"Reilly," said she, as she ran to him, "dearest Reilly! there is little time to be lost. I perceive that a secret understanding respecting you exists between papa and that detestable baronet. Be on your guard, especially against the latter, who has evidently, ever since we sat down to dinner, contrived to bring papa round to his own way of thinking, as he will ultimately, perhaps, to worse designs and darker purposes. Above all things, speak nothing that can be construed against the existing laws. 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 danger may encompa.s.s you shall be shared by me, even at the risk of my life, or I shall extricate you out of it. But perhaps you will not be faithful to me. If so, I shudder to think what might happen."

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

She repeated his words, after which they had scarcely taken their seats when 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 as that he could, gain a full view of her countenance, he thought he could observe her complexion considerably heightened in color, and from her his glance was directed to Reilly. The squire, on the other hand, sat dull, silent, and unsociable, unless when addressing himself to the baronet, and immediately his genial manner returned to him.

With his usual impetuosity, however, when laboring under what he supposed 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 be otherwise."

"By the great Deliverer, that saved us from Pope and Popery, bra.s.s money and wooden shoes, I think the country will never be quiet till they are banished out of it."

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

"And so do I, Sir Robert," said Reilly. "I wish from my soul there was not a Papist, as you call them, in this unfortunate country! In any other country beyond the bounds of the British dominions they could enjoy freedom. But I wish it for another reason, gentlemen; if they were gone, you would then be taught to your cost the value of your estates and the source of your incomes. And now, Mr. Folliard, I am not conscious of having given you any earthly offence, but I cannot possibly pretend to misunderstand the object of your altered conduct and language. I am your guest, at your own express invitation. You know I am a 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 which I belong. As for that gentleman, I can only say that this roof and the presence of those who are under it const.i.tute his protection. But I envy not the man who could avail himself of such a position, for the purpose of insinuating an insult which he dare not offer under other circ.u.mstances. I will not apologize for taking my departure, for I feel that 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 of hospitality? Why, above all things, deliberately insult the man to whom you and I both owe so much? Oh, I cannot understand it. Some demon, equally cowardly and malignant, must have poisoned your own naturally generous 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; but in 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 your judgment for a little, and to return to the beautiful air you were enchanting us with."

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

[Ill.u.s.tration: PAGE 35--Touch me not, sir]

"Touch me not, sir," she replied, her glorious eyes flashing with indignation. "I charge you as the base cause of drawing down the disgrace of shame, the sin of ingrat.i.tude, on my father's head. But here that father stands, and there you, sir, stand; and sooner than become the wife of Sir Robert Whitecraft I would dash myself from the battlements of this castle. William Reilly, brave and generous young man, goodnight! It matters not who may forget the debt of grat.i.tude which this family owe you--I will not. No cowardly slanderer shall instil his poisonous calumnies against you into my ear. My opinion of you 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. As for _Cooleen Bawn_, she had now pa.s.sed the Rubicon, and there remained nothing for her but constancy to the truth of her affection, be the result what it might. She had, indeed, much of the vehemence of her father's character in her; much of his unchangeable purpose, when she felt or thought she was right; but not one of his unfounded whims or prejudices; for she was too n.o.ble-minded and sensible to be influenced by unbecoming or inadequate motives. With an indignant but beautiful scorn, that gave grace to resentment, she bowed to the baronet, then kissed 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 only surprised, but overpowered him for the moment. The baronet attempted to resume the conversation, but he found not his intended father-in-law in the mood for it. The light of truth, as it flashed from the spirit of his daughter, seemed to dispel the darkness of his recent suspicions; he dwelt upon the possibility of ingrat.i.tude 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, G.o.d may forgive me, but I will never forgive myself."

"Take care, sir," said the baronet, "that you are not under the spell of the Jesuit and your daughter too. Perhaps you will find, when it is too late, 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 will have 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 began gradually to picture to himself strange forms and objects in the glowing embers, one of whom he thought resembled the Red Rapparee about to shoot him; another, w.i.l.l.y Reilly making love to his daughter; and behind all, a high gallows, on which he beheld the said Reilly hanging for his crime.

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

"Helen," said he, "I am unhappy; I am distressed; I know not what to do!--may G.o.d forgive me if I have treated this young man with ingrat.i.tude. 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 as it 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 