot forget how he took me in by the'Hop-and-go-constant' affair. But then he's a good Protestant--not thatI mean he has a single spark of religion in his nondescript carcass;but in those times it's not canting and psalm-singing we want, but goodpolitical Protestantism, that will enable us to maintain our ascendancyby other means than praying. Curse the hound that keeps him? Is this aday for him to be late on? and it now half past ten o'clock; however, he must come soon; but, upon my honor, I dread what will happen whenhe does. A scene there will be no doubt of it; however, we must onlystruggle through it as well as we can. I'll go and see Helen, and try toreconcile her to this chap, or, at all events, to let her know at oncethat, be the consequences what they may, she must marry him, if I weremyself to hold her at the altar. "

When he had concluded this soliloquy, Ellen Connor, without whosesociety Helen could now scarcely live, and who, on this account, had notbeen discharged after her elopement, she, we say, entered the room, her eye resolute with determination, and sparkling with a feeling whichevinced an indignant sense of his cruelty in enforcing this odiousmatch. The old man looked at her with surprise, for, it was the firsttime she had ever ventured to obtrude her conversation upon him, or tospeak, unless when spoken to. 

"Well, madam, " said he, "what do you want? Have you any message fromyour mistress? if not, what brings you here?"

"I have no message from my mistress, " she replied in a loud, if not ina vehement, voice; "I don't think my mistress is capable of sending amessage; but I came to tell you that the God of heaven will soon sendyou a message, and a black one too, if you allow this cursed marriage togo on. "

"Get out, you jade--leave the room; how is it your affair?"

"Because I have what you want--a heart of pity and affection in mybreast. Do you want to drive your daughter mad, or to take her life?"

"Begone, you impudent hussy; why do you dare to come here on such anoccasion, only to annoy me?"

"I will not begone, " she replied, with a glowing cheek, "unless I am putout by force--until I point out the consequences of your selfish tyrannyand weakness. I don't come to annoy you, but I come to warn you, and totell you, that I know your daughter better than you do yourself. Thismarriage must not go on; or, if it does, send without delay to a lunaticasylum for a keeper for that only daughter. I know her well, and I tellyou that that's what it'll come to. "

The squire had never been in the habit of being thus addressed by any ofhis servants; and the consequence was that the thing was new to him; somuch so that he felt not only annoyed, but so much astounded, that heabsolutely lost, for a brief period, the use of his speech. He looked ather with astonishment--then about the room--then up at the ceiling, andat length spoke:

"What the deuce does all this mean? What are you driving at? Prevent themarriage, you say?"

"If the man, " proceeded Connor, not even waiting to give him ananswer--"if the man--had but one good point--one good quality--onevirtue in his whole composition to redeem him from contempt andhatred--if he had but one feature in his face only as handsome asthe worst you could find in the devil's--yes, if he had but one goodthought, or one good feature in either his soul or body, why--vile asit would be--and barbarous as it would be--and shameful and cruel as itwould be--still, it would have the one good thought, and the one goodfeature to justify it. But here, in this deep and wretched villain, there is nothing but one mass of vice and crime and deformity; allthat the eye can ses, or the heart discover, in his soul or body, is asblack, odious, and repulsive as could be conceived of the worst impof perdition. And this is the man--the persecutor--the miser--thedebauchee--the hypocrite--the murderer, and the coward, that you aregoing to join your good--virtuous--spotless--and beautiful daughterto! Oh, shame upon you, you heartless old man; don't dare to say, orpretend, that you love her as a father ought, when you would sacrificeher to so base and damnable a villain as that. And again, and what ismore, I tell you not to prosecute Reilly; for, as sure as the Lordabove is in heaven, your daughter is lost, and you'll not only curseWhitecraft, but the day and hour in which you were born--black andhopeless will be your doom if you do. And now, sir, I have done; I feltit to be my duty to tell you this, and to warn you against what I knowwill happen unless you go back upon the steps you have taken. "

She then courtesied to him respectfully, and left the room in a burst ofgrief which seized her when she had concluded. 

Ellen Connor was a girl by no means deficient in education--thanks tothe care and kindness of the _Cooleen Bawn_, who had herself instructedher. 'Tis true, she had in ordinary and familiar conversation a touchof the brogue; but, when excited, or holding converse with respectablepersons, her language was such as would have done no discredit to manypersons in a much higher rank of life. 

After she had left the room, Folliard looked towards the door bywhich she had taken her exit, as if he had her still in his vision. He paused--he meditated--he walked about, and seemed taken thoroughlyaback. 

"By earth and sky, " he exclaimed, "but that's the most comical affair Ihave seen yet. Comical! no, not a touch of comicality in it. Zounds, isit possible that the, jade has coerced and beaten me?--dared to beardthe lion in his own den--to strip him, as it were, of his claws, andto pull the very fangs out of his jaws, and, after all, to walk away intriumph? Hang me, but I must have a strong touch of the coward in meor I would not have knuckled as I did to the jade. Yet, hold--can I, orought I to be angry with her, when I know that this hellish racket allproceeded from her love to Helen. Hang me, but she's a precious bitof goods, and I'll contrive to make her a present, somehow, for hercourage. Beat me! by sun and sky she did. "

He then proceeded to Helen's chamber, and ordered her attendants out ofthe room; but, on looking at her, he felt surprised to perceive thather complexion, instead of being pale, was quite flushed, and hereyes flashing with a strange wild light that he had never seen in thembefore. 

"Helen, " said he, "what's the matter, love? are you unwell?"

She placed her two snowy hands on her temples, and pressed them tightly, as if striving to compress her brain and bring it within the influenceof reason. 

"I fear you are unwell, darling, " he continued; "you look flushed andfeverish. Don't, however, be alarmed; if you're not well, I'd see thatknave of a fellow hanged before I'd marry you to him, and you in thatstate. The thing's out of the question, my darling Helen, and must notbe done. No: God forbid that I should be the means of murdering my ownchild. "

So much, we may fairly presume, proceeded from the pithy lecture ofEllen Connor; but the truth was, that the undefinable old squire was thegreatest parental coward in the world. In the absence of his daughterhe would rant and swear and vapor, strike the ground with his staff, andgive other indications of the most extraordinary resolution, combinedwith fiery passion, that seemed alarming. No sooner, however, did he gointo her presence, and contemplate not only her wonderful beauty, buther goodness, her tenderness and affection for himself, than the blusterdeparted from him, his resolution fell, his courage oozed away, and hefelt that he was fairly subdued, under which circumstances he generallyentered into a new treaty of friendship and affection with the enemy. 

Helen's head was aching dreadfully, and she felt feverish anddistracted. Her father's words, however, and the affection which theyexpressed, went to her heart; she threw her arms about him, kissed him, and was relieved by a copious flood of tears. 

"Papa, " she said, "you are both kind and good; surely you wouldn't killyour poor Helen?"

"Me kill you, Helen!--oh, no, faith. If Whitecraft were hanged to-morrowit wouldn't give me half so much pain as if your little finger ached. "

Just at this progress of the dialogue a smart and impatient knock cameto the door. 

"Who is that?" said the squire; "come in--or, stay till I see who youare. " He than opened the door and exclaimed, "What! Lanigan!--why, youinfernal old scoundrel! how dare you have the assurance to look me inthe face, or to come under my roof at all, after what I said to youabout the pistols?"

"Ay, but you don't know the good news I have for you and Miss Helen. "

"Oh, Lanigan, is Reilly safe?--is he set at large? Oh, I am sure he mustbe. Never was so noble, so pure, and so innocent a heart. "

"Curse him, look at the eye of him, " said her father, pointing his caneat Lanigan; "it's like the eye of a sharp-shooter. What are you grinningat; you old scoundrel?"

"Didn't you expect Sir Robert Whitecraft here to-day to marry MissFolliard, sir?"

"I did, sirra, and I do; he'll be here immediately. "

"Devil a foot he'll come to-day, I can tell you; and that's the way hetreats your daughter!"

"What does this old idiot mean, Helen? Have you been drinking, sirra?"

"Not yet, sir, but plaise the Lord I'll soon be at it. "

"Lanigan, " said Helen, "will you state at once what you have to say?"

"I will, miss; but first and foremost, I must show you how to dance the'Little House under the Hill, '" and as he spoke he commenced whistlingthat celebrated air and dancing to it with considerable alacrity andvigor, making allowances for his age. 

The father and daughter looked at each other, and Helen, notwithstandingher broken spirits, could not avoid smiling. Lanigan continued thedance, kept wheeling about to all parts of the room, like an old madcap, cutting, capering, and knocking up his heels against his ham, with avivacity that was a perfect mystery to his two spectators, as was hiswhole conduct. 

"Now, you drunken old scoundrel, " said his master, catching him by thecollar and flourishing the cane over his head, "if you don't give adirect answer I will cane you within an inch of your life. What do youmean when you say that Sir Robert Whitecraft won't come here to-day?"

"Becaise, sir, it isn't convanient to him. "

"Why isn't it convenient, you scoundrel?"

"Bekaise, sir, he took it into his head to try a change of air for thebenefit of his health before he starts upon his journey; and as he gota very friendly invitation to spend some time in Sligo jail he acceptedit, and if you go there you will find him before you. It seems hestarted this morning in great state, with two nice men belonging to thelaw in the carriage with him, to see that he should want for nothing, and a party of cavalry surroundin' his honor's coach, as if he was oneof the judges, or the Lord Lieutenant. "

The figurative style of his narrative would unquestionably have causedhim to catch the weight of the cane aforesaid had not Helen interferedand saved him for the nonce. 

"Let me at him, Helen, let me at him--the drunken old rip; why does hedare to humbug us in this manner?"

"Well, then, sir, if you wish to hear the good news, and especially you, Miss Folliard, it will probably relieve your heart when I tell you thatSir Robert Whitecraft is, before this time, in the jail of Sligo, fora charge of murdher, and for burnin' Mr. Reilly's house and premises, which it now seems aren't Mr. Reilly's at all--nor ever were--butbelong to Mr. Hastings. "

"Good heavens!" exclaimed the squire, "this is dreadful: but is it true, sirra?"

"Why, sir, if you go to his house you'll find it so. "

"Oh, papa, " said Helen, "surely they wouldn't hang him?"

"Hang him, Helen; why, Helen, the tide's turned; they want to make himan example for the outrages that he and others have committed againstthe unfortunate Papists. Hang him!--as I live, he and the Red Rappareewill both swing from the same gallows; but there is one thing I say--ifhe hangs I shall take care that that obstinate scoundrel, Reilly, shallalso swing along with him. "

Helen became as pale as ashes, the flush had disappeared from hercountenance, and she burst again into tears. 

"Oh, papa, " she exclaimed, "spare Reilly: he is innocent. "

"I'll hang him, " he replied, "if it should cost me ten thousand pounds. Go you, sirra, and desire one of the grooms to saddle me Black Tom; heis the fastest horse in my stables; I cannot rest till I ascertain thetruth of this. "

On passing the drawing-room he looked in, and found Mr. Strong andthe two Misses Ashford waiting, the one to perform, and the others toattend, at the ceremony. 

"Sir. Strong and ladies, " said he, with looks of great distraction, "Ifear there will be no marriage here to-day. An accident, I believe, hashappened to Sir Robert Whitecraft that will prevent his being a party inthe ceremony, for this day at least. "

"An accident!" exclaimed the ladies and the clergyman. "Pray, Mr. Folliard, what is it? how did it happen?"

"I am just going to ride over to Sir Robert's to learn everything aboutit, " he replied; "I will be but a short time absent. But now!" he added, "here's his butler, and I will get everything from him. Oh, Thomas, isthis you? follow me to my study, Thomas. "

As the reader already knows all that Thomas could tell him, it is onlynecessary to say that he returned to the drawing-room with a sad andmelancholy aspect. 

"There is no use, " said he, addressing them, "in concealing what willsoon be known to the world. Sir Robert Whitecraft has been arrested on acharge of murder and arson, and is now a prisoner in the county jail. "

This was startling intelligence to them all, especially to the parson, who found that the hangman was likely to cut him out of his fees. The ladies screamed, and said, "it was a shocking thing to have thatdelightful man hanged;" and then asked if the bride-elect had heard it. 

"She has heard it, " replied her father, "and I have just left her intears; but upon my soul, I don't think there is one of them shed forhim. Well, Mr. Strong, I believe, after all, there is likely to be nomarriage, but that is not your fault; you came here to do your duty, andI think it only just--a word with you in the next apartment, " he added, and then led the way to the dining-room. "I was about to say, Mr. Strong, that it would be neither just nor reasonable to deprive you ofyour fees; here is a ten-pound note, and it would have been twenty hadthe marriage taken place. I must go to Sligo to see the unfortunatebaronet, and say what can be done for him--that is, if anything can, which I greatly doubt. "

The parson protested, against the receipt of the ten-pound note verymuch in the style of a bashful schoolboy, who pretends to refuse anapple from a strange relation when he comes to pay a visit, whilst, atthe same time, the young monkey's chops are watering for it. With somefaint show of reluctance he at length received it, and need we say thatit soon disappeared in one of his sanctified pockets. 

"Strong, my dear fellow, " proceeded the squire, "you will take a seatwith these ladies in their carriage and see them home. "

"I would, with pleasure, my dear friend, but that I am called upon toconsole poor Mrs. Smellpriest for the loss of the captain. "

"The captain! why, what has happened him?"

"Alas! sir, an unexpected and unhappy fate. He went out last night apriest-hunting, like a godly sportsman of the Church, as he was, and onhis return from an unsuccessful chase fell off his horse while inthe act of singing that far-famed melody called 'Lillibullero, 'and sustained such severe injuries that he died on that very night, expressing a very ungodly penitence for his loyalty in persecuting somany treasonable Popish priests. "

The squire seemed amazed, and, after a pause, said:

"He repented, you say; upon my soul, then, I am glad to hear it, forit is more than I expected from him, and, between you and me, Strong, Ifear it must have taken a devilish large extent of repentance to clearhim from the crimes he committed against both priests and Popery. "

"Ah, " replied Strong, with a groan of deep despondency, "but, unfortunately, my dear sir, he did not repent of his sins--that is theworst of it--Satan must have tempted him to transfer his repentance tothose very acts of his life upon which, as Christian champion, heshould have depended for justification above--I mean, devoting his greatenergies so zealously to the extermination of idolatry and error. Whatwas it but repenting for his chief virtues, instead of relying, like abrave and dauntless soldier of our Establishment, upon his praiseworthyexertions to rid it of its insidious and relentless enemies?"

The squire looked at him. 

"I'll tell you what, Strong---by the great Boyne, I'd give a trifle to, see you get a smart touch of persecution in your own person; it mightteach you a little more charity towards those who differ with you; but, upon my honor, if any change in our national parties should soon takeplace, and that the Papists should get the upper hand, I tell you toyour teeth that if ever your fat libs should be tickled by the whip ofpersecution, they would render you great injustice who should do it forthe sake of religion--a commodity with which I see, from the spiritof your present sentiments, you are not over-burdened. However, in themeantime, I daresay that whatever portion you possess of it, you willcharitably expend in consoling his widow, as you say. Good-morning!"

We must return, however, to the close of Smellpriest's very sudden andpremature departure from the scene of his cruel and merciless labors. Having reached the strip already described to him by Mr. Strong, and towhich he was guided by his men, he himself having been too far advancedin liquor to make out his way with any kind of certainty, he proceeded, still under their direction, to the cottage adjoining, which wasimmediately surrounded by the troopers. After knocking at the door withviolence, and demanding instant admittance, under the threat of smashingit in, and burning the house as a harbor for rebellious priests, the door was immediately opened by a gray-headed old man, feeble anddecrepit in appearance, but yet without any manifestation of terroreither in his voice or features. He held a candle in his hand, and askedthem, in a calm, composed voice, what it was they wanted, and why theythus came to disturb him and his family at such an unseasonable hour. 

"Why, you treasonable old scoundrel, " shouted Smellpriest, "haven'tyou got a rebel and recusant Popish priest in the house? I say, yougray-headed old villain, turn him out on the instant, or, if youhesitate but half a minute, well make a bonfire of you, him, the house, and all that's in it. Zounds, I don't see why I shouldn't burn a houseas well as Whitecraft. That cursed baronet is getting ahead of me, butI think I am entitled to a bonfire as well as he is. Shall we burn thehouse?" he added, addressing his men. 

"I think you had better not, captain, " replied the principal of them;"recollect there are new regulations now. It wouldn't be safe, and mightonly end in hanging every man of us--yourself among the rest. "

"But why doesn't the old rebel produce the priest?" asked their leader. "Come here, sirra--hear me--produce that lurking priest immediately. "

"I don't exactly understand you, captain, " replied the old man, whoappeared to know Smellpriest right well. "I don't think it's to my houseyou should come to look for a priest. "

"Why not, you villain? I have been directed here, and told that I wouldfind my game under your roof. "

"In the first place, " replied the old man, with a firm and intrepidvoice, "I am no villain; and in the next, I say, that if any mandirected you to this house in quest of a priest, he must have purposelysent you upon a fool's errand. I am a Protestant, Captain Smellpriest;but, Protestant as I am, I tell you to your face that if I could giveshelter to a poor persecuted priest, and save him from the clutchesof such men as you and Sir Robert Whitecraft, I would do it. In themeantime, there is neither priest nor friar under this roof; you cancome in and search in the house, if you wish. "

"Why, gog's 'ouns, father, " exclaimed one of the men, "how does it comethat we find you here?"

"Very simply, John, " replied his father--for such he was--"I took thiscottage, and the bit of land that goes with it, from honest Andy Morrow, and we are not many hours in it. The house was empty for the last sixmonths, so that I say again, whoever sent Captain Smellpriest here senthim upon a fool's errand--upon a wild-goose chase. "

The gallant captain started upon hearing these latter words. 

"What does he say, " he asked--"a wild-goose chase! Right--right, "he added, in a soliloquy; "Strong is at the bottom of it, the blackscoundrel! but still, let us search the house; the old fellow admitsthat he would shelter a priest. Search the house I say. 

 'There was an old prophecy found in a bog, Lillibullero, bullen ala, &c. , &c. '"

The house was accordingly searched, but it is unnecessary to add thatneither priest nor friar was found under the roof, nor any nook orcorner in which either one or the other could have been concealed. 

The party, who then directed their steps homewards, were proceedingacross the fields to the mountain road which ran close by, and parallelwith the stripe, when they perceived at once that Smellpriest was in arage, by the fact of his singing "Lillibullero;" for, whenever eitherhis rage or loyalty happened to run high, he uniformly made a point toindulge himself in singing that celebrated ballad. 

"By jabers, " said one of them to his companions, "there will be a battleroyal between the captain and Mr. Strong if he finds the parson at homebefore him. "

"If there won't be a fight with the parson, there will with the wife, "replied the other. "Hang the same parson, " he added; "many a drearychase he has sent us upon, with nothing but the fatigue of a dark andslavish journey for our pains. With what bitterness he's giving us'Lillibullero, ' and he scarcely able to sit on his horse! I think I'lladvance, and ride beside him, otherwise, he may get an ugly tumble onthis hard road. "

He accordingly did so, observing, as he got near him, "I have taken theliberty to ride close beside you, lest, as the night is dark, your horsemight stumble. "

"What! do you think I'm drunk, you scoundrel?--fall back, sir, immediately. 

"'Lillibullero, bullen ala. '

"I say I'm not drunk; but I'm in a terrible passion at that treacherousscoundrel; but no matter, I saw something to-night--never mind, I say. 

 "'There was an old prophecy found in a bog, Lillibullero, bullen ala;

 That Ireland should be ruled by an Ass and a Dog, Lillibullero, bullen ala;

 And now that same prophecy has come to pass-- Lillibullero, bullen ala;

 For Talbot's the Dog, and James is the Ass, Lillibullero, bullen ala. '

"Never mind, I say; hang me, but I'll crop the villain, or crop both, which is better still--steady, Schomberg--curse you. "

The same rut or chasm across the more open road on which they hadnow got out, and that had nearly been so fatal to Mr. Brown, becamedecidedly so to unfortunate Smellpriest. The horse, as his rider spoke, stopped suddenly, and, shying quickly to the one side, the captain waspitched off, and fell with his whole weight upon the hard pavement. Theman was an unwieldy, and consequently a heavy man, and the unexpectedfall stunned him into insensibility. After about ten minutes or so herecovered his consciousness, however, and having been once more placedupon his horse, was conducted home, two or three of his men, with muchdifficulty, enabling him to maintain his seat in the saddle. In thismanner they reached his house, where they stripped and put him to bed, having observed, to their consternation, that strong gushes of bloodwelled, every three or four minutes, from his mouth. 

The grief of his faithful wife was outrageous; and Mr. Strong, who wasstill there kindly awaiting his safe return, endeavored to compose herdistraction as well as he could. 

"My dear madam, " said he, "why will you thus permit your grief toovercome you? You will most assuredly injure your own precious health bythis dangerous outburst of sorrow. The zealous and truly loyal captainis not, I trust, seriously injured; he will recover, under God, in a fewdays. You may rest assured, my dear Mrs. Smellpriest, that his life istoo valuable to be taken at this unhappy period. No, he will, I trustand hope, be spared until a strong anti-Popish Government shall comein, when, if he is to lose it, he will lose it in some great and godlyexploit against the harlot of abominations. "

"Alas! my dear Mr. Strong, that is all very kind of you, to support mybreaking heart with such comfort; but, when he is gone, what will becomeof me?"

"You will not be left desolate, my dear madam--you will besupported--cheered--consoled. Captain my friend, how do you feel now?Are you easier?"

"I am, " replied the captain feebly--for he had not lost hisspeech--"come near me, Strong. "

"With pleasure, dear captain, as becomes my duty, not only as a friend, but as an humble and unworthy minister of religion. I trust you are notin danger, but, under any circumstances, it is best, you know, to beprepared for the worst. Do not then be cast down, nor allow your heartto sink into despair. Remember that you have acted the part of a zealousand faithful champion on behalf of our holy Church, and that you havebeen a blessed scourge of Popery in this Pope-ridden country. Let thatreflection, then, be your consolation. Think of the many priests youhave hunted--and hunted successfully too; think of how many bitterPapists of every class you have been the blessed means of committingto the justice of our laws; think of the numbers of Popish priestsand bishops you have, in the faithful discharge of your piousduty, committed to chains, imprisonment, transportation, and thescaffold--think of all these things, I say, and take comfort toyour soul by the retrospect. Would you wish to receive the rites andconsolations of religion at my hands?"

"Come near me, Strong, " repeated Smell-priest. "The rites of religionfrom you--the rights of perdition as soon, you hypocritical scoundrel;"and as he spoke he caught a gush of blood as it issued from hismouth and flung it with all the strength he had left right into theclergyman's face. "Take that, you villain, " he added; "I die in everysense with my blood upon you. And as for my hunting of priests andPapists, it is the only thing that lies at this moment heavy over myheart. And as for that wife of mine, I'm sorry she's not in my place. I know, of course, I'll be damned; but it can't be helped now. If I godown, as down I will go, won't I have plenty of friends to keep me incountenance. I know--I feel I'm dying; but I must take the consequences. In the meantime, my best word and wish is, that that vile jade shan'tbe permitted to approach or touch my body after I am dead. My curse uponyou both! for you brought me to this untimely death between you. "

"Why, my dear Smellpriest--" exclaimed the wife. 

"Don't call me Smellpriest, " he replied, interrupting her; "my name isNorbury. But it doesn't matter--it's all up with me, and I know itwill soon be all down with me; for down, down I'll go. Strong, youhypocritical scoundrel, don't be a persecutor: look at me on the verybrink of perdition for it. And now the only comfort I have is, that Ilet the poor Popish bishop off. I could not shoot him, or at any ratemake a prisoner of him, and he engaged in the worship of God. "

"Alas!" whispered Strong, "the poor man is verging on rank Popery--he ishopeless. "

"But, Tom, dear, " said the wife, "why are you displeased with me, yourown faithful partner? I that was so loving and affectionate to you?I that urged you on in the path of duty? I that scoured your arms andregimentals with my own hands--that mixed you your punch before you wentafter the black game, as you used to say, and, again, had it ready foryou when you returned to precious Mr. Strong and me after a long hunt. Don't die in anger with your own Grizzey, as you used to call me, mydear Tom, or, if you do, I feel that I won't long survive you. "

"Ah! you jade, " replied Tom, "didn't I see the wink between youto-night, although you thought I was drunk? Ah, these wild-goosechases!"

"Tom, dear, we are both innocent. Oh, forgive your own Grizaey!"

"So I do, you jade--my curse on you both. "

Whether it was the effort necessary to speak, in addition to theexcitement occasioned by his suspicions, and whether these suspicionswere well founded or not, we do not presume to say; but the fact was, that, after another outgulp of blood had come up, he drew a long, deep sigh, his under-jaw fell, and the wretched, half-penitent CaptainSmellpriest breathed his last. After which his wife, whether fromsorrow or remorse, became insensible, and remained in that state for aconsiderable time; but at length she recovered, and, after expressingthe most violent sorrow, literally drove the Rev. Mr. Strong out of thehouse, with many deep and bitter curses. But to return:

In a few minutes the parties dispersed, and Folliard, too much absorbedin the fates of Reilly and Whitecraft, prepared to ride to Sligo, toascertain if any thing could be done for the baronet. In the meantime, while he and his old friend Cummiskey are on their way to see thatgentleman, we will ask the attention of our readers to the state ofHelen's mind, as it was affected by the distressing events which had sorapidly and recently occurred. We need not assure them that deep anxietyfor the fate of her unfortunate lover lay upon her heart like gloomof death itself. His image and his natural nobility of character, but, above all, the purity and delicacy of his love for herself his manly andfaithful attachment to his religion, under temptations which fewhearts could resist--temptations of which she herself was, beyond allcomparison, the most trying and the most difficult to be withstood; hisrefusal to leave the country on her account, even when the bloodhoundsof the law were pursuing him to his death in every direction; and thereflection that this resolution of abiding by her, and watching overher welfare and happiness, and guarding her, as far as he could, fromdomestic persecution--all these reflections, in short, crowded upon hermind with such fearful force that her reason began to totter, and shefelt apprehensive that she might not be able to bear the trial whichReilly's position now placed before her in the most hideous colors. Onthe other hand, there was Whitecraft, a man certainly who had committedmany crimes and murders and burnings, often, but not always, upon hisown responsibility; a man who, she knew, entertained no manly or tenderaffection for her; he too about to meet a violent death! That shedetested him with an abhorrence as deep as ever woman entertainedagainst man was true; yet she was a woman, and this unhappy fate thatimpended over him was not excluded out of the code of her heart'shumanity. She wished him also to be saved, if only that he mightwithdraw from Ireland and repent of his crimes. Altogether she was ina state bordering on frenzy and despair, and was often incapable ofcontinuing a sustained conversation. 

When Whitecraft reached the jail in his carriage, attended by a guardof troopers, the jailor knew not what to make of it; but seeing thecarriage, which, after a glance or two, he immediately recognized asthat of the well-known grand juror, he came out, with hat in hand, bowing most obsequiously. 

"I hope your honor's well; you are coming to inspect the prisoners, Isuppose? Always active on behalf of Church and State, Sir Robert. "

"Come, Mr. O'Shaughnessy, " said one of the constables, "get on with nononsense. You're a mighty Church and State man now; but I remember whenthere was as rank a rebel under your coat as ever thumped a craw. SirRobert, sir, is here as our prisoner, and will soon be yours, for murderand arson, and God knows what besides. Be pleased to walk into thehatch, Sir Robert, and there we surrender you to Mr. O'Shaughnessy, whowill treat you well if you pay him well. "

They then entered the hatch. The constable produced the _mittimus_ andthe baronet's person both together, after which they withdrew, havingfailed to get the price of a glass from the baronet as a reward fortheir civility. 

Such scenes have been described a hundred times, and we consequentlyshall not delay our readers upon this. The baronet, indeed, imaginedthat from his rank and influence the jailer might be induced to give himcomfortable apartments. He was in, however, for two capital felonies, and the jailer, who was acquainted with the turn that public affairs hadtaken, told him that upon his soul and conscience if the matter laywith him he would not put his honor among the felons; but then he had nodiscretion, because it was as much as his place was worth to breakthe rules--a thing he couldn't think of doing as an honest man and anupright officer. 

"But whatever I can do for you, Sir Robert, I'll do. "

"You will let me have pen and ink, won't you?"

"Well, let me see. Yes, I will, Sir Robert; I'll stretch that far forthe sake of ould times. "

CHAPTEE XXII. 

The Squire Comforts Whitecraft in his Affliction. 

The old squire and Cummiskey lost little time in getting over the groundto the town of Sligo, and, in order to reach it the more quickly, they took a short cut by the old road which we have described at thebeginning of this narrative. On arriving at that part of it from whichthey could view the spot where Reilly rescued them from the murderousviolence of the Red Rapparee, Cummiskey pointed to it. 

"Does your honor remember that place, where you see the ould buildin'?"

"Yes, I think so. Is not that the place where the cursed Rappareeattacked us?"

"It is, sir; and where poor Reilly saved both our lives; and yet yourhonor is goin' to hang him. "

"You know nothing about it, you old blockhead. It was all a plan got upby Reilly and the Rapparee for the purpose of getting introduced tomy daughter, for his own base and selfish purposes. Yes, I'll hang himcertainly--no doubt of that. "

"Well, sir, " replied Cummiskey, "it's one comfort that he won't hang byhimself. "

"No, " said the other, "he and the Rapparee will stretch the same rope. "

"The Rapparee! faith, sir, hell have worse company. "

"What do you mean, sirra?"

"Why, Sir Robert Whitecraft, sir; he always had gallows written in hisface; but, upon my soul, he'll soon have it about his neck, please God. "

"Faith, I'm afraid you are not far from the truth, Cummiskey, " repliedhis master; "however, I am going to make arrangements with him, to seewhat can be done for the unfortunate man. "

"If you'll take my advice, sir, you'll have nothing to do with him. Keepyour hand out o' the pot; there's no man can skim boiling lead with hishand and not burn his fingers--but a tinker. "

"Don't be saucy, you old dog; but ride on, for I must put Black Tom tohis speed. "

On arriving at the prison, the squire found Sir Robert pent up in amiserable cell, with a table screwed to the floor, a pallet bed, anda deal form. Perhaps his comfort might have been improved throughthe medium of his purse, were it not that the Prison Board had held ameeting that very day, subsequent to his committal, in which, with somedissentients, they considered it their duty to warn the jailer againstgranting him any indulgence beyond what he was entitled to as a felon, and this under pain of their earnest displeasure. 

When the squire entered he found the melancholy baronet andpriest-hunter sitting upon the hard form, his head hanging down upon hisbreast, or, indeed, we might say much farther; for, in consequence ofthe almost unnatural length of his neck, it appeared on that occasion tobe growing out of the middle of his body, or of that fleshless vertebralcolumn which passed for one. 

"Well, baronet, " exclaimed Folliard pretty loudly, "here's an exchange!from the altar to the halter; from the matrimonial noose to honest JackKetch's--and a devilish good escape it would be to many unfortunatewretches in this same world. "

"Oh, Mr. Folliard, " said the baronet, "is not this miserable? What willbecome of me?"

"Now, I tell you what, Whitecraft, I am come to speak to you upon yourposition; but before I go farther, let me say a word or two to make yourepent, if possible, for what you have done to others. "

"For what I have done, Mr. Folliard! why should I not repent, when Ifind I am to be hanged for it?"

"Oh, hanged you will be, there is no doubt of that; but now consider alittle; here you are with a brown loaf, and--is that water in the jug?"

"It is. "

"Very well; here you are, hard and fast, you who were accustomed toluxuries, to the richest meats, and the richest wines--here you are witha brown loaf, a jug of water, and the gallows before you! However, ifyou wish to repent truly and sincerely, reflect upon the numbers thatyou and your bloodhounds have consigned to places like this, and sentfrom this to the gibbet, while you were rioting in luxury and triumph. Good God, sir, hold up your head, and be a man. What if you are hanged?Many a better man was. Hold up your head, I say. "

"I can't, my dear Folliard; it won't stay up for me. "

"Egad! and you'll soon get a receipt for holding it up. Why the mischiefcan't you have spunk?"

"Spunk; how the deuce could you expect spunk from any man in mycondition? It is difficult to understand you, Mr. Folliard; you told mea minute ago to repent, and now you tell me to have spunk; pray what doyou mean by that?"

"Why, confound it, I mean that you should repent with spunk. However, let us come to more important matters; what can be done for you?"

"I know not; I am incapable of thinking on any thing but that damnedgallows without; yet I should wish to make my will. "

"Your will! Why, I think you have lost your senses; don't you know thatwhen you're hanged every shilling and acre you are possessed of will beforfeited to the crown?"

"True, " replied the other, "I had forgotten that. Could Hastings beinduced to decline prosecuting?"

"What! to compromise a felony, and be transported himself. Thank you fornothing baronet; that's rather a blue look up. No, our only plan isto try and influence the grand jury to throw out the bills; but then, again, there are indictments against you to no end. Hastings' case isonly a single one, and, even if he failed, it would not better yourcondition a whit. Under the late Administration we could have saved youby getting a packed jury; but that's out of the question now. All we cando, I think, is to get up a memorial strongly signed, supplicating theLord Lieutenant to commute your sentence from hanging to transportationfor life. I must confess, however, there is little hope even there. Theywill come down with their cursed reasoning and tell us that the rank andeducation of the offender only aggravate the offence; and that, if theyallow a man so convicted to escape, in consequence of his high positionin life, every humble man found guilty and executed for the samecrime--is murdered. They will tell us it would be a prostitution of theprerogative of the Crown to connive at crime in the rich and punish itin the poor. And, again, there's the devil of it; your beggarly want ofhospitality in the first place, and the cursed swaggering severity withwhich you carried out your loyalty, by making unexpected domiciliaryvisits to the houses of loyal but humane Protestant families, with theexpectation of finding a priest or a Papist under their protection: boththese, I say, have made you the most unpopular man in the county; and, upon my soul, Sir Robert, I don't think there will be a man uponthe grand jury whose family you have not insulted by your inveterateloyalty. No one, I tell! you, likes a persecutor. Still, I say, I'll trywhat I can do with the grand jury. I'll see my friends and yours--if youhave any now; make out a list of them in a day or two--and you may restassured that I will leave nothing undone to extricate you. "

"Thank you, Mr. Folliard; but do you know why I am here?"

"To be sure I do. "

"No, you don't, sir. William Reilly, the Jesuit and Papist, is the causeof it, and will be the cause of my utter ruin and ignominious death. "

"How is that? Make it plain to me; only make that plain to me. "

"He is the bosom friend of Hastings, and can sway him and move him andmanage him as a father would a child, or, rather, as a child would adoting father. Reilly, sir, is at the bottom of this, his great objectalways having been to prevent a marriage between me and your beautifuldaughter; I, who, after all, have done so much for Protestantism, am thevictim of that Jesuit and Papist. "

This vindictive suggestion took at once, and the impetuous old squirestarted as if a new light had been let in upon his mind. We call himimpetuous, because, if he had reflected only for a moment upon thediabolical persecution, both in person and property, which Reilly hadsustained at the baronet's hands, he ought not to have blamed him had!he shot the scoundrel as if he had been one of the most rabid dogs thatever ran frothing across a country. We say the suggestion, poisonedas it was by the most specious falsehood, failed not to accomplish thevillain's object. 

Folliard grasped him by the hand. "Never-mind, " said he; "keep yourselfquiet, and leave Reilly to me; I have him, that's enough. "

"No, " replied the baronet, "it is not enough, because I know what willhappen: Miss Folliard's influence over you is a proverb; now she willcajole and flatter and beguile you until she prevails upon you to letthe treacherous Jesuit slip through your fingers, and then he will getoff to the Continent, and laugh at you all, after having taken her withhim; for there is nothing more certain, if he escapes death throughyour indulgence, than that you will, in the course of a few years, find yourself grandfather to a brood of young Papists; and when I sayPapists, need I add rebels?"

"Come, " replied the hot-headed old man, "don't insult me; I am master ofmy own house, and, well as I love my daughter, I would not for a momentsuffer her to interfere in a public matter of this or any other kind. Now good-by; keep your spirits up, and if you are to die, why die like aman. "

They then separated; and as Folliard was passing through the hatch, hecalled the jailer into his own office, and strove to prevail upon him, not ineffectually, to smuggle in some wine and other comforts to thebaronet. The man told him that he would with pleasure do so if he dared;but that the caution against it which he had got that very day from theBoard rendered the thing impossible. Ere the squire left him, however, his scruples were overcome, and the baronet, before he went to bed thatnight, had a rost duck for supper, with two bottles of excellent claretto wash it down and lull his conscience into slumber. 

"Confound it, " the squire soliloquized, on their way home, "I am asstupid as Whitecraft himself, who was never stupid until now; there haveI been with him in that cursed dungeon, and neither of us ever thoughtof taking measures for his defence. Why, he must have the best lawyersat the Bar, and fee them like princes. Gad! I have a great notion toride back and speak to him on the subject; he's in such a confoundedtrepidation about his life that he can think of nothing else. No matter, I shall write to him by a special messenger early in the morning. It would be a cursed slap in the face to have one of our leading menhanged--only, after all, for carrying out the wishes of an anti-PapistGovernment, who connived at his conduct, and encouraged him in it. Iknow he expected a coronet, and I have no doubt but he'd have got onehad his party remained in; but now all the unfortunate devil is likelyto get is a rope--and be hanged to them! However, as to my own caseabout Reilly--I must secure a strong bar against him; and if we can onlyprevail upon Helen to state the facts as they occurred, there is littledoubt that he shall suffer; for hang he must, in consequence of thedisgrace he has brought upon my daughter's name and mine. Whatever Imight have forgiven, I will never forgive him that. "

He then rode on at a rapid pace, and did not slacken his speed until hereached home. Dinner was ready, and he sat down with none but Helen, whocould scarcely touch a morsel. Her father saw at once the state of hermind, and felt that it would be injudicious to introduce any subjectthat might be calculated to excite her. They accordingly talked uponcommonplace topics, and each assumed as much cheerfulness, and more thanthey could command. It was a miserable sight, when properly understood, to see the father and daughter forced, by the painful peculiarity oftheir circumstances, thus to conceal their natural sentiments from eachother. Love, however, is often a disturber of families, as in the caseof Reilly and _Cooleen Bawn_; and so is an avaricious ambition, when united to a selfish and a sensual attachment, as in the case ofWhitecraft. 

It is unnecessary now, and it would be only tedious, to dwell upon theenergetic preparations that were made for the three approaching trials. Public rumor had taken them up and sent them abroad throughout thegreater portion of the kingdom. The three culprits were notorious--SirRobert Whitecraft, the priest-hunter and prosecutor; the notorious RedRapparee, whose exploits had been commemorated in a thousand ballads;and "Willy Reilly, " whose love for the far-famed _Cooleen Bawn_, together with her unconquerable passion for him, had been knownthroughout the empire. In fact, the interest which the public felt inthe result of the approaching trials was intense, not only in Ireland, but throughout England and Scotland, where the circumstances connectedwith them were borne on the wings of the press. Love, however, especially the romance of it--and here were not only romance but realityenough--love, we say, overcomes all collateral interests--and thehistory of the loves of Willy Reilly and his "dear _Cooleen Bawn_" eventhen touched the hearts of thousands, and moistened many a young eye forhis calamities and early fate, and the sorrows of his _Cooleen Bawn_. 

Helen's father, inspired by the devilish suggestions of Whitecraft, nowkept aloof from her as much as he could with decency do. He knew his ownweakness, and felt that if he suffered her to gain that portion of hissociety to which she had been accustomed, his resolution might breakdown, and the very result prognosticated by Whitecraft might be broughtabout. Indeed his time was so little his own, between his activity indefence of that villain and his energetic operations for the prosecutionof Reilly, that he had not much to spare her, except at meals. Itwas not, however, through himself that he wished to win her over toprosecute Reilly. No; he felt his difficulty, and knew that he could notattempt to influence her with a good grace, or any force of argument. Heresolved, therefore, to set his attorney to work, who, as he understoodall the quirks and intricacy of the law, might be able to puzzle herinto compliance. This gentleman, however, who possessed at once arapacious heart and a stupid head, might have fleeced half the countryhad the one been upon a par with the other. He was, besides, in his ownestimation, a lady-killer, and knew not how these interviews withthe fair _Cooleen Bawn_ might end. He, at all events, was a soundProtestant, and if it were often said that you might as well ask aHighlander for a knee-buckle as an attorney for religion, he couldconscientiously fall back upon the fact that political Protestantism andreligion were very different things--for an attorney. 

Instructed by Folliard, he accordingly waited upon her professionally, in her father's study, during his absence, and opened his case asfollows:

"I have called upon you, Miss Folliard, by the direction of your father, professionally, and indeed I thank my stars that any professionalbusiness should give me an opportunity of admiring so far-famed abeauty. "

"Are you not Mr. Doldrum, " she asked, "the celebrated attorney?"

"Doldrum is certainly my name, my lovely client. "

"Well, Mr. Doldrum, I think I have heard of you; but permit me to saythat before you make love, as you seem about to do, I think it betteryou should mention your professional business. "

"It is very simple, Miss Folliard; just to know whether you have anyobjection to appearing as an evidence against--he--hem--against Mr. Reilly. "

"Oh, then your business and time with me will be very brief, Mr. Doldrum. It is my intention to see justice done, and for that purposeI shall attend the trial, and if I find that my evidence will benecessary, I assure you I shall give it. But, Mr. Doldrum, one word withyou before you go. "

"A hundred--a thousand, my dear lady. "

"It is this: I beg as a personal favor that you will use your greatinfluence with my father to prevent him from talking to me on thissubject until the day of trial comes. By being kind enough to do thisyou will save me from much anxiety and annoyance. "

"I pledge you my honor, madam, that your wishes shall be complied withto the letter, as far, at least, as any influence of mine can accomplishthem. "

"Thank you, sir; I wish you a good-morning. "

"Good-morning, madam; it shall not be my fault if you are harassed uponthis most painful subject; and I pledge you my reputation that I nevercontributed to hang a man in my life with more regret than I experiencein this unfortunate case. "

It is quite a common thing to find vanity and stupidity united in thesame individual, as they were in Mr. Doldrum. He was Mr. Folliard'scountry attorney, and, in consequence of his strong Protestantpolitics, was engaged as the law agent of his property; and for the samereason--that is, because he was a violent, he was considered a very ableman. 

There is a class of men in the world who, when they once engage in apursuit or an act of any importance, will persist in working it out, rather than be supposed, by relinquishing it, when they discoverthemselves wrong, to cast an imputation on their own judgments. To sucha class belonged Mr. Folliard, who never, in point of fact, acted uponany fixed or distinct principle whatsoever; yet if he once took a matterinto his head, under the influence of caprice or impulse, no man couldevince more obstinacy or perseverance, apart from all its justiceor moral associations, so long, at least, as that caprice or impulselasted. The reader may have perceived from his dialogue with Helen, onthe morning appointed for her marriage with Whitecraft, that the worthybaronet, had he made appearance, stood a strong chance of being sentabout his business as rank a bachelor as he had come. And yet, becausehe was cunning enough to make the hot-brained and credulous old manbelieve that Reilly was at the bottom of the plan for his destruction, and Hastings only the passive agent in his hands; we say, because hesucceeded in making this impression, which he knew to be deliberatelyfalse, upon his plastic nature, he, Folliard, worked himself up intoa vindictive bitterness peculiar to little minds, as well as a fixeddetermination that Reilly should die; not by any means so much becausehe took away his daughter as that his death might be marked in thisconflict of parties as a set-off against that of Whitecraft. 

In the meantime he and Helen entertained each a different apprehension;he dreaded that she might exercise her influence over him for thepurpose of softening him against Reilly, whom, if he had sufferedhimself to analyze his own heart, he would have found there in the shapeof something very like a favorite. Helen, on the contrary, knew that shewas expected to attend the trial, in order to give evidence againsther lover; and she lived for a few days after his committal underthe constant dread that her father would persecute her with endlessarguments to induce her attendance at the assizes. Such, besides, washer love of truth and candor, and her hatred of dissimulation in everyshape, that, if either her father or the attorney had asked her, inexplicit terms, what the tendency of her evidence was to be, she wouldat once have satisfied them that it should be in favor of her lover. Inthe meantime she felt that, as they did not press her on this point, it would have been madness to volunteer a disclosure of a matter soimportant to the vindication of Reilly's conduct. To this we may add herintimate knowledge of her father's whimsical character and unsteadinessof purpose. She was not ignorant that, even if he were absolutely awarethat the tenor of her evidence was to go against Reilly, his mind mightchange so decidedly as to call upon her to give evidence in his defence. Under these circumstances she acted with singular prudence, in neveralluding to a topic of such difficulty, and which involved a contingencythat might affect her lover in a double sense. 

Her father's conduct, however, on this occasion, saved them both a vastdeal of trouble and annoyance, and the consequence was that they metas seldom as possible. In addition to this, we may state thatDoldrum communicated the successful result of his interview with MissFolliard--her willingness to attend the trial and see justice done, uponcondition that she should not have the subject obtruded on her, eitherby her father or any one else, until the appointed day should arrive, when she would punctually attend. In this state were the relativepositions and feelings of father and daughter about a month before theopening of the assizes. 

In the meantime the squire set himself to work for the baronet. Theablest lawyers were obtained, but Whitecraft most positively objectedto Folliard's proposal of engaging Doldrum as his attorney; he knew thestupidity and ignorance of the man, and would have nothing to do withhim as the conductor of his case. His own attorney, Mr. Sharply, wasengaged; and indeed his selection of a keen and able man such as he wasdid credit both to his sagacity and foresight. 

Considering the state of the country at that particular period, thematter began to assume a most important aspect, A portion of theProtestant party, by which we mean those who had sanctioned allWhitecraft's brutal and murderous excesses, called every energy andexertion into work, in order to defeat the Government and protectthe leading man of their own clique. On the other hand, there was theGovernment, firm and decided, by the just operation of the laws, to makean example of the man who had not only availed himself of those lawswhen they were with him, but who scrupled not to set them aside whenthey were against him, and to force his bloodthirsty instincts upon hisown responsibility. The Government, however, were not without large andactive support from those liberal Protestants, who had been disgustedand sickened by the irresponsible outrages of such persecutors asWhitecraft and Smellpriest. Upon those men the new Government relied, and relied with safety. The country was in a tumult, the bigoted partythreatened an insurrection; and they did so, not because they feltthemselves in a position to effect it, but in order to alarm andintimidate the Government. On the other hand, the Catholics, who hadgiven decided proofs of their loyalty by refusing to join the Pretender, now expressed their determination to support the Government if anoutbreak among that section of the Protestant party to which we havejust alluded should take place. 

But perhaps the real cause of the conduct of the Government might betraced to Whitecraft's outrage upon a French subject in the person ofthe Abbe ------. The matter, as we have stated, was seriously takenup by the French Ambassador, in the name, and by the most positiveinstructions, of his Court. The villain Whitecraft, in consequence ofthat wanton and unjustifiable act, went far to involve the two nationsin a bitter and bloody war. England was every day under the apprehensionof a French invasion, which, of course, she dreaded; something must bedone to satisfy the French Court. Perhaps, had it not been for this, the general outrages committed upon the unfortunate Catholics of Irelandwould never have become the subject of a detailed investigation. Aninvestigation, however, took place, by which a system of the mostincredible persecution was discovered, and a milder administration ofthe laws was found judicious, in order to conciliate the Catholic party, and prevent them from embracing the cause of the Pretender. At allevents, what between the necessity of satisfying the claims of theFrench Government, and in apprehension of a Catholic defection, thegreat and principal criminal was selected for punishment. The IrishGovernment, however, who were already prepared with their charges, foundthemselves already anticipated by Mr. Hastings, a fact which enabledthem to lie on their oars and await the result. 

Such was the state and condition of affairs as the assizes were withinten days of opening. 

One evening about this time the old squire, who never remained longin the same mode of feeling, sent for his daughter to the dining-room, where he was engaged at his Burgundy. The poor girl feared that he wasabout to introduce the painful subject which she dreaded so much--thatis to say, the necessity of giving her evidence against Reilly, Aftersome conversation, however, she was relieved, for he did not allude toit; but he did to the fate of Reilly himself, the very subject which waswringing her heart with agony. 

"Helen, " said he, "I have been thinking of Reilly's affair, and itstrikes me that he may be saved, and become your husband still; because, you know, that if Whitecraft was acquitted, now that he has beenpublicly disgraced, I'd see the devil picking his bones--and very hardpicking he'd find them--before I'd give you to him as a wife. "

"Thank you, my dear papa; but let me ask why it is that you are soactive in stirring up his party to defend such a man?"

"Foolish girl, " he replied; "it is not the man, but the cause andprinciple, we defend. "

"What, papa, the cause! bloodshed and persecution! I believe you to bepossessed of a humane heart, papa; but, notwithstanding his characterand his crimes, I do not wish the unfortunate man to be struck into thegrave without repentance. "

"Repentance, Helen! How the deuce could a man feel repentance who doesnot believe the Christian religion?"

"But then, sir, has he not the reputation of being a sound and leadingProtestant?"

"Oh, hang his reputation; it is not of him I wish to speak to you, butReilly. "

Helen's heart beat rapidly and thickly, but she spoke not. 

"Yes, " said he, "I have a project in my head that I think may saveReilly. "

"Pray, what is it, may I ask, papa?"

"No, you may not; but to-morrow I will give him an early call, and letyou know how I succeed, after my return to dinner; yes, I will tellyou after dinner. But listen, Helen, it is the opinion of the baronet'sfriends that they will be able to save him. "

"I hope they may, sir; I should not wish to see any fellow-creaturebrought to an ignominious death in the midst of his offences, and in theprime of life. "

"But, on the contrary, if he swings, we are bound to sacrifice one ofthe Papist party for him, and Reilly is the man. Now don't look so pale, Helen--don't look as if death was settled in your face; his fate maybe avoided; but ask me nothing--the project's my own, and I willcommunicate it to no one until after I shall have ascertained whether Ifail in it or not. "

"I trust, sir, it will be nothing that will involve him in anythingdishonorable; but why do I ask? He is incapable of that. "

"Well, well, leave the matter in my hand; and now, upon the strengthof my project, I'll take another bumper of Burgundy, and drink to itssuccess. "

Helen pleaded some cause for withdrawing, as she entertained anapprehension that he might introduce the topic which she mostdreaded--that of her duty to give evidence against Reilly. When shewas gone he began to ponder over several subjects connected with theprincipal characters of this narrative until he became drowsy, duringwhich period halters, gibbets, gallowses, hangmen, and judges jumbledeach other alternately through his fancy, until he fell fast asleep inhis easy-chair. 

CHAPTER XXIII. --The Squire becomes Theological and a Proselytizer, butsignally fails. 

The next morning he and Cummiskey started for Sligo, and, as usual, whenthey reached the jail the turnkey was about to conduct the squire to SirRobert's room, when the former turned and said:

"I wish to see Mr. Reilly; lead me to his cell. "

"Reilly, sir!" exclaimed the man in astonishment. "Are you sure, sir, it's not Sir Robert Whitecraft you want?"

"Are you sure, sir, that it's not a cut of my whip about the ears youwant? Conduct me to where Reilly is, you rascal; do you pretend toknow the individual I wish to see better than I do myself? Push along, sirra. "

The turnkey accordingly conducted him to Reilly's cell, which, considerably to his surprise, was a much more comfortable one than hadbeen assigned to the baronet. When they had reached the corridor inwhich it was situated, Folliard said, "Knock at the door, and when heappears tell him that I wish to see him. "

"I will, your honor. "

"Say I won't detain him long. "

"I will, your honor. "

"Hang your honor, go and do what I desire you. "

"I will, your honor. "

Reilly's astonishment was beyond belief on learning that his vindictiveprosecutor had called upon him; but on more mature reflection, andcomparing what had happened before with the only motive which he couldassign for such a visit, he felt pretty certain that the squire came torevive, in his own person, a subject which he had before proposed tohim through his daughter. There was no other earthly object to which hecould attribute his visit; but of course he made up his mind to receivehim with every courtesy. At length Folliard entered, and, before Reillyhad time to utter a syllable, commenced:

"Reilly, " said he, "you are astonished to see me here?"

"I am, sir, " replied Reilly, "very much. "

"Yes, I thought you would; and very few persons, except myself, wouldcome upon such an errand to the man that has disgraced my daughter, myself, and my family; you have stained our name, sir--a name that wasnever associated with any thing but honor and purity until you cameamong us. "

"If you have paid me this visit, sir, only for the purpose of utteringlanguage which you know must be very painful to me, I would rather youhad declined to call upon me at all. I perceive no object you can havein it, unless to gratify a feeling of enmity on your part, and exciteone of sorrow on mine. I say sorrow, because, on considering ourrelative positions, and knowing the impetuosity of your temper, I amsorry to see you here; it is scarcely generous in you to come, for thepurpose of indulging in a poor, and what, after all, may be an equivocaland premature triumph over a man whose love for your daughter, you mustknow, will seal his lips against the expression of one offensive wordtowards you. "

"But how, let me ask, sir, do you know what brought me here? I didn'tcome to scold you, nor to triumph over you; and I have already saidthe worst I shall say. I know very well that you and Whitecraft will behanged, probably from the same rope too, but, in the meantime, I wouldsave you both if I could. I fear indeed that to save him is out of thequestion, because it appears that there's a cart-load of indictmentsagainst him. "

"How could you doubt it, sir, when you know the incredible extent of hisvillany, both private and public? and yet this is the man to whom youwould have married your daughter!"

"No; when I found Helen reduced to such a state the morning on whichthey were to be married, I told her at once that as she felt so bitterlyagainst him I would never suffer him to become her husband. Neither willI; if he were acquitted tomorrow I would tell him so; but you, Reilly, love my daughter for her own sake. "

"For her own sake, sir, as you have said, I love her. If she hadmillions, it could not increase my affection, and if she had not apenny, it would not diminish it. "

"Well, but you can have her if you wish, notwithstanding. "

Reilly first looked at him with amazement; but he was so thoroughlyacquainted with his character, both from what he had seen and heard ofit, that his amazement passed away, and he simply replied:

"Pray how, sir?"

"Why, I'll tell you what, Reilly; except with respect to politicalprinciples, I don't think, after all, that there's the difference of a arush between the Papist and the Protestant Churches, as mere religions. My own opinion is, that there's neither of them any great shakes, as toany effect they have on society, unless to disturb it. I have known asgood Papists as ever I did Protestants, and indeed I don't know why aPapist should not be as good a man as a Protestant; nor why a Protestantshould not be as good a man as a Papist, on the other hand. Now, do yousee what I'm driving at?"

"Well, I can't exactly say that I do, " replied Reilly. 

[Illustration: PAGE 157--There is not a toss-up between them]

"Then the upshot of the argument is this, that there is not a toss-upbetween them, and any man getting into a scrape, and who could get outof it by changing from one to the other--of course I mean from Popery toProtestantism--would prove himself a man of good sound sense, and abovethe prejudices of the world. "

The truth is, Reilly saw ere this what Folliard was approaching, and, ashe determined to allow him full scope, his reply was brief:

"You seem fond of indulging in speculation, sir, " replied Reilly, witha smile; "but I should be glad to know why you introduce this subject tome?"

"To you?" replied Folliard; "why, who the devil else should or could Iintroduce it to with such propriety? Here now are two religions; one'snot sixpence better nor worse than the other. Now, you belong to one ofthem, and because you do you're here snug and fast. I say, then, I havea proposal to make to you: you are yourself in a difficulty--youhave placed me in a difficulty--and you have placed poor Helen in adifficulty--which, if any thing happens you, I think will break herheart, poor child. Now you can take her, yourself, and me, out of allour difficulties, if you have only sense enough to shove over from theold P---- to the young P----. As a Protestant, you can marry Helen, Reilly--but as a Papist, never! and you know the rest; for if you areobstinate, and blind to your own interests, I must do my duty. "

"Will you allow me to ask, sir, whether Miss Folliard is aware of thismission of yours to me?"

"She aware! She never dreamt of it; but I have promised to tell her theresult after dinner to-day. "

"Well, sir, " replied Reilly, "will you allow me to state to you a fewfacts?"

"Certainly; go on. "

"In the first place, then, such is your daughter's high and exquisitesense of integrity and honor that, if I consented to the terms youpropose, she would reject me with indignation and scorn, as she oughtto do. There, then, is your project for accomplishing my selfish anddishonest apostacy given to the winds. Your daughter, sir, is too purein all her moral feelings, and too noble-minded, to take to her arms arenegade husband--a renegade, too, not from conviction, but from selfishand mercenary purposes. "

"Confound the thing, this is but splitting hairs, Reilly, and talkingbig for effect. Speak, however, for yourself; as for Helen, I know verywell that, in spite of your heroics and her's, she'd be devilish gladyou'd become a Protestant and marry her. "

"I am sorry to say, sir, that you don't know your own daughter; but asfor me, Mr. Folliard, if one word of your's, or of her's, could placeme on the British throne, I would not abandon my religion. Under nocircumstances would I abandon it; but least of all, now that it isso barbarously persecuted by its enemies. This, sir, is my finaldetermination. "

"But do you know the alternative?"

"No, sir, nor do you. "

"Don't I, faith? Why, the alternative is simply this--either marriage orhanging!"

"Be it so; in that case I will die like a man of honor and a trueChristian and Catholic, as I hope I am. "

"As a true fool, Reilly--as a true fool. I took this step privately, out of respect for your character. See how many of your creed becomeProtestants for the sake of mere property; think how many of them joinour Church for the purpose of ousting their own fathers and relativesfrom their estates; and what is it all, on their parts, but theconsequence of an enlightened judgment that shows them the errors oftheir old creed, and the truth of ours? I think, Reilly, you are looseabout the brains. "

"That may be, sir, but you will never find me loose about myprinciples. "

"Are you aware, sir, that Helen is to appear against you as anevidence?"

"No, sir, I am not, neither do I believe it. But now, sir, I beg you toterminate this useless and unpleasant interview. I can look into myown conscience with satisfaction, and am prepared for the worst. Ifthe scaffold is to be my fate, I cannot but remember that many a noblespirit has closed the cares of an unhappy life upon it. I wish yougood-day, Mr. Folliard. "

"By the Boyne! you are the most obstinate blockhead that ever lived; butI've done; I did all in my power to save you--yet to no purpose. Upon mysoul, I'll come to your execution. "

"And if you do, you will see me die like a man and a gentleman; may Ihumbly add, like a Christian!"

The squire, on his way home, kept up a long, low whistle, broken onlyby occasional soliloquies, in which Reilly's want of common-sense, andneglect not only of his temporal interests, but of his life itself, werethe prevailing sentiments. He regretted his want of success, which heimputed altogether to Reilly's obstinacy, instead of his integrity, firmness, and honor. 

This train of reflection threw him into one of those capricious fits ofresentment so peculiar to his unsteady temper, and as he went along hekept lashing himself up into a red heat of indignation and vengeanceagainst that unfortunate gentleman. After dinner that day he feltsomewhat puzzled as to whether he ought to communicate to his daughterthe result of his interview with Reilly or not. Upon consideration, however, he deemed it more prudent to avoid the subject altogether, for he felt apprehensive that, however she might approve of her lover'sconduct, the knowledge of his fate, which depended on it, would onlyplunge her into deeper distress. The evening consequently passed withoutany allusion to the subject, unless a peculiar tendency to melody, onhis part, might be taken to mean something; to this we might addshort abrupt ejaculations unconsciously uttered--such as--"Whew, whew, whew--o--whew--o--hang the fellow! Whew, whew--o--whew--he's acursed goose, but an obstinate--whew, whew--o--whew--o. Ay, but nomatter--well--whew, whew--o, whew, whew! Helen, a cup of tea. Now, Helen, do you know a discovery I have made--but how could you? No, youdon't, of course; but listen and pay attention to me, because it deeplyaffects myself. "

The poor girl, apprehensive that he was about to divulge some painfulsecret, became pale and a good deal agitated; she gave him a long, inquiring look, but said nothing. 

"Yes, Helen, and the discovery is this: I find from experience that teaand Burgundy--or, indeed, tea and any kind of wine--don't agree with myconstitution: curse the fel--whew, whew, whew, whew--o--whew; no, theconfounded mixture turns my stomach into nothing more nor less than abag of aquafortis--if he had but common--whew--"

"Well, but, papa, why do you take tea, then?"

"Because I'm an old fool, Helen; and if I am, there are some young onesbesides; but it can't be helped now--whew, whew--it was done for thebest. "

In this manner he went on for a considerable time, ejaculating mysteriesand enigmas, until he finished the second bottle, after which he went tobed. 

It may be necessary to state here that, notwithstanding the incredibleforce and tenderness of his affection for his daughter, he had, ever since her elopement with Reilly, kept her under the strictestsurveillance, and in the greatest seclusion--that is to say, as theproverb has it, "he locked the stable door when the steed was stolen;"or if he did not realize the aphorism, he came very near it. 

Time, however, passes, and the assizes were at hand, a fearful Avatar ofjudicial power to the guilty. The struggle between the parties who wereinterested in the fate of Whitecraft, and those who felt the extent ofhis unparalleled guilt, and the necessity not merely of making him anexample but of punishing him for his enormous crimes, was dreadful. Theinfatuation of political rancor on one side, an infatuation which couldperceive nothing but the virtue of high and resolute Protestantism inhis conduct, blinded his supporters to the enormity of his conduct, and, as a matter of course, they left no stone unturned to save his life. Aswe said, however, they were outnumbered; but still they did not despair. Reilly's friends had been early in the legal market, and succeeded inretaining some of the ablest men at the bar, his leading counsel beingthe celebrated advocate Fox, who was at that time one of the mostdistinguished men at the Irish bar. Helen, as the assizes approached, broke down so completely in her health that it was felt, if she remainedin that state, that she would be unable to attend; and although Reilly'strial was first on the list, his opposing counsel succeeded in gettingit postponed for a day or two in order that an important witness, thenill, he said, might be able to appear on their part. 

It is not our intention to go through the details of the trial of theRed Rapparee. The evidence of Mary Mahon, Fergus O'Reilly, andthe sheriff, was complete; the chain was unbroken; the change ofapparel--the dialogue in Mary Mahon's cabin, in which he; avowed thefact of his having robbed the sheriff--the identification of his personby the said sheriff in the farmer's house, as before stated, leftnothing for the jury to do I but to bring in a verdict of guilty. Mercy was out of the question. The hardened ruffian--the treacherousruffian--who had lent himself to the bloodthirsty schemes ofWhitecraft--and all this came out upon his trial, not certainly to theadvantage of the baronet--this hardened and treacherous ruffian, we say, who had been a scourge to that part of the country for years, now felt, when the verdict of guilty was brought in against him, just as a smith'sanvil might feel when struck by a feather. On hearing it, he growled ahideous laugh, and exclaimed:

"To the divil I pitch you all; I wish, though, that I had Tom Bradley, the prophecy man, here, who tould me that I'd never be hanged, and thatthe rope was never born for me. "

"If the rope was not born for you, " observed the judge, "I fear I shallbe obliged to inform you that you were born for the rope. Your life hasbeen an outrage, upon civilized society. "

"Why, you ould dog!" said the Rapparee, "you can't hang me; haven't I apardon? didn't Sir Robert Whitecraft get me a pardon from the Governmentfor turnin' against the Catholics, and tellin' him where to find thepriests? Why, you joulter-headed ould dog, you can't hang me, or, if youdo, I'll leave them behind me that will put such a half ounce pill intoyour guts as will make you turn up the whites of your eyes like a duckin thundher. You'll hang me for robbery, you ould sinner! But what isone half the world doin' but robbin' the other half? and what is theother half doin' but robbin' them? As for Sir Robert Whitecraft, if hedesaved me by lies and falsehoods, as I'm afraid he did, all I say is, that if I had him here for one minute I'd show him a trick he'd nevertell to mortal. Now go on, bigwig. "

Notwithstanding the solemnity of the position in which this obdurateruffian was placed, the judge found it nearly impossible to silence thelaughter of the audience and preserve order in the court. At length hesucceeded, and continued his brief address to the Rapparee:

"Hardened and impenitent reprobate, in the course of my judicial duties, onerous and often painful as they are and have been, I must say that, although it has fallen to my lot to pronounce the awful sentence ofdeath upon many an unfeeling felon, I am bound to say that a publicmalefactor so utterly devoid of all the feelings which belong to man, and so strongly impregnated with those of the savage animal as youare, has never stood in a dock before me, nor probably before any otherjudge, living or dead. Would it be a waste of language to enforce uponyou the necessity of repentance? I fear it would; but it matters not;the guilt of impenitence be on your own head, still I must do my duty;try, then, and think of death, and a far more awful judgment than mine. Think of the necessity you have for; supplicating mercy at the throne ofyour Redeemer, who himself died for you, and for all of us, between twothieves. "

"That has nothing to do with my case; I never was a thief; I robbed likean honest man on the king's highways; but as for thievin', why, you ouldsinner, I never stole a farthing's worth in my life. Don't, then, pitchsuch beggarly comparisons into my teeth. I never did what you and yourclass often did; I never robbed the poor in the name of the blessed lawsof the land; I never oppressed the widow or the orphan; and for all thatI took from those that did oppress them, the divil a grain of sorrowor repentance I feel for it, nor ever will feel for it. Oh! mother ofMoses! if I had a glass of whiskey!"

The judge was obliged to enforce silence a second time; for, to-tell thetruth, there was something so ludicrously impenitent in the conduct ofthis hardened convict that the audience could not resist it, especiallywhen it is remembered that the sympathies of the lower Irish are alwayswith such culprits. 

"Well, " continued the judge, when silence was again restored, "yourunparalleled obduracy has gained one point; it was my intention to haveordered you for execution tomorrow at the hour of twelve o'clock; but, as a Christian man, I could not think for a moment of hurrying you intoeternity in your present state. The sentence of the court then is thatyou be taken from the dock in which you now stand to the prison fromwhence you came, and that from thence you be brought to the place ofexecution on next Saturday, and there be hanged by the neck until you bedead, and may God have mercy on your soul!"

The Rapparee gazed at him with a look of the most hardened effrontery, and exclaimed, "Is it in earnest you are?" after which he was once mor|ecommitted to his cell, loaded with heavy chains, which he wore, by the Iway, during his trial. 

Now, in order to account for his outrageous conduct, we must make adisclosure to the reader. There is in and about all jails a certainofficer yclept a hangman--an officer who is permitted a freer ingressand egress than almost any other person connected with those gloomyestablishments. This hangman, who resided in the prison, had a brotherwhom Sir Robert Whitecraft had hanged, and, it was thought, innocently. Be this as it may, the man in question was heard to utter strong threatsof vengeance against Sir Robert for having his brother, whose innocencehe asserted, brought to execution. In some time after this a pistol wasfired one night at Sir Robert from behind a hedge, which missed him; butas his myrmidons were with him, and the night was light, a pursuit tookplace, and the guilty wretch was taken prisoner, with the pistol on hisperson, still warm after having been discharged. The consequence wasthat he was condemned to death. But it so happened that at this period, although there were five or six executions to take place, yet there wasno hangman to be had, that officer having died suddenly, after a fit ofliquor, and the sheriff would have been obliged to discharge the officewith his own hands unless a finisher of the law could be found. Inbrief, he was found, and in the person of the individual alluded to, who, in consequence of his consenting to accept the office, got apardon from the Crown. Now this man and the Rapparee had been oldacquaintances, and renewed their friendship in prison. Through the meansof the hangman O'Donnel got in as much whiskey as he pleased, and weneed scarcely say that they often got intoxicated together. The secret, therefore, which we had to disclose to the reader, in explanation ofthe Rapparee's conduct at his trial, was simply this, that the man wasthree-quarters drunk. 

After trial he was placed in a darker dungeon than before; but such wasthe influence of the worthy executioner with every officer of the jail, that he was permitted to go either in or out without search, and as heoften gave a "slug, " as he called it, to the turnkeys, they consequentlyallowed him, in this respect, whatever privileges he wished. Even theRapparee's dungeon was not impenetrable to him, especially as he put thematter on a religious footing, to wit, that as the unfortunate robberwas not allowed the spiritual aid of his own clergy, he himself wasthe only person left to prepare him for death, which he did with thewhiskey-bottle. 

The assizes on that occasion were protracted to an unusual length. Thecountry was in a most excited state, and party feeling ran fearfullyhigh. Nothing was talked of but the two trials, par excellence, to wit, that of Whitecraft and Reilly; and scarcely a fair or market, for aconsiderable time previous, ever came round in which there waa nota battle on the subject of either one or the other of them, and notunfrequently of both. Nobody was surprised at the conviction of the RedRapparee; but, on the contrary, every one was glad that the country hadat last got rid of him. 

Poor Helen, however, was not permitted to remain quiet, as she hadexpected. When Mr. Doldrum had furnished the leading counsel with hisbrief and a list of the witnesses, the other gentleman was surprised tosee the name of Helen Folliard among them. 

"How is this?" he inquired; "is not this the celebrated beauty whoeloped with him?"

"It is, sir, " replied Doldrum. 

"But, " proceeded the other, "you have not instructed me in the nature ofthe evidence she is prepared to give. "

"She is deeply penitent, sir, and in a very feeble state of health; somuch so that we were obliged to leave the tendency of her evidence to bebrought out on the trial. "

"Have you subpoenaed her?"

"No, sir. "

"And why not, Mr. Doldrum? Don't you know that there is no understandingthe caprices of women. You ought to have subpoenaed her, because, if shebe a leading evidence, she may still change her mind and leave us in thelurch. "

"I certainly did not subpoena her, " replied Doldrum, "because, when Imentioned it to her father, he told me that if I attempted it he wouldbreak my head. It was enough, he said, that she had given her promise--athing, he added, which she was never known to break. "

"Go to her again, Doldrum; for unless we know what she can prove we willbe only working in the dark. Try her, at all events, and glean what youcan out of her. Her father tells me she is somewhat better, so I don'tapprehend you will have much difficulty in seeing her. "

Doldrum did see her, and was astonished at the striking change whichhad, in so short a time, taken place in her appearance. She was pale, and exhibited all the symptoms of an invalid, with the exception of hereyes, which were not merely brilliant, but dazzling, and full of afire that flashed from them with something like triumph whenever herattention was directed to the purport of her testimony. On this subjectthey saw that it; would be quite useless, and probably worse thanuseless, to press her, and they did not, consequently, put her to thenecessity of specifying the purport of her evidence. 

"I have already stated, " said she, "that I shall attend the trial; thatought, and must be, sufficient for you. I beg, then, you will withdraw, sir. My improved health will enable me to attend, and you may restassured that if I have life I shall be there, as I have already toldyou; but, I say, that if you wish to press me for the nature of myevidence, you shall have it, and, as she spoke, her eyes flashedfearfully, as they were in the habit of doing whenever she felt deeplyexcited. Folliard himself became apprehensive of the danger which mightresult from the discussion of any subject calculated to disturb her, and insisted that she should be allowed to take her own way. In themeantime, after they had left her, at her own request, her fatherinformed the attorney that she was getting both strong and cheerful, inspite of her looks. 

"To be sure, " said he, "she is pale! but that's only natural, after herrecent slight attack, and all the excitement and agitation she has forsome time past undergone. She sings and plays now, although I have heardneither a song nor a tune from her for a long time past. In theevening, too, she is exceedingly cheerful when we sit together in thedrawing-room; and she often laughs more heartily than I ever knew her todo before in my life. Now, do you think, Doldrum, if she was breakingher heart about Reilly that she would be in such spirits?"

"No, sir; she would be melancholy and silent, and would neither sing, nor laugh, nor play; at least I felt, so when I was in love with MissSwithers, who kept me in a state of equilibrium for better than twoyears;--but that wasn't the worst of it, for she knocked the loyaltyclean out of me besides--indeed, so decidedly so that I never once sang'Lillibullero' during the whole period of my attachment, and be hangedto her. "

"And what became of her?"

"Why, she married my clerk, who used to serve my love-letters upon her;and when I expected to come in by execution--that is, by marriage--thatcursed little sheriff, Cupid, made a return of _nulla bona_. She and SamSnivel--a kind of half Puritan--entered a _dis_appearance, and I neversaw them since; but I am told they are in America. From what you tellme, sir, I have no doubt but Miss Folliard will make a capital witness. In fact, Reilly ought to feel proud of the honor of being hanged by herevidence; she will be a host in herself. "

We have already stated that the leading counsel against Reilly hadsucceeded in getting his trial postponed until Miss Folliard shouldarrive at a sufficient state of health to appear against him. In themeantime, the baronet's trial, which was in a political, indeed, we might say, a national point of view, of far more importance thanReilly's, was to come on next day. In the general extent of notorietyor fame, Reilly had got in advance--though not much--of his implacablerival. The two trials were, in fact, so closely united by the relativeposition of the parties that public opinion was strangely and stronglydivided between them. Reilly and his _Cooleen Bawn_ had, by the unhappypeculiarity of their fate, excited the interest of all the youthful andloving part of society--an interest which was necessarily reflectedupon Whitecraft, as Reilly's rival, independently of the hold whichhis forthcoming fate had upon grave and serious politicians. Reilly'sleading counsel, Fox, a man of great judgment and ability, gave it ashis opinion that in consequence of the exacerbated state of feelingproduced against the Catholics by the prosecution of Whitecraft--toappease whom, the opinion went that it was instituted--it seemedunlikely that Reilly had a single chance. Had his trial, he said, takenplace previous to that of Whitecraft's, he might have escaped many ofthe consequences of Whitecraft's conviction; but now, should the latterbe convicted, the opposing party would die in the jury-box rather thanlet Reilly escape. 

CHAPTER XXIV. --Jury of the Olden Time

--Preparations--The Scales of Justice. 

At last the trial came on, and Sir Robert Whitecraft, the great championof Protestantism--a creed which he did not believe--was conducted intothe court-house and placed in the dock. He was dressed in his bestapparel, in order to distinguish himself from common culprits, and togive this poor external evidence of his rank, with a hope that it mighttell, to a certain extent at least, upon the feeling of the jury. Whenplaced in the dock, a general buzz and bustle agitated the wholecourt His friends became alert, and whispered to each other with muchearnestness, and a vast number of them bowed to him, and shook handswith him, and advised him to be cool, and keep up his spirits. Hisappearance, however, was any thing but firm; his face was deadly pale, his eyes dull and cowardly, his knees trembled so much that he wasobliged to support himself on the front of the dock. 

At length the trial commenced, and the case having been opened by ayoung lawyer, a tall, intellectual-looking man, about the middle age, of pale but handsome features, and an eye of singular penetration andbrilliancy, rose; and after pulling up his gown at the shoulders, and otherwise adjusting it, proceeded to lay a statement of thisextraordinary case before the jury. 

He dwelt upon "the pain which he felt in contemplating a gentleman ofrank and vast wealth occupying the degraded position of a felon, butnot, he was sorry to say, of a common felon. The circumstances, my lord, and gentlemen of the jury, which have brought the prisoner before youthis day, involve a long catalogue of crimes that as far transcend, inthe hideousness of their guilt, the offences of a common felon as hisrank and position in life do that of the humblest villain who ever stoodbefore a court of justice. 

"The position, gentlemen, of this country has for a long series of yearsbeen peculiar, anomalous, and unhappy. Divided as it is, and has been, by the bitter conflict between two opposing creeds and parties, it isnot to be wondered at that it should be a melancholy scene of misery, destitution, famine, and crime; and, unhappily, it presents to us thefrightful aspect of all these. The nature, however, of the conflictsbetween those creeds and parties, inasmuch as it bears upon the case ofthe prisoner, gentlemen, who now stands for trial and a verdict at yourhands, is such as forces me, on that account, to dwell briefly upon it. In doing so, I will have much, for the sake of our common humanity, toregret and to deplore. It is a fundamental principle, gentlemen, in ourgreat and glorious Constitution, that the paramount end and object ofour laws is to protect the person, the liberty, and the property ofthe subject. But there is something, gentlemen, still dearer to us thaneither liberty, person, or property; something which claims a protectionfrom those laws that stamps them with a nobler and a loftier character, when it is afforded, and weaves them into the hearts and feelings ofmen of all creeds, when this divine mission of the law is fulfilled. Iallude, gentlemen, to the inalienable right of every man to worship Godfreely, and according to his own conscience--without restraint--withoutterror--without oppression, and, gentlemen of the jury, withoutpersecution. A man, or a whole people, worship God, we will assume, sincerely, according to their notions of what is right, and, I say, gentlemen, that the individual who persecutes that man, or those people, for piously worshipping their Creator, commits blasphemy against theAlmighty--and stains, as it were, the mercy-seat with blood. 

"Gentlemen of the jury, let me ask you what has been the state andcondition of this unhappy and distracted country? I have mentioned twoopposing creeds, and consequently two opposing parties, and I have alsomentioned persecution; but let me also ask you again on which side hasthe persecution existed? Look at your Roman Catholic fellow-subjects, and ask yourselves to what terrible outburst of political and religiousvengeance have they not been subjected? But it is said they are notfaithful and loyal subjects, and that they detest the laws. Well, letus consider this--let us take a cursory view of all that the spirit andoperation of the laws have left them to be thankful for--have broughtto bear upon them for the purpose, we must suppose, of securing theirattachment and their loyalty. Let us, gentlemen, calmly and solemnly, and in a Christian temper, take a brief glance at the adventures whichthe free and glorious spirit of the British Constitution has held outto them, in order to secure their allegiance. In the first place, theirnobles and their gentry have been deprived of their property, and theright of tenure has been denied even to the people. Ah, my lord, andgentlemen of the jury, what ungrateful and disloyal miscreant couldavoid loving a Constitution, and hugging to his grateful heart lawswhich showered down such blessings upon him, and upon all those whobelong to a creed so favored? But it would seem to have been felt thatthese laws had still a stronger claim upon their affections. They wouldprotect their religion as they did their property; and in orderto attach them still more strongly, they shut up their places ofworship--they proscribed and banished and hung their clergy--they hungor shot the unfortunate people who tied to worship God in the desert--inmountain fastnesses and in caves, and threw their dead bodies to finda tomb in the entrails of the birds of the air, or the dogs which evenpersecution had made mad with hunger. But again--for this pleasingpanorama is not yet closed, the happy Catholics, who must have dancedwith delight, under the privileges of such a Constitution, were deprivedof the right to occupy and possess all civil offices--their enterprisewas crushed--their industry made subservient to the rapacity of theirenemies, and not to their own prosperity. But this is far from beingall. The sources of knowledge--of knowledge which only can enlightenand civilize the mind, prevent crime, and promote the progress of humansociety--these sources of knowledge, I say, were sealed againstthem; they were consequently left to ignorance, and its inseparableassociate--vice. All those noble principles which result from education, and which lead youth into those moral footsteps in which they shouldtread, were made criminal in the Catholic to pursue, and impossible toattain; and having thus been reduced by ignorance to the perpetration ofthose crimes which it uniformly produces--the people were punished forthat which oppressive laws had generated, and the ignorance which wasforced upon them was turned into a penalty and a persecution. Theywere first made ignorant by one Act of Parliament, and then punished byanother for those crimes which ignorance produces. 

"And now, my lord, and gentlemen of the jury, it remains for me totake another view of the state and condition of this wretched country. Perhaps there is not in the world so hideously a penal code of lawsas that which appertains to the civil and religious rights of ourunfortunate Roman Catholic countrymen. It is not that this code isfierce, inhuman, unchristian, barbarous, and Draconic, and conceived ina spirit of blood--because it might be all this, and yet, through theliberality and benevolence of those into whose hands it ought to beentrusted for administration, much of its dreadful spirit might bemitigated. And I am bound to say that a large and important class of theProtestant community look upon such a code nearly with as much horroras the Catholics themselves. Unfortunately, however, in every state ofsociety and of law analogous to ours, a certain class of men, say ratherof monsters, is sure to spring up, as it were, from hell, their throatsstill parched and heated with that insatiable thirst which the guiltyglutton felt before them, and which they now are determined to slakewith blood. For some of these men the apology of selfishness, an anxietyto raise themselves out of the struggles of genteel poverty, anda wolfish wish to earn the wages of oppression, might be pleaded;although, heaven knows, it is at best but a desperate and cowardlyapology. On the other hand, there are men not merely independent, butwealthy, who, imbued with a fierce and unreasoning bigotry, and stainedby a black and unscrupulous ambition, start up into the front ranks ofpersecution, and carry fire and death and murder as they go along, andall this for the sake of adding to their reprobate names a title--atitle earned by the shedding of innocent blood--a title earned by theoppression and persecution of their unresisting fellow-subjects--atitle, perhaps that of baronet; if I am mistaken in this, the individualwho stands before you in that dock could, for he might, set me right. 

"In fact, who are those who have lent themselves with such delight tothe execution of bad laws? of laws that, for the sake of religion andChristianity, never ought to have been effected? Are they men of moraland Christian lives? men whose walk has been edifying in the sight oftheir fellows? are they men to whom society could look up as examples ofprivate virtue and the decorous influence of religion? are they men who, on the Sabbath of God, repair with their wives and families to his holyworship? Alas! no. These heroic persecutors, who hunt and punish a setof disarmed men, are, in point of fact, not only a disgrace to thatreligion in whose name they are persecutors, and on whose mercifulprecepts they trample, but to all religion, in whatever light truereligion is contemplated. Vicious, ignorant, profligate, licentious, butcunning, cruel, bigoted, and selfish, they make the spirit of oppressivelaws, and the miserable state of the country, the harvest of their gain. Look more closely at the picture, gentlemen of the jury, and make, as Iam sure you will, the dismal and terrible circumstances which I will laybefore you your own. Imagine for a moment that those who are now, or atleast have been, the objects of hot and blood-scenting persecution, had, by some political revolution, got the power of the State and of the lawsinto their own hands; suppose, for it is easily supposed, that theyhad stripped you of your property, deprived you of your civil rights, disarmed you of the means of self-defence, persecuted yourselves andproscribed your religion, or, vice versa, proscribed yourselves andpersecuted your religion, or, to come at once to the truth, proscribedand persecuted both; suppose your churches shut up, your pious clergybanished, and that, when on the bed of sickness or of death, someof your family, hearing your cries for the consolations of religion, ventured out, under the clouds of the night, pale with sorrow, andtrembling with apprehension, to steal for you, at the risk of life, thatcomfort which none but a minister of God can effectually bestow upon theparting spirit; suppose this, and suppose that your house is instantlysurrounded by some cruel but plausible Sir Robert Whitecraft, or somedrunken and ruffianly Captain Smellpriest, who, surrounded and supportedby armed miscreants, not only breaks open that house, but violates theawful sanctify of the deathbed itself, drags out the minister of Christfrom his work of mercy, and leaves him a bloody corpse at our threshold. I say, change places, gentlemen of the jury, and suppose in your ownimaginations that all those monstrous persecutions, all those murderousand flagitious outrages, had been inflicted upon yourselves, with othersof an equally nefarious character; suppose all this, and you may easilydo so, for you have seen it all perpetrated in the name of God and thelaw, or, to say the truth, in the hideous union of mammon and murder;suppose all this, and you will feel what such men as he who standsin that dock deserves from humanity and natural justice; for, alas! Icannot say, from the laws of his country, under the protection of which, and in the name of which, he and those who resemble him have delugedthat country with innocent blood, laid waste the cabin of the widow andthe orphan, and carried death and desolation wherever they went. But, gentlemen, I shall stop here, as I do not wish to inflict unnecessarypain upon you, even by this mitigated view of atrocities which havetaken place before your own eyes; yet I cannot close this portion ofmy address without, referring to so large a number of ourfellow-Protestants with pride, as I am sure their Roman Catholic friendsdo with gratitude. Who were those who, among the Protestant party, threwthe shield of their name and influence over their Catholic neighborsand friends? Who, need I ask? The pious, the humane, the charitable, the liberal, the benevolent, and the enlightened. Those were they who, overlooking the mere theological distinctions of particular doctrines, united in the great and universal creed of charity, held by them as acommon principle on which they might meet and understand and love eachother. And indeed, gentlemen of the jury, there cannot be a greaterproof of the oppressive spirit which animates this penal and inhumancode than the fact that so many of those, for whose benefit itwas enacted, resisted its influence, on behalf of their Catholicfellow-subjects, as far as they could, and left nothing undone tosupport the laws of humanity against those of injustice and oppression. When the persecuted Catholic could not invest his capital in thepurchase of property, the generous Protestant came forward, purchasedthe property in his own name, became the _bona fide_ proprietor, andthen transferred its use and advantages to his Catholic friend. Andagain, under what roof did the hunted Catholic priest first take refugefrom those bloodhounds of persecution? In most cases under that of hischaritable and Christian brother, the Protestant clergyman. Gentlemen, could there be a bitterer libel upon the penal laws than the notoriousfacts which I have the honor of stating to you?

"The facts which have placed the prisoner at the bar before you arethese, and in detailing them I feel myself placed in circumstances ofgreat difficulty, and also of peculiar delicacy. The discharge, however, of a public duty, which devolves upon me as leading law officer of theCrown, forces me into a course which I cannot avoid, unless I shouldshrink from promoting and accomplishing the ends of public justice. Inmy position, and in the discharge of my solemn duties here to-day, I canrecognize no man's rank, no man's wealth, nor the prestige of any man'sname. So long as he stands at that bar, charged with great and heinouscrimes, I feel it my duty to strip him of all the advantages of hisbirth and rank, and consider him simply a mere subject of the realm. 

"In order to show you, gentlemen of the jury, the animux under whichthe prisoner at the bar acted, in the case before us, I must go backa little--a period of some months. At that time a highly respectablegentleman of an ancient and honored family in this country was oneevening on his way home from this town, attended, as usual, by hisservant. At a lonely place on a remote and antiquated road, which theytook as a shorter way, it so happened that, in consequence of a suddenmist peculiar to those wild moors, they lost their path, and foundthemselves in circumstances of danger and distress. The servant, however, whistled, and his whistle was answered; a party of men, offreebooters, of robbers, headed by a person called the Red Rapparee, whohas been convicted at these assizes, and who has been the scourge of thecountry for years, came up to them, and as the Rapparee had borne thisrespectable gentleman a deadly and implacable enmity for some time past, he was about to murder both master and man, and actually had his musketlevelled at him, as others of his gang had at his aged servant, whena person, a gentleman named Reilly--[there there was a loud cheerthroughout the court, which, however, was soon repressed, and theAttorney-General proceeded]--this person started out from an old ruin, met the robber face to face, and, in short, not only saved the lives ofthe gentleman and his servant, but conducted them safely home. This actof courage and humanity, by a Roman Catholic to a Protestant, had suchan effect upon the old gentleman's daughter, a lady whose name hasgone far and wide for her many virtues and wonderful beauty, that anattachment was formed between the young gentleman and her. The prisonerat the bar, gentlemen, was a suitor for her hand; but as the young andamiable lady was acquainted with his character as a priest-hunter andpersecutor, she, though herself a Protestant, could look upon him onlywith abhorrence. At all events, after the rescue of her father's life, and her acquaintance with Mr. Reilly, the prisoner at the bar wasrejected with disdain, as he would have been, it seems, if Reilly neverhad existed. Now, gentlemen I of the jury, observe that Reilly was aCatholic, which was bad enough in the eyes of the prisoner at the bar;but he was more; he was a rival, and were it not for the state of thelaw, would, it appears, for there is no doubt of it now, have beena successful one. From henceforth the prisoner at the bar marked Mr. Reilly for vengeance, for destruction, for death. At this time he wasin the full exercise of irresponsible authority; he could burn, hang, shoot, without being called to account; and as it will appear beforeyou, gentlemen, this consciousness of impunity stimulated him to theperpetration of such outrages as, in civil life, and in a country freefrom civil war, are unparalleled in the annals of crime and cruelty. 

"But, gentlemen, what did this man do? this man, so anxious to preservethe peace of the country; this man, the terror of the surroundingdistricts; what did he do, I ask? Why, he took the most notoriousrobber of: his day, the fierce and guilty Rapparee--he took him into hiscouncils, in order that he might enable him to trace the object ofhis vengeance, Reilly, in the first place, and to lead him to thehiding-places of such unfortunate Catholic priests as had taken refugein the caves and fastnesses of the mountains. Instead of punishing thisnotorious malefactor, he took him into his own house, made him, as hewas proud to call them, one of his priest-hounds, and induced him tobelieve that he had procured him a pardon from Government. Reilly's namehe had, by his foul misrepresentations, got into the _Hue-and-Cry_, andsubsequently had him gazetted as an outlaw; and all this upon his ownirresponsible authority. I mention nothing, gentlemen, in connectionwith this trial which we are not in a capacity to prove. 

"Having forced Reilly into a variety of disguises, and hunted him likea mad dog through the country; having searched every: lurking-place inwhich he thought he might I find him, he at length resolved on the onlycourse of vengeance he could pursue. He surrounded his habitation, and, after searching for Reilly himself, he openly robbed him of all that wasvaluable of that gentleman's furniture, then set fire to the house, andin the clouds of the night reduced that and every out-office he hadto ashes--a capital felony. It so happens, however, that the house andoffices were, in point of fact, not the property of Reilly at all, butof a most respectable Protestant gentleman and magistrate, Mr. Hastings, with whose admirable! character I have no doubt you are all acquainted;and all that remains for me to say is, that he is the prosecutor in thiscase. 

"And now, gentlemen, we expect a calm, deliberate, and unbiassed verdictfrom you. Look upon the prisoner at the bar as an innocent man until youcan, with a clear conscience, find him guilty of the charges which weare in a condition to prove against him; but if there be any doubt uponyour minds, I hope you will give him the benefit of it. "

Sir Robert Whitecraft, in fact, had no defence, and could procure nowitnesses to counteract the irresistible body of evidence that wasproduced against him. Notwithstanding all this, his friends calculatedupon the prejudices of a Protestant jury. His leading counsel made asable a speech in his defence as could be made under the circumstances. It consisted, however, of vague generalities, and dwelt upon the stateof the country and the necessity that existed for men of great spiritand Protestant feeling to come out boldly, and, by courage and energy, carry the laws that had passed for the suppression of Popery into activeand wholesome operation. "Those laws were passed by the wisest andablest assembly of legislators in the world, and to what purpose couldlegislative enactments for the preservation of Protestant interests bepassed if men of true faith and loyalty could not be found to carry theminto effect. There were the laws; the prisoner at the bar did not makethose laws, and if he was invested with authority to carry them intooperation, what did he do but discharge a wholesome and important duty?The country was admitted, on all sides, to be in a disturbed state;Popery was attempting for years most insidiously to undermine theProtestant Church, and to sap the foundation of all Protestantinterests; and if, by a pardonable excess of zeal, of zeal in the rightdirection, and unconscious lapse in the discharge of what he would call, those noble but fearful duties had occurred, was it for those who hada sense of true liberty, and a manly detestation of Romish intrigue atheart, to visit that upon the head of a true and loyal man as acrime. Forbid it, the spirit of the British Constitution--forbid it, heaven--forbid it, Protestantism. No, gentlemen of the jury, " etc. , etc. 

We need not go further, because we have condensed in the few sentencesgiven the gist of all he said. 

When the case was closed, the jury retired to their room, and as SirRobert Whitecraft's fate depends upon their verdict, we will be kindenough to avail ourselves of the open sesame of our poor imagination tointroduce our readers invisibly into the jury-room. 

"Now, " said the foreman, "what's to be done? Are we to sacrifice aProtestant champion to Popery?"

"To Popery! To the deuce, " replied another. "It's not Popery that isprosecuting him. Put down Popery by argument, by fair argument, butdon't murder those that profess it, in cold blood. As the Attorney*General said, let us make it our own case, and if the Papishes treatedus as we have treated them, what would we say? By jingo, I'll hangthat fellow. He's a Protestant champion, they say; but I say he's aProtestant bloodhound, and a cowardly rascal to boot. "

"How is he a cowardly rascal, Bob? Hasn't' he proved himself a brave managainst the Papishes? eh?"

"A brave man! deuce thank him for being a brave man against poor devilsthat are allowed nothing stouter than a horse-rod to defend themselveswith--when he has a party of well-armed bloodhounds at his back. He'sthe worst landlord in Ireland, and, above all things, he's a tyrant tohis Protestant tenants, this champion of Protestantism. Ay, and fierceas he is against Popery, there's not a Papish tenant on his estate thathe's not like a father to. "

"And how the deuce do you know that?"

"Because I was head bailiff to him for ten years. "

"But doesn't all the world know that he hates the Papists, and wouldhave them massacred if he could?"

"And so he does--and so he would; but it's all his cowardice, becausehe's afraid that if he was harsh to his Popish tenants some of themmight shoot him from behind a hedge some fine night, and give him aleaden bullet for his supper. "

"I know he's a coward, " observed another, "because he allowed himself tobe horsewhipped by Major Bingham, and didn't call him out for it. "

"Oh, as to that, " said another, "it was made up by their friends; butwhat's to be done? All the evidence is against him, and we are on ouroaths to find a verdict according to the evidence. "

"Evidence be hanged, " said another; "I'll sit here till doom's-daybefore I find him guilty. Are we, that are all loyal Protestants, tobring out a varjuice to please the Papishes? Oh, no, faith; but here'sthe thing, gentlemen; mark me; here now, I take off my shoes, and I'llait them before I find him guilty;" and as he spoke he deliberatelyslipped of his shoes, and placed them on the table, ready for his toughand loyal repast. 

"By Gog, " said another, "I'll hang him, in spite of your _teeth_; and, afther aiten your brogues, you may go barefooted if you like. I havebrogues to ait as well as you, and one of mine is as big as two ofyours. "

This was followed by a chorus of laughter, after which they began toconsider the case before them, like admirable and well-reasoningjurors, as they were. Two hours passed in wrangling and talking andrecriminating, when, at last, one of them, striking the table, exclaimedwith an oath:

"All Europe won't save the villain. Didn't he seduce my sister'sdaughter, and then throw her and her child back, with shame anddisgrace, on the family, without support?"

"Look at that, " said the owner of the shoe, holding it up triumphantly;"that's my supper to-night, and my argument in his defence. I sayour--Protestant champion mustn't hang, at least until I starve first. "

The other, who sat opposite to him, put his hand across the table, andsnatching the shoe, struck its owner between the two eyes with it andknocked him back on the floor. A scene of uproar took place, whichlasted for some minutes, but at length, by the influence of the foreman, matters were brought to a somewhat amicable issue. In this way theyspent the time for a few hours more, when one of the usual messengerscame to know if they had agreed; but he was instantly dismissed to avery warm settlement, with the assurance that they had not. 

"Come, " said one of them, pulling out a pack of cards, "let us amuseourselves at any rate. Who's for a hand at the Spoil Five?"

The cards were looked upon as a godsend, and in a few moments one halfthe jury were busily engaged at that interesting game. The other portionof them amused themselves, in the meantime, as well as they could. 

"Tom, " said one of them, "were you ever on a special jury in a revenuecase?"

"No, " replied Tom, "never. Is there much fun?"

"The devil's own fun; because if we find for the defendant, he's sure togive us a splendid feed. But do you know how we manage when we find thatwe can't agree?"

"No. How is it?"

"Why, you see, when the case is too clear against him, and that to findfor him would be too barefaced, we get every man to mark down on a slipof paper the least amount of damages he is disposed to give against him;when they're all down, we tot them up, and divide by twelve--"*

 *By no means an uncommon proceeding in revenue cases, even at the present day. 

"Silence, " said another, "till we hear John Dickson's song. "

The said John Dickson was at the time indulging them with a comic song, which was encored with roars of laughter. 

"Hallo!" shouted one of those at the cards, "here's Jack Brereton hasprigged the ace of hearts. "

"Oh, gentlemen, " said Jack, who was a greater knave at the cards thanany in the pack, "upon, my honor, gentlemen, you wrong me. "

"There--he has dropped it, " said another; "look under the table. "

The search was made, and up was lugged the redoubtable ace of heartsfrom under one of Jack's feet, who had hoped, by covering it, to escapedetection. Detected, however, he was, and, as they all knew him well, the laughter was loud accordingly, and none of them laughed louder thanJack himself. 

"Jack, " said another of them, "let us have a touch of the legerdemain. "

"Gentlemen, attention, " said Jack. "Will any of you lend me ahalfpenny?"

This was immediately supplied to him, and the first thing he did wasto stick it on his forehead--although there had been brass enough therebefore--to which it appeared to have been glued; after a space he tookit off and placed it in the palm of his right hand, which he closed, and then, extending both his hands, shut, asked those about him in whichhand it was. Of course they all said in the right; but, upon Jack'sopening the said hand, there was no halfpenny there. 

In this way they discussed a case of life or death, until another knockcame, which "knock" received the same answer as before. 

"Faith, " said a powerful-looking farmer from near the town of Boyle--thevery picture of health, "if they don't soon let us out I'll get sick. It's I that always does the sickness for the jury when we're kept in toolong. "

"Why, then, Billy Bradley, " asked one of them, "how could you, of allmen living, sham sickness on a doctor?"

"Because, " said Billy, with a grin, "I'm beginning to feel a divarsionof blood to the head, for want of a beefsteak and a pot o' porther. Myfather and grandfather both died of a divarsion of blood to the head. "

"I rather think, " observed another, "that they died by taking theirdivarsion at the beefsteak and the pot of porter. "

"No matther, " said Billy, "they died at all events, and so will we all, plaise God. "

"Gome, " said one of them, "there is Jack Brereton and his cane--let uscome to business. What do you say, Jack, as to the prisoner?"

Jack at the time had the aforesaid cane between his legs, over which hewas bent like a bow, with the head of it in his mouth. 

"Are you all agreed?" asked Jack. 

"All for a verdict of guilty, with the exception of this fellow and hisshoes. "

Jack Brereton was a handsome old fellow, with a red face and a pairof watery eyes; he was a little lame, and crippled as he walked, in consequence of a hip complaint, which he got by a fall from ajaunting-car; but he was now steady enough, except the grog. 

"Jack, what do you say?" asked the foreman; "it's time to do something. "

"Why, " replied Jack, "the scoundrel engaged me to put down a pump forhim, and I did it in such a manner as was a credit to his establishment. To be sure, he wanted the water to come whenever it was asked; but Itold him that that wasn't my system; that I didn't want to make a goodthing too cheap; but that the water would come in genteel time--that isto say, whenever they didn't want it; and faith the water bore me out. "And here Jack laughed heartily. "But no matter, " proceeded Jack, "he'sonly a _bujeen_; sure it was his mother nursed me. Where's that fellowthat's going to eat his shoes? Here, Ned Wilson, you flaming Protestant, I have neither been a grand juror nor a petty juror of the county ofSligo for nothing. Where are you? Take my cane, place it between yourknees as you saw me do, put your mouth down to the head of it, suck upwith all your strength, and you'll find that God will give you senseafterwards. "

Wilson, who had taken such a fancy for eating his shoes, in order toshow his loyalty, was what is called a hard-goer, and besides a greatfriend of Jack's. At all events, he followed his advice--put the headof the huge cane into his mouth, and drew up accordingly. The cane, infact, was hollow all through, and contained about three half-pints ofstrong whiskey. There was some wrangling with the man for a little timeafter this; but at length he approached Jack, and handing him the emptycane, said:

"What's your opinion, Jack?"

"Why, we must hang him, " replied Jack. "He defrauded me in the pump; andI ask you did you ever put your nose to a better pump than that?"*

 * We have been taken to task about this description of the jury-room; but we believe, and have good reason to believe, that every circumstance mentioned in it is a fact Do our readers remember the history of Orr's trial, where three- fourths of the jurors who convicted him were drunk--a fact to which they themselves confirmed upon oath afterwards?

"Give me your hand, Jack, we're agreed--he swings!"

At this moment an officer came to ask the same question, when, in reply, the twelve jurymen came out, and, amidst the most profound silence, theforeman handed down the issue paper to the Clerk of the Crown. 

"Gentlemen, " said that officer, after having cast his eye over it, "haveyou agreed in your verdict?"

"We have. "

"Is the prisoner at the bar guilty, or not guilty?"

"Guilty!"

Let us pause here a moment, and reflect upon the precarious tenure oflife, as it is frequently affected by such scenes as the above, inthe administration of justice. Here was a criminal of the deepest dye, shivering in the dock with the natural apprehension of his fate, butsupported, notwithstanding, by the delay of the jury in coming to averdict. He argued reasonably enough, that in consequence of that verydelay he must necessarily have friends among them who would hold out tothe last. The state of suspense, however, in which he was held musthave been, and was, dreadful. His lips and throat became parched byexcitement, and he was obliged to drink three or four glasses of water. Being unable to stand, he was accommodated with a chair, on which, whilehe sat, the perspiration flowed from his pallid face. Yet, with theexception of his own clique, there was scarcely an individual presentwho did not hope that this trial would put an end to his career ofblood. After all, there was something of the retributive justice ofProvidence even in the conduct and feelings of the jury; for, in pointof fact, it was more on account of his private crimes and private infamythat they, however wrongly, brought in their verdict. Here was he, encircled by their knowledge of his own iniquities, apart from hispublic acts; and there, standing in that dock, from which he might havegone out free, so far as regarded his political exploits, he found, although he did not know it, the black weight of his private vices fallupon his head in the shape of the verdict just delivered. It would beimpossible to describe his appearance on hearing it; his head fell downupon his breast listless, helpless, and with a character of despair thatwas painful to contemplate. 

When the verdict was handed down, the judge immediately put on theblack-cap; but Whitecraft's head was resting on his breast, and he didnot for some time see it. At length, stirred into something like life bythe accents of the judge, he raised his head with an effort. The latteraddressed him as thus: "Sir Robert Whitecraft, you have been convictedthis day by as enlightened a jury as ever sat in a jury-box. You mustbe aware yourself, by the length of time, and consequently the deep andserious investigation which they bestowed--and, it is evident, painfullybestowed--upon your unhappy case, that your conviction is the deliberateresult of their conscientious opinion. It is obvious, as I said, fromthe length of time occupied in the jury-room, that the evidence in yourcase was sifted closely, and canvassed with the ability and experienceof able and honest men. In the verdict they have returned the Courtperfectly concurs; and it now only remains for me to pass upon you thatawful sentence of the law which is due to your cruel life and flagitiouscrimes. Were you a man without education, nurtured in ignorance, and theslave of its debasing consequences, some shade of compassion might befelt for you on that account. But you cannot plead this; you cannotplead poverty, or that necessity which urges many a political adventurerto come out as a tyrant and oppressor upon his fellow-subjects, underthe shield of the law, and in the corrupt expectation of reward orpromotion. You were not only independent in your own circumstances, butyou possessed great wealth; and why you should shape yourself such anawful course of crime can only be attributed to a heart naturallyfond of persecution and blood. I cannot, any more than the learnedAttorney-General, suffer the privileges of rank, wealth, or positionto sway me from the firm dictates of justice. You imagined that thelaw would connive at you--and it did so too long, but, believe me, thesooner or later it will abandon the individual that has been provokingit, and, like a tiger when goaded beyond patience, will turn and tearits victim to pieces. It remains for me now to pronounce the awfulsentence of the law upon you; but before I do so, let me entreat you toturn your heart to that Being who will never refuse mercy to a repentantsinner; and I press this upon you the more because you need notentertain the slightest expectation of finding it in this world. Inorder, therefore, that you may collect and compose your mind for thegreat event that is before you, I will allow you four days, in orderthat you may make a Christian use of your time, and prepare your spiritfor a greater tribunal than this. The sentence of the Court is that, on the fifth day after this, you be, etc. , etc. , etc. ; and may God havemercy on your soul!"

At first there was a dead silence in the Court, and a portion of theaudience was taken completely by surprise on hearing both the verdict'and the sentence. At length a deep, condensed murmur, which arose bydegrees into a yell of execration, burst forth from his friends, whilst, on the other hand, a peal of cheers and acclamations rang soloudly through the court that they completely drowned the indignantvociferations of the others. In the meantime silence was restored, andit was found that the convict had been removed during the confusionto one of the condemned cells. What now were his friends to do? Was itpossible to take any steps by which he might yet be saved from sucha disgraceful death? Pressed as they were for time, they came tothe conclusion that the only chance existing in his favor was for adeputation of as many of the leading Protestants of the county, as couldbe prevailed upon to join in the measure, to proceed to Dublin withoutdelay. Immediately, therefore, after the trial, a meeting of thebaronet's friends was held in the head inn of Sligo, where the matterwas earnestly discussed. Whitecraft had been a man of private andsolitary enjoyments--in social and domestic life, as cold, selfish, inhospitable, and repulsive as he was cruel and unscrupulous in hispublic career. 

The consequence was that he had few personal friends of either rank orinfluence, and if the matter had rested upon his own personal characterand merits alone, he would have been left, without an effort, to thefate which had that day been pronounced upon him. The consideration ofthe matter, however, was not confined to himself as an individual, butto the Protestant party at large, and his conviction was looked upon asa Popish triumph. On this account many persons of rank and influence, who would not otherwise have taken any interest in his fate, cameforward for the purpose, if possible, of defeating the Popishparty--who, by the way, had nothing whatsoever to do in promoting hisconviction--and of preventing the stigma and deep disgrace which hisexecution would attach to their own. A very respectable deputation wasconsequently formed, and in the course of the next day proceeded toDublin, to urge their claims in his favor with the Lord Lieutenant. This nobleman, though apparently favorable to the Catholic people, wasnevertheless personally and secretly a bitter enemy to them. The statepolicy which he was instructed and called upon to exercise in theirfavor differed _toto coelo_ from his own impressions. He spoke to them, however, sweetly and softly, praised them for their forbearance, and made large promises in their favor, whilst, at the same time, he entertained no intention of complying with their request. The deputation, on arriving at the castle, ascertained, to theirmortification, that the viceroy would not be at home until the followingday, having spent the last week with a nobleman in the neighborhood;they were consequently obliged to await his arrival. After his returnthey were admitted to an audience, in which they stated their objectin waiting upon him, and urged with great earnestness the necessityof arresting the fate of such a distinguished Protestant as Sir RobertWhitecraft; after which they entered into a long statement of thenecessity that existed for such active and energetic men in the thenpeculiar and dangerous state of the country. 

To all this, however, he replied with great suavity, assuring them thatno man felt more anxious to promote Protestant interests than he did, and added that the relaxation of the laws against the Catholics wasnot so much the result of his own personal policy or feeling as theconsequence of the instructions he had received from the EnglishCabinet. He would be very glad to comply with the wishes of thedeputation if he could, but at present it was impossible. This man'sconduct was indefensible; for, not content in carrying out the lawsagainst the Catholics with unnecessary rigor, he committed a monstrousoutrage against a French subject of distinction, in consequence of whichthe French Court, through their Ambassador in London, insisted upon hispunishment. 

"Very well, my lord, " replied the spokesman of the deputation, "I beg toassure you, that if a hair of this man's head is injured there will bea massacre of the Popish population before two months; and I beg also tolet you know, for the satisfaction of the English Cabinet, that theymay embroil themselves with France, or get into whatever politicalembarrassment they please, but an Irish Protestant will never hoist amusket, or draw a sword, in their defence. Gentlemen, let us bid hisExcellency a good-morning. "

This was startling language, as the effect proved, for it startledthe viceroy into a compliance with their wishes, and they went homepost-haste, in order that the pardon might arrive in time. 

CHAPTER XXV. --Reilly stands his Trial

Rumor of _Cooleen Bawn_'s Treachery--How it appears--Conclusion. 

Life, they say, is a life of trials, and so may it be said of thistale--at least of the conclusion of it; for we feel that it devolvesupon us once more to solicit the presence of our readers to the sameprison in which the Red Rapparee and Sir Robert Whitecraft receivedtheir sentence of doom. 

As it is impossible to close the mouth or to silence the tongue of fame, so we may assure our readers, as we have before, that the: history ofthe loves of those two celebrated individuals, to wit, Willy Reilly andthe far-famed _Cooleen Bawn_, had given an interest to the coming trialsuch as was never known within the memory of man, at that period, norperhaps equalled since. The Red Rapparee, Sir Robert Whitecraft, and allthe other celebrated "villains of that time, have nearly perished out oftradition itself, whilst those of our hero and heroine are still freshin the feelings of the Connaught and Northern peasantry, at whosehearths, during the winter evenings, the rude but fine old ballad thatcommemorated that love is still sung with sympathy, and sometimes, aswe can I testify, with tears. This is fame. One circumstance, however, which deepened the interest felt by the people, told powerfully againstthe consistency of the _Cooleen Bawn_, which was, that she had resolvedto come forward that day to bear evidence against; her lover. Suchwas the general impression received from her father, and the attorneyDoldrum, who conducted the trial against Reilly, although our readersare well aware that on this point they spoke without authority. Thegovernor of the prison, on going that morning to conduct him to the bar, said:

"I am sorry, Mr. Reilly, to be the bearer of bad news; but as theknowledge of it may be serviceable to you or your lawyers, I think Iought to mention it to you. "

"Pray, what is it?" asked Reilly. 

"Why, sir, it is said to be a fact that the _Cooleen Bawn_ has provedfalse and treacherous, and is coming this day to bear her testimonyagainst you. "

Reilly replied with a smile of confidence, which the darkness of theroom prevented the other from seeing, "Well, Mr. O'Shaugh-nessy, evenif she does, it cannot be helped; have you heard what the nature of herevidence is likely to be?"

"No; it seems her father and Doldrum the attorney asked her, and shewould not tell them; but she said she had made her mind up to attend thetrial and see justice done. Don't be cast down, Mr. Reilly, though, uponmy soul, I think she ought to have stood it out in your favor to thelast. "

"Come, " said Reilly, "I am ready; time will tell, Mr. O'Shaughnessy, anda short time too; a few hours now, and all will know the result. "

"I hope in God it may be in your favor, Mr. Reilly. "

"Thank you, O'Shaughnessy; lead on; I am ready to attend you. "

The jail was crowded even to suffocation; but this was not all. Thestreet opposite the jail was nearly as much crowded as the jail itself, a moving, a crushing mass of thousands having been collected to abideand hear the issue. It was with great difficulty, and not without theaid of a strong military force, that a way could be cleared for thejudge as he approached the prison. The crowd was silent and passive, but in consequence of the report that the _Cooleen Bawn_ was to appearagainst Reilly, a profound melancholy and an expression of deep sorrowseemed to brood over it. Immediately after the judge's carriage camethat of the squire, who was accompanied by his daughter, Mrs. Brown andMrs. Hastings, for Helen had insisted that her father should procuretheir attendance. A private room in the prison had, by previousarrangement, been prepared for them, and to this they were conducted bya back way, so as to avoid the crushing of the crowd. It was by thisway also that the judge and lawyers entered the body of the court-house, without passing through the congregated mass. 

At length the judge, having robed himself, took his seat on the bench, and, on casting his eye over the court-house, was astonished at thedense multitude that stood before him. On looking at the galleries, hesaw that they were crowded with ladies of rank and fashion. Every thinghaving been now ready, the lawyers, each with his brief before him, andeach with a calm, but serious and meditative aspect, the Clerk ofthe Crown cried out, in a voice which the hum of the crowd renderednecessarily loud:

"Mr. Jailer, put William Reilly to the bar. "

At that moment a stir, a murmur, especially among the ladies in thegallery, and a turning of faces in the direction of the bar, took placeas Reilly came forward, and stood erect in front of the judge. Thevery moment he made his appearance all eyes were fastened on him, andwhatever the prejudices may have been against the _Cooleen Bawn_ forfalling in love with a Papist, that moment of his appearance absolvedher from all--from every thing. A more noble or majestic figure neverstood at that or any other bar. In the very prime of manhood, scarcelyout of youth, with a figure like that of Antinous, tall, muscular, yetelegant, brown hair of the richest shade, a lofty forehead, features ofthe most manly cast, but exquisitely formed, and eyes which, but forthe mellow softness of their expression, an eagle might have enviedfor their transparent brilliancy. The fame of his love for the _CooleenBawn_ had come before him. The judge surveyed him with deep interest;so did every eye that could catch a view of his countenance; but, above all, were those in the gallery riveted upon him with a degree ofinterest--and, now that they had seen him, of sympathy--which we shallnot attempt to describe. Some of them were so deeply affected thatthey could not suppress their tears, which, by the aid of theirhandkerchiefs, they endeavored to conceal as well as they could. Government, in this case, as it was not one of political interest, did not prosecute. A powerful bar was retained against Reilly, but anequally powerful one was engaged for him, the leading lawyer being, aswe have stated, the celebrated advocate Fox, the Curran of his day. 

The charge against him consisted of only two counts--that of robbingSquire Folliard of family jewels of immense value, and that of runningaway with his daughter, a ward of Chancery, contrary to her consent andinclination, and to the laws in that case made and provided. 

The first witness produced was the sheriff--and, indeed, to state thetruth, a very reluctant one was that humane gentleman on the occasion. Having been sworn, the leading counsel proceeded:

"You are the sheriff of this county?"

"I am. "

"Are you aware that jewellery to a large amount was stolen recently fromMr. Folliard?"

"I am not. "

"You are not? Now, is it not a fact, of which you were an eye-witness, that the jewellery in question was found upon the person of the prisonerat the bar, in Mr. Folliard's house?"

"I must confess that I saw him about to be searched, and that a veryvaluable case of jewellery was found upon his person. "

"Yes, found upon his person--a very valuable case of jewellery, theproperty of Mr. Folliard, found upon his person; mark that, gentlemen ofthe jury. "

"Pardon me, " said the sheriff, "I saw jewellery found upon him; but Icannot say on my oath whether it belonged to Mr. Folliard or not; all Ican say is, that Mr. Folliard claimed the jewels as his. "

"As his--just so. Nobody had a better right to claim them than theperson to whom they belonged. What took place on the occasion?"

"Why, Mr. Folliard, as I said, claimed them, and Mr. Reilly refused togive them up to him. "

"You hear that, gentlemen--refused to surrender him the property ofwhich he had robbed him, even in his own house. "

"And when you searched the prisoner?"

"We didn't search him; he refused to submit to a search. "

"Refused to submit to a search! No wonder, I think! But, at the time herefused to submit to a search, had he the jewellery upon his person?"

"He had. "

"He had? You hear that gentlemen--at the time he refused to be searchedhe had the jewellery upon his person. "

The sheriff was then cross-examined by Fox, to the following effect:

"Mr. Sheriff, have you been acquainted, or are you acquainted, with theprisoner at the bar?"

"Yes; I have known him for about three years--almost ever since hesettled in this county. "

"What is your opinion of him?"

"My opinion of him is very high. "

"Yes--your opinion of him is very high, " with a significant glance atthe jury--"I believe it is, and I believe it ought to be. Now, uponyour oath, do you believe that the prisoner at the bar is capable of thetheft or robbery imputed to him?"

"I do not!"

"You do not? What did he say when the jewels were found upon him?"

"He refused to surrender them to Mr. Folliard as having no legal claimupon them, and refused, at first, to place them in any hands but MissFolliard's own; but, on understanding that she was not in--a state toreceive them from him, he placed them in mine. "

"Then he considered that they were Miss Folliard's personal property, and not her father's?"

"So it seemed to me from what he said at the time. "

"That will do, sir; you may go down. "

"Alexander Folliard" and the father then made his appearance on thetable; he looked about him, with a restless eye, and appeared in astate of great agitation, but it was the agitation of an enraged andrevengeful man. 

He turned his eyes upon Reilly, and exclaimed with bitterness: "Thereyou are, Willy Reilly, who have stained the reputation of my child, anddisgraced her family. "

"Mr. Folliard, " said his lawyer, "you have had in your possession veryvaluable family jewels. "

"I had. "

"Whose property were they?"

"Why, mine, I should think. "

"Could you identify them?"

"Certainly I could. "

"Are these the jewels in question?"

The old man put on his spectacles, and examined them closely. 

"They are; I know every one of them. "

"They were stolen from you?"

"They were. "

"On whose person, after having been stolen, were they found?"

"On the person of the prisoner at the bar. "

"You swear that?"

"I do; because I saw him take them out of his pocket in my own houseafter he had been made prisoner and detected. "

"Then they are your property?"

"Certainly--I consider them my property; who else's property could theybe. "

"Pray, is not your daughter a minor?"

"She is. "

"And a ward in the Court of Chancery?"

"Yes. "

"That will do, sir. "

The squire was then about to leave the table, when Mr. Fox addressedhim:

"Not yet, Mr. Folliard, if you please; you swear the jewels are yours?"

"I do; to whom else should they belong?"

"Are you of opinion that the prisoner at the bar robbed you of them?"

"I found them in his possession. "

"And you now identify them as the same jewels which you found in hispossession?"

"Hang it, haven't I said so before?"

"Pray, Mr. Folliard, keep your temper, if you please, and answer mecivilly and as a gentleman. Suffer me to ask you are there any otherfamily jewels in your possession?"

"Yes, the Folliard jewels?"

"The Folliard jewels! And how do they differ in denomination from thosefound upon the prisoner?"

"Those found upon the prisoner are called the Bingham jewels, fromthe fact of my wife, who was a Bingham, having brought them into ourfamily. "

"And pray, did not your wife always consider those jewels as her ownprivate property?"

"Why, I believe she did. "

"And did she not, at her death-bed, bequeath those very jewels to herdaughter, the present Miss Folliard, on the condition that she tooshould consider them as her private property?"

"Why, I believe she did; indeed, I am sure of it, because I was presentat the time. "

"In what part of the house were those jewels deposited?"

"In a large oak cabinet that stands in a recess in my library. "

"Did you keep what you call the Folliard jewels there?"

"Yes, all our jewellery was kept there. "

"But there was no portion of the Folliard jewellery touched?"

"No; but the Bingham sets were all taken, and all found upon theprisoner. "

"What was your opinion of the prisoner's circumstances?"

"I could form no opinion about them. "

"Had he not the reputation of being an independent man?"

"I believe such was the impression. "

"In what style of life did he live?"

"Certainly in the style of a gentleman. "

"Do you think, then, that necessity was likely to tempt a man ofindependence like him to steal your daughter's jewels?"

"I'd advise you, Sergeant Fox, not to put me out of temper; I haven'tmuch to spare just now. What the deuce are you at?"

"Will you answer my question?"

"No, I don't think it was. "

"If the Bingham jewellery had been stolen by a thief, do you think thatthief would have left the Folliard jewellery behind him?"

"I'll take my oath you wouldn't, if you had been in the place of theperson that took them. You'd have put the Bingham jewellery in onepocket, and balanced it with the Folliard in the other. But, " he added, after a slight pause, "the villain stole from me a jewel more valuableand dearer to her father's heart than all the jewellery of the universalworld put together. He stole my child, my only child, " and as he spokethe tears ran slowly down his cheeks. The court and spectators weretouched by this, and Fox felt that it was a point against them. Even hehimself was touched, and saw that, with respect to Reilly's safety, thesooner he got rid of the old man, for the present at least, the better. 

"Mr. Folliard, " said he, "you may withdraw now. Your daughter loved, as what woman has not? There stands the object of her affections, and Iappeal to your own feelings whether any living woman could be blamed forloving such a man. You may go down, sir, for the present. "

The prosecuting counsel then said: "My lord, we produce Miss Folliardherself to bear testimony against this man. Crier, let Helen Folliard becalled. "

Now was the moment of intense and incredible interest. There was thefar-famed beauty herself, to appear against her manly lover. The stirin the court, the expectation, the anxiety to see her, the stretchingof necks, the pressure of one over another, the fervor of curiosity, was such as the reader may possibly conceive, but such certainly aswe cannot attempt to describe. She advanced from a side door, deeplyveiled; but the tall and majestic elegance of her figure not only struckall hearts with admiration, but prepared them for the inexpressiblebeauty with which the whole kingdom rang. She was assisted to the table, and helped into the witness's chair by her father, who seemed to triumphin her appearance there. On taking her seat, the buzz and murmur of thespectators became hushed into a silence like that of death, and, untilshe spoke, a feather might have been heard falling in the court. 

"Miss Folliard, " said the judge, in a most respectful voice, "you aredeeply veiled--but perhaps you are not aware that, in order to giveevidence in a court of justice, your veil should be up; will you havethe goodness to raise it?"

Deliberately and slowly she raised it, as the court had desiredher--but, oh! what an effulgence of beauty, what wonderful brilliancy, what symmetry, what radiance, what tenderness, what expression!

But we feel that to attempt the description of that face, which almosthad divinity stamped upon it, is beyond all our powers. The whole court, every spectator, man and woman, all for a time were mute, whilst theirhearts drank in the delicious draught of admiration which such beautycreated. After having raised her veil, she looked around the court witha kind of wonder, after which her eyes rested on Reilly, and immediatelyher lids dropped, for she feared that she had done wrong in lookingupon him. This made many of those hearts who were interested in his fatesink, and wonder why such treachery should be associated with featuresthat breathed only of angelic goodness and humanity. 

"Miss Folliard, " said the leading counsel engaged against Reilly, "I amhappy to hear that you regret some past occurrences that took place withrespect to you and the prisoner at the bar. "

"Yes, " she replied, in a voice that was melody itself, "I do regretthem. "

Fox kept his eye fixed upon her, after which he whispered somethingto one or two of his brother lawyers; they shook their heads, andimmediately set themselves to hear and note her examination. 

"Miss Folliard, you are aware of the charges which have placed theprisoner at the bar of justice and his country?"

"Not exactly; I have heard little of it beyond the fact of hisincarceration. "

"He stands there charged with two very heinous crimes--one of them, the theft or robbery of a valuable packet of jewels, your father'sproperty. "

"Oh, no, " she replied, "they are my own exclusive property--notmy father's. They were the property of my dear mother, who, on herdeath-bed, bequeathed them to me, in the presence of my father himself;and I always considered them as mine. "

"But they were found upon the person of the prisoner?"

"Oh, yes; but that is very easily explained. It is no secret now, that, in order to avoid a marriage which my father was forcing on me with SirRobert Whitecraft, I chose the less evil, and committed myself tothe honor of Mr. Reilly. If I had not done so I should have committedsuicide, I think, rather than marry Whitecraft--a man so utterly devoidof principle and delicacy that he sent an abandoned female into myfather's house in the capacity of my maid and also as a spy upon myconduct. "

This astounding fact created an immense sensation throughout the court, and the lawyer who was examining her began to feel that her object incoming there was to give evidence in favor of Reilly, and not againsthim. He determined, however, to try her a little farther, and proceeded:

"But, Miss Folliard, how do you account for the fact of the Binghamjewels being found upon the person of the prisoner?"

"It is the simplest thing in the world, " she replied. "I brought my ownjewels with me, and finding", as we proceeded, that I was likely to losethem, having no pocket sufficiently safe in which to carry them, I askedReilly to take charge of them, which he did. Our unexpected capture, andthe consequent agitation, prevented him from returning them to me, andthey were accordingly found upon his person; but, as for stealing them, he is just as guilty as his lordship on the bench. "

"Miss Folliard, " proceeded the lawyer, "you have taken us by surpriseto-day. How does it happen that you volunteered your evidence againstthe prisoner, and, now that you have come forward, every word you utteris in his favor? Your mind must have recently changed--a fact whichtakes very much away from the force of that evidence. "

"I pray you, sir, to understand me, and not suffer yourself to bemisled. I never stated that I was about to come here to give evidenceagainst Mr. Reilly; but I said, when strongly pressed to come, that Iwould come, and see justice done. Had they asked me my meaning, I wouldhave instantly told them; because, I trust, I am incapable of falsehood;and I will say now, that if my life could obtain that of William Reilly, I would lay it willingly down for him, as I am certain he would lay downhis for the preservation of mine. "

There was a pause here, and a murmur of approbation ran through thecourt. The opposing counsel, too, found that they had been led astray, and that to examine her any further would be only a weakening of theirown cause. They attached, however, no blame of insincerity to her, butvisited with much bitterness the unexpected capsize which they hadgot, on the stupid head of Doldrum, their attorney. They consequentlydetermined to ask her no more questions, and she was about to withdraw, when Fox rose up, and said:

"Miss Folliard, I am counsel for the prisoner at the bar, and I trustyou will answer me a few questions. I perceive, madam, that you arefatigued of this scene; but the questions I shall put to you will be fewand brief. An attachment has existed for some time between you and theprisoner at the bar? You need not be ashamed, madam, to reply to it. "

"I am not ashamed, " she replied proudly, "and it is true. "

"Was your father aware of that attachment at any time?"

"He was, from a very early period. "

"Pray, how did he discover it?"

"I myself told him of my love for Reilly. "

"Did your father give his consent to that attachment?"

"Conditionally he did. "

"And pray, Miss Folliard, what were the conditions?"

"That Reilly should abjure his creed, and then no further obstaclesshould stand in the way of our union, he said. "

"Was ever that proposal mentioned to Reilly?"

"Yes, I mentioned it to him myself; but, well as he loved me, he wouldsuffer to go into an early grave, he said, sooner than abandon hisreligion; and I loved him a thousand times better for his nobleadherence to it. "

"Did he not save your father's life?"

"He did, and the life of a faithful and attached old servant at the sametime. "

Now, although this fact was generally known, yet the statement of ithere occasioned a strong expression of indignation against the man whocould come forward and prosecute the individual, to whose courage andgallantry he stood indebted for his escape from murder. The uncertaintyof Folliard's character, however, was so well known, and his whimsicalchanges of opinion such a matter of proverb among the people, that manypersons said to each other:

"The cracked old squire is in one of his tantrums now; he'll be a proudman if he can convict Reilly to-day; and perhaps to-morrow, or in amonth hence, he'll be cursing; himself for what he did--for that's hisway. "

"Well, Miss Folliard, " said Fox, "we will not detain you any longer;this to you must be a painful scene; you may retire, madam. "

[Illustration: PAGE 175--Give that ring to the prisoner]

She did not immediately withdraw, but taking a green silk purse out ofher bosom, she opened it, and, after inserting her long, white, taperfingers into it, she brought out a valuable emerald ring, and placing itin the hands of the crier, she said:

"Give that ring to the prisoner: I know not, William, " she added, "whether I shall ever see you again or not. It may so happen that this isthe last time my eyes can ever rest upon you with love and sorrow. " Herea few bright tears ran down her lovely cheeks. "If you should be sentto a far-off land, wear this for the sake of her who appreciated yourvirtues, your noble spirit, and your pure and disinterested love; lookupon it when, perhaps, the Atlantic may roll between us, and when youdo, think of your _Cooleen Bawn_, and the love she bore you; but if astill unhappier fate should be yours, let it be placed with you in yourgrave, and next that heart, that noble heart, that refused to sacrificeyour honor and your religion even to your love for me. I will now go. "

There is nothing so brave and fearless as innocence. Her youth, themajesty of her beauty, and the pathos of her expressions, absolutelyflooded the court with tears. The judge wept, and hardened oldbarristers, with hearts like the nether millstone, were forced to puttheir handkerchiefs to their eyes; but as they felt that it might bedetrimental to! their professional characters to be caught weeping, theyshaded off the pathos under the hypocritical pretence of blowing theirnoses. The sobs from the ladies in the gallery were loud and vehement, and Reilly himself was so deeply moved that he felt obliged to put hisface upon his hands, as he bent over the bar, in order to conceal hisemotion. He received the ring with moist eyes, kissed it, and placed itin a small locket which he put in his bosom. 

"Now, " said the _Cooleen Bawn_, "I am ready to go. "

She was then conducted to the room to which we have alluded, where shemet Mrs. Brown and Mrs. Hastings, both of whom she found in tears--forthey had been in the gallery, and witnessed all that had happened. Theyboth embraced her tenderly, and attempted to console her as well as theycould; but a weight like death, she said, pressed upon her heart, andshe begged them not to distract her by their sympathy, kind and generousas she felt it to be, but to allow her to sit, and nurture her ownthoughts until she could hear the verdict of the jury. Mrs. Hastingsreturned to the gallery, and arrived there in time to hear the touchingand brilliant speech of Fox, which we are not presumptuous enough toimagine, much less to stultify ourselves by attempting to give. Hedashed the charge of Reilly's theft of the jewels to pieces--not adifficult task, after the evidence that had been given; and then dweltupon the loves of this celebrated pair with such force and eloquenceand pathos that the court was once more melted into tears. The closingspeech by the leading counsel against Reilly was bitter; but the gistof it turned upon the fact of his having eloped with a ward of Chancery, contrary to law; and he informed the jury that no affection--no consentupon the part of any young lady under age was either a justification of, or a protection against, such an abduction as that of which Reilly hadbeen guilty. The state of the law at the present time, he assured them, rendered it a felony to marry a Catholic and a Protestant together; andhe then left the case in the hands, he said, of an honest Protestantjury. 

The judge's charge was brief. He told the jury that they could notconvict the prisoner on the imputed felony of the jewels; but that theproof of his having taken away Miss Folliard from her father's house, with--as the law stood--her felonious abduction, for the purpose ofinveigling her into an unlawful marriage with himself, was the subjectfor their consideration. Even had he been a Protestant, the law couldafford him no protection in the eye of the Court of Chancery. 

The jury retired; but their absence from their box was very brief. Unfortunately, their foreman was cursed with a dreadful hesitation inhis speech, and, as he entered, the Clerk of the Crown said:

"Well, gentlemen, have you agreed in your verdict?"

There was a solemn silence, during which nothing was heard but aconvulsive working about the chest and glottis of the foreman, who atlength said:

"We--we--we--we have. "

"Is the prisoner at the bar guilty or not guilty?"

Here the internal but obstructed machinery of the chest and throat setto work again, and at last the foreman was able to get out--"Guilty--"

Mrs. Hastings had heard enough, and too much; and, as the sentence waspronounced, she instantly withdrew; but how to convey the melancholytidings to the _Cooleen Bawn_ she knew not. In the meantime the foreman, who had not fully delivered himself of the verdict, added, after two orthree desperate hiccups--"on the second count. "

This, if the foreman had not labored under such an extraordinaryhesitation, might have prevented much suffering, and many years ofunconscious calamity to one of the unhappy parties of whom we arewriting, inasmuch as the felony of the jewels would have been death, whilst the elopement with a ward of Chancery was only transportation. 

When Mrs. Hastings entered the room where the _Cooleen Bawn_ wasawaiting the verdict with a dreadful intensity of feeling, the latterrose up, and, throwing her arms about her neck, looked into her face, with an expression of eagerness and wildness, which Mrs. Hastingsthought might be best allayed by knowing the worst, as the heart, insuch circumstances, generally collects itself, and falls back upon itsown resources. 

"Well, Mrs. Hastings, well--the verdict?"

"Collect yourself, my child--be firm--be a woman. Collect yourself--foryou will require it. The verdict--Guilty!"

The _Cooleen Bawn_ did not faint--nor become weak--but she put her fairwhite hand to her forehead--then looked around the room, then upon Mrs. Brown, and lastly upon Mrs. Hastings. They also looked upon her. Godhelp both her and them! Yes, they looked upon her countenance--thatlovely countenance--and then into her eyes--those eyes! But, alas! wherewas their beauty now? Where their expression?

"Miss Folliard! my darling Helen!" exclaimed Mrs. Hastings, intears--"great God, what is this, Mrs. Brown? Come here and look at her. "

Mrs. Brown, on looking at her, whispered, in choking accents, "Oh! myGod, the child's reason is overturned; what is there now in those onceglorious eyes but vacancy? Oh, that I had never lived to see this awfulday! Helen, the treasure, the delight of all who ever knew you, whatis wrong? Oh, speak to us--recognize us--your own two bestfriends--Helen--Helen! speak to us. "

She looked upon them certainly; but it was with a dead and vacant starewhich wrung their hearts. 

"Come, " said she, "tell me where is William Reilly? Oh, bring me toWilliam Reilly; they have taken me from him, and I. Know not where tofind him. "

The two kind-hearted ladies looked at one another, each stupefied by themystery of what they witnessed. 

"Oh, " said Mrs. Hastings, "her father must be instantly sent for Mrs. Brown, go to the lobby--there is an officer there--desire him to go toMr. Folliard and say that--but we had better not alarm him too much, "she added, "say that Miss Folliard wishes to see him immediately. "

The judge, we may observe here, had not yet pronounced sentence uponReilly. The old man, who, under all possible circumstances, was soaffectionately devoted and attentive to his daughter, immediatelyproceeded to the room, in a state of great triumph and exultationexclaiming, "Guilty, guilty; we have noosed him at last. " He evensnapped his fingers, and danced about for a time, until rebuked by Mrs. Hastings. 

"Unhappy and miserable old man, " she exclaimed, with tears, "whathave you done? Look at the condition of your only child, whom you havemurdered. She is now a maniac. "

[Illustration: PAGE 176--What, what is this? What do you mean?]

"What, " he exclaimed, rushing to her, "what, what is this? What do youmean? Helen, my darling, my child--my delight--what is wrong with you?Recollect yourself, my dearest treasure. Do you not know me, your ownfather? Oh, Helen, Helen! for the love of God speak to me. Say you knowme--call me father--rouse yourself--recollect me--don't you know who Iam?"

There, however, was the frightfully vacant glance, but no reply. 

"Oh, " said she, in a low, calm voice, "where is William Reilly? Theyhave taken me from him, and I cannot find him; bring me to WilliamReilly. "

"Don't you know me, Helen? don't you know your loving father? Oh, speakto me, child of my heart! speak but one word as a proof that you knowme. "

She looked on him, but that look filled his heart with unutterableanguish; he clasped her to that heart, he kissed her lips, he strove tosoothe and console her--but in vain. There was the vacant but unsettledeye, from which the bright expression of reason was gone; but norecognition--no spark of reflection or conscious thought--nothing butthe melancholy inquiry from those beautiful lips of--"Where's WilliamReilly? They have taken me from him--and will not allow me to see him. Oh, bring me to William Reilly!"

"Oh, wretched fate!" exclaimed her distracted father, "I am--I am amurderer, and faithful Connor was right--Mrs. Brown--Mrs. Hastings--hearme, both--I was warned of this, but I would not listen either to reasonor remonstrance, and now I am punished, as Connor predicted. Greatheaven, what a fate both for her and me--for her the innocent, and forme the guilty!"

It is unnecessary to dwell upon the father's misery and distraction;but, from all our readers have learned of his extraordinary tendernessand affection for that good and lovely daughter, they may judge of whathe suffered. He immediately ordered his carriage, and had barely time tohear that Reilly had been sentenced to transportation for seven years. His daughter was quite meek and tractable; she spoke not, nor could anyingenuity on their part extract the slightest reply from her. Neitherdid she shed a single tear, but the vacant light of her eyes hadstamped a fatuitous expression on her features that was melancholy andheartbreaking beyond all power of language to describe. 

No other person had seen her since the bereavement of her reason, exceptthe officer who kept guard on the lobby, and who, in the hurry anddistraction of the moment, had been dispatched by Mrs. Brown for a glassof cold water. Her father's ravings, however, in the man's presence, added to his own observation, and the distress of her female friendswere quite sufficient to satisfy him of the nature of her complaint, andin less than half an hour it was through the whole court-house, andthe town besides, that the _Cooleen Bawn_ had gone mad on hearing thesentence that was passed upon her lover. Her two friends accompanied herhome, and remained with her for the night. 

Such was the melancholy conclusion of the trial of Willy Reilly; buteven taking it at its worst, it involved a very different fate fromthat of his vindictive rival, Whitecraft. It appeared that that worthygentleman and the Red Rapparee had been sentenced to die on the sameday, and at the same hour. It is true, Whitecraft was aware that adeputation had gone post-haste to Dublin Castle to solicit his pardon, or at least some lenient commutation of punishment. Still, it was fearedthat, owing to the dreadful state of the roads, and the slow mode oftravelling at that period, there was a probability that the pardon mightnot arrive in time to be available; and indeed there was every reasonto apprehend as much. The day appointed for the execution of the RedRapparee and him arrived--nay, the very hour had come; but stillthere was hope, among his friends. The sheriff, a firm, but fair andreasonable man, waited beyond the time named by the judge for hisexecution. At length he felt the necessity of discharging his duty; for, although more than an hour beyond the appointed period had now elapsed, yet this delay proceeded from no personal regard he entertained for thefelon, but from respect for many of those who had interested themselvesin his fate. 

After an unusual delay the sheriff felt himself called upon to orderboth the Rapparee and the baronet for execution. In waiting so long fora pardon, he felt that he had transgressed his duty, and he accordinglyordered them out for the last ceremony. The hardened Rapparee diedsullen and silent; the only regret he expressed being that he could notlive to see his old friend turned off before him. 

"Troth, " replied the hangman, "only that the sheriff has ordhered meto hang you first as bein' the betther man, I would give you that samesatisfaction; but if you're not in a very great hurry to the warm corneryou're goin' to, and if you will just take your time for a few minutes, I'll engage to say you will soon have company. God speed you, any way, "he exclaimed as he turned him off; "only take your time, and wait foryour neighbors. Now, Sir Robert, " said he, "turn about, they say, isfair play--it's your turn now; but you look unbecomin' upon it. Hould upyour head, man, and don't be cast down. You'll have company where you'regoin'; for the Red Rapparee tould me to tell you that he'd wait for you. Hallo!--what's that?" he exclaimed as he cast his eye to the distanceand discovered a horseman riding for life, with a white handkerchief, or flag of some kind, floating in the breeze. The elevated position inwhich the executioner was placed enabled him to see the signal beforeit could be perceived by the crowd. "Come, Sir Robert, " said he, "standwhere I'll place you--there's no use in asking you to hould up yourhead, for you're not able; but listen. You hanged my brother that youknew to be innocent; and now I hang you that I know to be guilty. Yes, I hang you, with the white flag of the Lord Lieutenant's pardon for youwavin' in the distance; and listen again, remember Willy Reilly;" andwith these words he launched him into eternity. 

The uproar among his friends was immense, as was the cheering from thegeneral crowd, at the just fate of this bad man. The former rushed tothe gallows, in order to cut him down, with a hope that life mightstill be in him, a process which the sheriff, after perusing his pardon, permitted them to carry into effect. The body was accordingly takeninto the prison, and a surgeon procured to examine it; but altogetherin vain; his hour had gone by, life was extinct, and all the honor theycould now pay Sir Robert Whitecraft was to give him a pompous funeral, and declare him a martyr to Popery both of which they did. 

On the day previous to Reilly's departure his humble friend andnamesake, Fergus, at the earnest solicitation of Reilly himself, waspermitted to pay him a last melancholy visit. After his sentence, as well as before it, every attention had been paid to him byO'Shaughnessy, the jailer, who, although an avowed Protestant, and abrand plucked from the burning, was, nevertheless, a lurking Catholic atheart, and felt a corresponding sympathy with his prisoner. WhenFergus entered his cell he found him neither fettered nor manacled, butperfectly in the enjoyment at least of bodily freedom. It is impossible, indeed, to say how far the influence of money may have gone in securinghim the comforts which surrounded him, and the attentions which hereceived. On entering his cell, Fergus was struck by the calm andcomposed air with which he received him. His face, it is true, was palerthan usual, but a feeling of indignant pride, if not of fixed but sternindignation, might be read under the composure into which he forcedhimself, and which he endeavored to suppress. He approached Fergus, and extending his hand with a peculiar smile, very difficult to bedescribed, said:

"Fergus, I am glad to see you; I hope you are safe--at least I haveheard so. "

"I am safe, sir, and free, " replied Fergus; "thanks to the Red Rappareeand the sheriff for it. "

"Well, " proceeded Reilly, "you have one comfort--the Red Rapparee willneither tempt you nor trouble you again; but is there no danger of hisgang taking up his quarrel and avenging him?"

"His gang, sir? Why, only for me he would a' betrayed every man ofthem to Whitecraft and the Government, and had them hanged, drawn, and quartered--ay, and their heads grinning at us in every town in thecounty. "

"Well, Fergus, let his name and his crimes perish with him; but, as foryou, what do you intend to do?"

"Troth, sir, " replied Fergus, "it's more than I rightly know. I had myhopes, like others; but, somehow, luck has left all sorts of lovers oflate--from Sir Robert Whitecraft to your humble servant. "

"But you may thank God, " said Reilly, with a smile, "that you had notSir Robert Whitecraft's luck. "

"Faith, sir, " replied Fergus archly, "there's a pair of us may do so. You went nearer his luck--such as it was--than I did. "

"True enough, " replied the other, with a serious air; "I had certainly anarrow escape; but I wish to know, as I said, what you intend to do? Itis your duty now, Fergus, to settle industriously and honestly. "

"Ah, sir, honestly. I didn't expect that from you, Mr. Reilly. "

"Excuse me, Fergus, " said Reilly, taking him by the hand; "when I saidhonestly I did not mean to intimate any thing whatsoever against yourintegrity. I know, unfortunately, the harsh circumstances which droveyou to associate with that remorseless villain and his gang; but I wishyou to resume an industrious life, and, if Ellen Connor is disposed tounite her fate with yours, I have provided the means--ample means foryou both to be comfortable and happy. She who was so faithful to hermistress will not fail to make you a good wife. "

"Ah, " replied Fergus, "it's I that knows that well; but, unfortunately, I have no hope there. "

"No hope; how is that? I thought your affection was mutual. "

"So it is, sir--or, rather, so it was; but she has affection for nobodynow, barring the _Cooleen Bawn_. "

Reilly paused, and appeared deeply moved by this. "What, " said he, "willshe not leave her? But I am not surprised at it. "

"No, sir, she will not leave her, but has taken an oath to stay by hernight and day, until--better times come. "

We may say here that Reillys friends took care that neither jailernor turnkey should make him acquainted with the unhappy state of the_Cooleen Bawn_; he was consequently ignorant of it, and, fortunately, remained so until after his return home. 

"Fergus, " said Reilly, "can you tell me how the _Cooleen Bawn_ bears thesentence which sends me to a far country?"

"How would she bear it, sir? You needn't ask: Connor, at all events, will not part from her--not, anyway, until you come back. "

"Well, Fergus, " proceeded Reilly, "I have, as I said, provided for youboth; what that provision is I will not mention now. Mr. Hastings willinform you. But if you have a wish to leave this unhappy and distractedcountry, even without Connor, why, by applying to him, you will beenabled to do so; or, if you wish to stay at home and take a farm, youmay do so. "

"Divil a foot I'll leave the country, " replied the other. "Ellen maystick to the _Cooleen Bawn_, but, be my sowl, I'll stick to Ellen, if Iwas to wait these seven years. I'll be as stiff as she is stout; but, atany rate, she's worth waitin' for. "

"You may well say so, " replied Reilly, "and I can quarrel neither withyour attachment nor your patience; but you will not forget to lether know the provision which I have left for her in the hands of Mr. Hastings, and tell her it is a slight reward for her noble attachmentto my dear _Cooleen Bawn_. Fergus, " he proceeded, "have you ever had adream in the middle of which you awoke, then fell asleep and dreamt outthe dream?"

"Troth had I, often, sir; and, by the way, talkin' of dreams, I dreamtlast night that I was wantin' Ellen to marry me, and she said, 'not yet, Fergus, but in due time. '"

"Well, Fergus, " proceeded Reilly, "perhaps there is but half my dreamof life gone; who knows when I return--if I ever do--but my dream maybe completed? and happily, too; I know the truth and faith of my dear_Cooleen Bawn_. And, Fergus, it is not merely my dear _Cooleen Bawn_that I feel for, but for my unfortunate country. I am not, however, without hope that the day will come--although it may be a distantone--when she will enjoy freedom, peace, and prosperity. Now, Fergus, good-by, and farewell! Come, come, be a man, " he added, with amelancholy smile, whilst a tear stood even in his own eye--"come, Fergus, I will not have this; I won't say farewell for ever, because Iexpect to return and be happy yet--if not in my own country, at leastin some other, where there is more freedom and less persecution forconscience' sake. "

Poor Fergus, however, when the parting moment arrived, was completelyovercome. He caught Reilly in his arms--wept over him bitterly--and, after a last and sorrowful embrace, was prevailed upon to take hisleave. 

The history of the _Cooleen Bawn's_ melancholy fate soon went far andnear, and many an eye that had never rested on her beauty gave itstribute of tears to her undeserved sorrows. There existed, however, oneindividual who was the object of almost as deep a compassion; this washer father, who was consumed by the bitterest and most profound remorse. His whole character became changed by his terrible and unexpected shock, by which his beautiful and angelic daughter had been blasted beforehis eyes. He was no longer the boisterous and convivial old squire, changeful and unsettled in all his opinions, but silent, quiet, andabstracted almost from life. 

He wept incessantly, but his tears did not bring him comfort, for theywere tears of anguish and despair. Ten times a day he would proceed toher chamber, or follow her to the garden where she loved to walk, alwaysin the delusive hope that he might catch some spark of returning reasonfrom those calm-looking but meaningless eyes, after which he would weeplike a child. With respect to his daughter, every thing was done forher that wealth and human means could accomplish, but to no purpose; themalady was too deeply seated to be affected by any known remedy, whethermoral or physical. From the moment she was struck into insanity shewas never known to smile, or to speak, unless when she chanced to see astranger, upon which she immediately approached, and asked, with claspedhands:

"Oh! can you tell me where is William Reilly? They have taken me fromhim, and, I cannot find him. Oh! can you tell me where is WilliamReilly?"

There was, however, another individual upon whose heart the calamity ofthe _Cooleen Bawn_ fell like a blight that seemed to have struck it intosuch misery and sorrow as threatened to end only with life. This wasthe faithful and attached Ellen Connor. On the day of Reilly's trialshe experienced the alternations of hope, uncertainty, and despair, withsuch a depth of anxious feeling, and such feverish excitement, that theperiod of time which elapsed appeared to her as if it would never cometo an end. She could neither sit, nor stand, nor work, nor read, nortake her meals, nor scarcely think with any consistency or clearnessof thought. We have mentioned hope--but it was the faintest and thefeeblest element in that chaos of distress and confusion which filledand distracted her mind. She knew the state and condition of the countrytoo well--she knew the powerful influence of Mr. Folliard in his nativecounty--she knew what the consequences to Reilly must be of takingaway a Protestant heiress; the fact was there--plain, distinct, andincontrovertible, and she knew that no chance of impunity or acquittalremained for any one of his creed guilty of such a violation of thelaws--we say, she knew all this--but it was not of the fate of Reillyshe thought. The girl was an acute observer, and both a close and clearthinker. She had remarked in the _Cooleen Bawn_, on several occasions, small gushes, as it were, of unsettled thought, and of temporarywildness, almost approaching to insanity. She knew, besides, thatinsanity was in the family on her father's side; * and, as she had soboldly and firmly stated to that father himself, she dreaded theresult which Reilly's conviction might produce upon a mind with sucha tendency, worn down and depressed as it had been by all she hadsuffered, and more especially what she must feel by the tumult andagitation of that dreadful day. 

 * The reader must take this as the necessary material for our fiction. There never was insanity in Helen's family; and we make this note to prevent them from taking unnecessary offence. 

It was about two hours after dark when she was startled by the noise ofthe carriage-wheels as they came up the avenue. Her heart beat as if itwould burst, the blood rushed to her head, and she became too giddy tostand or walk; then it seemed to rush back to her heart, and she wasseized with thick breathing and feebleness; but at length, strengthenedby the very intensity of the interest she felt, she made her way to thelower steps of the hall door in time to be present when the carriagearrived at it. She determined, however, wrought up as she was to thehighest state of excitement, to await, to watch, to listen. She didso. The carriage stopped at the usual place, the coachman came down andopened the door, and Mr. Folliard came out. After him, assisted by Mrs. Brown, came Helen, who was immediately conducted in between the latterand her father. In the meantime poor Ellen could only look on. She wasincapable of asking a single question, but she followed them up to thedrawing-room where they conducted her mistress. When she was about toenter, Mrs. Brown said:

"Ellen, you had better not come in; your mistress is unwell. "

Mrs. Hastings then approached, and, with a good deal of judgment andconsideration, said:

"I think it is better, Mrs. Brown, that Ellen should see her, or, rather, that she should see Ellen. Who can tell how beneficial theeffect may be on her? We all know how she was attached to Ellen. "

In addition to those fearful intimations, Ellen heard inside the sobsand groans of her distracted father, mingled with caresses and suchtender and affectionate language as, she knew by the words, could onlybe addressed to a person incapable of understanding them. Mrs. Brownheld the door partially closed, but the faithful girl would not berepulsed. She pushed in, exclaiming:

"Stand back, Mrs. Brown, I must see my mistress!--if she is my mistress, or anybody's mistress now, "--and accordingly she approached the setteeon which the _Cooleen Bawn_ sat. The old squire was wringing his hands, sobbing, and giving vent to the most uncontrollable sorrow. 

"Oh, Ellen, " said he, "pity and forgive me. Your mistress is gone, gone!--she knows nobody!"

"Stand aside, " she replied; "stand aside all of you; let me to her. "

She knelt beside the settee, looked distractedly, --but keenly, at herfor about half a minute--but there she sat, calm, pale, and unconscious. At length she turned her eyes upon Ellen--for ever since the girl'sentrance she had been gazing on vacancy--and immediately said:

"Oh! can you tell me where is William Reilly? They have taken me fromhim, and I cannot find him. Oh! will you tell me where is WilliamReilly?"

Ellen gave two or three rapid sobs; but, by a powerful effort, shesomewhat composed herself. 

"Miss Folliard, " she said, in a choking voice, however, "darling MissFolliard--my beloved mistress--_Cooleen Bawn_--oh, do you not knowme--me, your own faithful Ellen, that loved you--and that loves youso well--ay, beyond father and mother, and all others living in thisunhappy world? Oh, speak to me, dear mistress--speak to your ownfaithful Ellen, and only say that you know me, or only look upon me asif you did. "

Not a glance, however, of recognition followed those lovingsolicitations; but there, before them all, she sat, with the pale face, the sorrowful brow, and the vacant look. Ellen addressed her with equaltenderness again and again, but with the same melancholy effect. Theeffect was beyond question--reason had departed; the fair temple wasthere, but the light of the divinity that had been enshrined in it wasno longer visible; it seemed to have been abandoned probably forever. Ellen now finding that every effort to restore her to rationalconsciousness was ineffectual, rose up, and, looking about for a moment, her eyes rested upon her father. 

"Oh, Ellen!" he exclaimed, "spare me, spare me--you know I'm in yourpower. I neglected your honest and friendly warning, and now it is toolate. "

"Poor man!" she replied, "it is not she, but you, that is to be pitied. No; after this miserable sight, never shall my lips breathe one syllableof censure against you. Your punishment is too dreadful for that. Butwhen I look upon her--look upon her now--oh, my God! what is this?"--

"Help the girl, " said Mrs. Brown quickly, and with alarm. "Oh, she hasfallen--raise her up, Mr. Folliard. Oh, my God, Mrs. Hastings, what ascene is this!"

They immediately opened her stays, and conveyed her to another settee, where she lay for nearly a quarter of an hour in a calm and tranquilinsensibility. With the aid of the usual remedies, however, she was, butwith some difficulty, restored, after which she burst into tears, andwept for some time bitterly. At length she recovered a certain degree ofcomposure, and, after settling her dress and luxuriant brown hair, aidedby Mrs. Brown and Mrs. Hastings, she arose, and once more approachingher lovely, but unconscious, mistress, knelt down, and, clasping herhands, looked up to heaven, whilst she said:

"Here, I take the Almighty God to witness, that from this moment out Irenounce father and mother, brother and sister, friend and relative, man and woman, and will abide by my dear unhappy _Cooleen Bawn_--thatblighted flower before us--both by day and by night--through allseasons--through all places wherever she may go, or be brought, untilit may please God to restore her to reason, or until death may close hersufferings, should I live so long, and have health and strength tocarry out this solemn oath; so may God hear me, and assist me in myintention. "

She then rose, and, putting her arms around the fair girl, kissed herlips, and poured forth a copious flood of tears into her bosom. 

"I am yours now, " she said, caressing her mournfully: "I am yours now, my ever darling mistress; and from this hour forth nothing but deathwill ever separate your own Connor from you. "

Well and faithfully did she keep that generous and heroic oath. Ever, for many a long and hopeless year, was she to be found, both night andday, by the side of that beautiful but melancholy sufferer. No otherhand ever dressed or undressed her; no other individual ever attended toher wants, or complied with those little fitful changes and caprices towhich persons of her unhappy class are subject. The consequence ofthis tender and devoted attachment was singular, but not by anymeans incompatible, we think, even with her situation. If Connor, forinstance, was any short time absent, and another person supplied herplace, the _Cooleen Bawn_, in whose noble and loving heart the stronginstincts of affection could never die, uniformly appeared dissatisfiedand uneasy, and looked around her, as if for some object that wouldafford her pleasure. On Ellen's reappearance a faint but placid smilewould shed its feeble light over her countenance, and she would appearcalm and contented; but, during all this time, word uttered she none, with the exception of those to which we have already alluded. 

These were the only words she was known to utter, and no stranger evercame in her way to whom she did not repeat them. In this way her father, her maid, and herself passed through a melancholy existence for betterthan six years, when a young physician of great promise happened tosettle in the town of Sligo, and her father having heard of it had himimmediately called in. After looking at her, however, he found himselfaccosted in the same terms we have already given:

"Oh! can you tell me where is William Reilly?"

"William Reilly will soon be with you, " he replied; "he will soon behere. "

A start--barely, scarcely perceptible, was noticed by the keen eye ofthe physician; but it passed away, and left nothing but that fixed andbeautiful vacancy behind it. 

"Sir, " said the physician, "I do not absolutely despair of MissFolliard's recovery: the influence of some deep excitement, if it couldbe made accessible, might produce a good effect; it was by a shock itcame upon her, and I am of opinion that if she ever does recover it willbe by something similar to that which induced her pitiable malady. "

"I will give a thousand pounds--five thousand--ten thousand, to any manwho will be fortunate enough to restore her to reason, " said her father. 

"One course, " proceeded the physician, "I would recommend you to pursue;bring her about as much as you can; give her variety of scenery andvariety of new faces; visit your friends, and bring her with you. Thiscourse may have some effect; as for medicine, it is of no use here, forher health is in every other respect good. "

He then took his leave, having first received a fee which somewhatastonished him. 

His advice, however, was followed; her father and she, and Connor, during the summer and autumn months, visited among their acquaintancesand friends, by whom they were treated with the greatest and mostconsiderate kindness; but, so far as poor Helen was concerned, nosymptom of any salutary change became visible; the long, dull blank ofdeparted reason was still unbroken. 

 * * * * * * *

Better than seven years--and a half had now elapsed, when she and herfather came by invitation to pay a visit to a Mr. Hamilton, grandfatherto the late Dacre Hamilton of Monaghan, who--the grandfather wemean--was one of the most notorious priest-hunters of the day, We neednot say that her faithful Connor was still in attendance. Old Folliardwent riding out with his friend, for he was now so much debilitated asto be scarcely able to walk abroad for any distance, when, about thehour of two o'clock, a man in the garb, and with all the bearing of aperfect gentleman, knocked at the door, and inquired of the servant whoopened it whether Miss Folliard were not there. The servant replied inthe affirmative, upon which the stranger asked if he could see her. 

"Why, I suppose you must be aware, sir, of Miss Folliard's unfortunatestate of mind, and that she can see nobody; sir, she knows nobody, andI have strict orders to deny her to every one unless some particularfriend of the family. "

The stranger put a guinea into his hand, and added, "I had the pleasureof knowing her before she lost her reason, and as I have not seen hersince, I should be glad to see her now, or even to look on her for afew minutes. "

"Come up, sir, " replied the man, "and enter the drawing-room immediatelyafter me, or I shall be ordered to deny her. "

The gentleman followed him; but why did his cheek become pale, and whydid his heart palpitate as if it would burst and bound out of his bosom?We shall see. On entering the drawing-room he bowed, and was about toapologize for his intrusion, when the _Cooleen Bawn_, recognizing him asa stranger, approached him and said:

"Oh! can you tell me where is William Reilly? They have taken me fromhim, and I cannot find him. Oh, can you tell me any thing about WilliamReilly?"

The stranger staggered at this miserable sight, but probably more at thecontemplation of that love which not even insanity could subdue. He felthimself obliged to lean for support upon the back of a chair, duringwhich brief space he fixed his eyes upon her with a look of the mostinexpressible tenderness and sorrow. 

"Oh!" she repeated, "can you tell me where is William Reilly?"

"Alas! Helen, " said he, "I am William Reilly. "

"You!" she exclaimed. "Oh, no, the wide, wide Atlantic is between him andme. "

"It was between us, Helen, but it is not now; I am here in life beforeyou--your own William Reilly, that William Reilly whom you loved sowell, but so fatally. I am he: do you not know me?"

"You are not William Reilly, " she replied; "if you were, you would havea token. "

"Do you forget that?" he replied, placing in her hand the emerald ringshe had given him at the trial. She started on looking at it, and afeeble flash was observed to proceed from her eyes. 

"This might come to you, " she said, "by Reilly's death; yes, this mightcome to you in that way; but there is another token which is known tonone but himself and me. "

"Whisper, " said he, and as he spoke he applied his mouth to her ear, andbreathed the token into it. 

[Illustration: PAGE 182--It is he! it is he!]

She stood back, her eyes flashed, her beautiful bosom heaved; sheadvanced, looked once more, and exclaimed, with a scream, "It is he!it is he!" and the next moment she was insensible in his arms. Long butprecious was that insensibility, and precious were the tears which hiseyes rained down upon that pale but lovel countenance. She was soonplaced upon a settee, but Reilly knelt beside her, and held one of herhands in his. After a long trance she opened her eyes and again started. Reilly pressed her hand and whispered in her ear, "Helen, I am with youat last. "

She smiled on him and said, "Help me to sit up, until I look about me, that I may be certain this is not a dream. "

She then looked about her, and as the ladies of the family spoketenderly to her, and caressed her, she fixed her eyes once more upon herlover, and said, "It is not a dream then; this is a reality; but, alas!Reilly, I tremble to think lest they should take you from me again. "

"You need entertain no such apprehension, my dear Helen, " said the ladyof the mansion. "I have often heard your father say that he would givetwenty thousand pounds to have you well, and Reilly's wife. In fact, you have nothing to fear in that, or any other quarter. But there's hisknock; he and my husband have returned, and I must break thisblessed news to him by degrees, lest it might be too much for him ifcommunicated without due and proper caution. "

She accordingly went down to the hall, where they were hanging up theirgreat coats and hats, and brought them into her husband's study. 

"Mr. Folliard, " said she with a cheerful face, "I think, from somesymptoms of improvement noticed to-day in Helen, that we needn't bewithout hope. "

"Alas, alas!" exclaimed the poor father, "I have no hope; after sucha length of time I am indeed without a shadow of expectation. Ifunfortunate Reilly were here, indeed her seeing him, as that Sligodoctor told me, might give her a chance. He saw her about a week beforewe came down, and those were his words. But as for Reilly, even if hewere in the country, how could I look him in the face? What wouldn't Igive now that he were here, that Helen was well, and that one word ofmine could make them man and wife?"

"Well, well, " she replied, "don't be cast down; perhaps I could tell yougood news if I wished. "

"You're beating about the bush, Mary, at all events, " said her husband, laughing. 

"Perhaps, now, Mr. Folliard, " she continued, "I could introduce a younglady who is so fond of you, old and ugly as you are, that she would nothesitate to kiss you tenderly, and cry with delight on your bosom youold thief. "

They both started at her words with amazement, and her husband said:"Egad, Alick, Helen's malady seems catching. What the deuce do you mean, Molly? or must I, too, send for a doctor?"

"Shall I introduce you to the lady, though?" she proceeded, addressingthe father; "but remember that, if I do, you must be a man, Mr. Folliard!"

"In God's name! do what you like, " said Mr. Hamilton, "but do it atonce. "

She went upstairs, and said, "As I do not wish to bring your father up, Helen, until he is prepared for a meeting with Mr. Reilly, I will bringyou down to him. The sight of you now will give him new life. "

"Oh, come, then, " said Helen, "bring me to my father; do not lose amoment, not a moment--oh, let me see him instantly!"

The poor old man suspected something. "For a thousand!" said he, "thisis some good news about Helen!"

"Make your mind up for that, " replied his mend; "as sure as you live itis; and if it be, bear it stoutly. "

In the course of a few minutes Mrs. Hamilton entered the room withHelen, now awakened to perfect reason, smiling, and leaning upon herarm. "Oh, dear papa!" she exclaimed, meeting him, with a flood of tears, and resting her head on his bosom. 

"What, my darling!--my darling! And you know papa once more!--you knowhim again, my darling Helen! Oh, thanks be to God for this happy day!"And he kissed her lips, and pressed her to his heart, and wept over herwith ecstasy and delight. It was a tender and tearful embrace. 

"Oh, papa!" said she, "I fear I have caused you much pain and sorrow:something has been wrong, but I am well now that he is here. I felt thetones of his voice in my heart. "

"Who, darling, who?"

"Reilly, papa. "

"Hamilton, bring him down instantly; but oh, Helen, darling, how will Isee him?--how can I see him? but he must come, and we must all be happy. Bring him down. "

"You know, papa, that Reilly is generosity itself. "

"He is, he is, Helen, and how could I blame you for loving him?"

[Illustration: PAGE 183--My son! my son!]

Reilly soon entered; but the old man, already overpowered by what hadjust occurred, was not able to speak to him for some time. He claspedand pressed his hand, however, and at length said:

"My son! my son! Now, " he added, after he had recovered himself, "nowthat I have both together, I will not allow one minute to pass until Igive you both my blessing; and in due time, when Helen gets strong, andwhen I get a little stouter, you shall be married; the parson and thepriest will make you both happy. Reilly, can you forgive me?"

"I have nothing to forgive you, sir, " replied Reilly; "whatever you didproceeded from your excessive affection for your daughter; I am morethan overpaid for any thing I may have suffered myself; had it been agesof misery, this one moment would cancel the memory of it for ever. "

"I cannot give you my estate, Reilly, " said the old man, "for that isentailed, and goes to the next male issue; but I can give you fiftythousand pounds with my girl, and that will keep you both comfortablefor life. "

"I thank you, sir, " replied Reilly, "and for the sake of your daughterI will not reject it; but I am myself in independent circumstances, andcould, even without your generosity, support Helen in a rank of life notunsuitable to her condition. "

It is well known that, during the period in which the incidents of ourstory took place, no man claiming the character of a gentleman evertravelled without his own servant to attend him. After Reilly's returnto his native place, his first inquiries, as might be expected, wereafter his _Cooleen Bawn_; and his next, after those who had been in somedegree connected with those painful circumstances in which he had beeninvolved previous to his trial and conviction. He found Mr. Brown andMr. Hastings much in the same state in which he left them. The latter, who had been entrusted with all his personal and other property, undercertain conditions, that depended upon his return after the term of hissentence should have expired, now restored to him, and again reinstatedhim on the original terms into all his landed and other property, together with such sums as had accrued from it during his absence, so that he now found himself a wealthy man. Next to _Cooleen Bawn_, however, one of his first inquiries was after Fergus Reilly, whom hefound domiciled with a neighboring middleman as a head servant, or kindof under steward. We need not describe the delight of Fergus on oncemore meeting his beloved relative at perfect liberty, and free from alldanger in his native land. 

"Fergus, " said Reilly, "I understand you are still a bachelor--how doesthat come?"

"Why, sir, " replied Fergus, "now that you know every thing about theunhappy state of the _Cooleen Bawn_, surely you can't blame poor Ellenfor not desartin' her. As for me I cared nothing about any other girl, and I never could let either my own dhrame, or what you said wasyours, out o' my head. I still had hope, and I still have, that she mayrecover. "

Reilly made no reply to this, for he feared to entertain the vagueexpectation to which Fergus alluded. 

"Well, Fergus, " said he, "although I have undergone the sentence of aconvict, yet now, after my return, I am a rich man. For the sake of oldtimes--of old dangers and old difficulties--I should wish you to livewith me, and to attend me as my own personal servant or man. I shall getyou a suit of livery, and the crest of O'Reilly shall be upon it. I wishyou to attend upon me, Fergus, because you understand me, and because Inever will enjoy a happy heart, or one day's freedom from sorrow again. All hope of that is past, but you will be useful to me--and that youknow. "

Fergus was deeply affected at these words, although he was gratifiedin the highest degree at the proposal. In the course of a few days heentered upon his duties, immediately after which Reilly set out on hisjourney to Monaghan, to see once more his beloved, but unhappy, CooleenBaton. On arriving at that handsome and hospitable town, he put up atan excellent inn, called the "Western Arms, " kept by a man who was themodel of innkeepers, known by the sobriquet of "honest Peter Philips". We need, not now recapitulate that with which the reader is alreadyacquainted; but we cannot omit describing a brief interview which tookplace in the course of a few days after the restoration of the _CooleenBawn_ to the perfect use of her reason, between two individuals, who, we think, have some claim upon the good-will and good wishes of ourreaders. We allude to Fergus Reilly and the faithful Ellen Connor. Seated in a comfortable room in the aforesaid inn--now a respectableand admirably kept hotel--with the same arms over the door, were the twoindividuals alluded to. Before them stood a black bottle of a certainfragrant liquor, as clear and colorless as water from the purest spring, and, to judge of it by the eye, quite as harmless; but there was themistake. Never was hypocrisy better exemplified than by the contents ofthat bottle. The liquor in question came, Fergus was informed, fromthe green woods of Truagh, and more especially from a townland namedDerrygola, famous, besides, for stout men and pretty girls. 

"Well, now, Ellen darlin', " said Fergus, "if ever any two bachelors *were entitled to drink their own healths, surely you and I are. Here'sto us--a happy marriage, soon and sudden. As for myself, I've had thepatience of a Trojan. "

 *"Bachelor, " in Ireland, especially in the country parts of it, where English is not spoken correctly, is frequently applied to both the sexes. 

Ellen pledged him beautifully with her eyes, but very moderately withthe liquor. 

"Bedad!" he proceeded, "seven years--ay, and a half--wasn't a badapprenticeship, at any rate; but, as I tould Mr. Reilly before he leftthe country--upon my sowl, says I, Mr. Reilly, she's worth waitin' for;and he admitted it. "

"But, Fergus, did ever any thing turn out so happy for all parties? Tome it's like a dream; I can scarcely believe it. "

"Faith, and if it be a dhrame, I hope it's one we'll never waken from. And so the four of us are to be married on the same day; and we're allto live with the squire. "

"We are, Fergus; the Cooleen Bawn will have it so; but, indeed, herfather is as anxious for it almost as she is. Ah, no, Fergus, she couldnot part with her faithful Ellen, as she calls me; nor, after all, Fergus, would her faithful Ellen wish to part with her?"

"And he's to make me steward; begad, and if I don't make a good one, I'll make an honest one. Faith, at all events, Ellen, we'll be in acondition to provide for the childre', plaise God. "

Ellen gave him a blushing look of reproach, and desired him to keep aproper tongue in his head. 

"But what will we do with the five hundred, Ellen, that the squire andMr. Reilly made up between them?"

"We'll consult Mr. Reilly about it, " she replied, "and no doubt buthe'll enable us to lay it out to the best advantage. Now, Fergus dear, I must go, " she added; "you know she can't bear me even now to be anylength of time away from her. Here's God bless them both, and continuethem in the happiness they now enjoy. "

"Amen, " replied Fergus, "and here's God bless ourselves, and make usmore lovin' to one another every day we rise; and here's to take aforetaste of it now, you thief. "

Some slight resistance, followed by certain smacking sounds, closed theinterview; for Ellen, having started to her feet, threw on her cloak andbonnet, and hurried out of the room, giving back, however, a laughinglook at Fergus as she escaped. 

In a few months afterwards they were married, and lived with the old manuntil he became a grandfather to two children, the eldest a boy, andthe second a girl. Upon the same day of their marriage their humble butfaithful friends were also united; so that there was a double wedding. The ceremony, in the case of Reilly and his _Cooleen Bawn_, wasperformed by the Reverend Mr. Brown first, and the parish priestafterwards; Mr. Strong, who had been for several years conjoined to Mrs. Smellpriest, having been rejected by both parties as the officiatingclergyman upon the occasion, although the lovely bride was certainly hisparishioner. Age and time, however, told upon the old man; and at theexpiration of three years they laid him, with many tears, in the graveof his fathers. Soon after this Reilly and his wife, accompanied byFergus and Ellen--for the _Cooleen Bawn_ would not be separated fromthe latter--removed to the Continent, where they had a numerous family, principally of sons; and we need not tell our learned readers, at least, that those young men distinguished not only themselves, but their name, by acts of the most brilliant courage in continental warfare. And so, gentle reader, ends the troubled history of Willy Reilly and his own_Cooleen Bawn_.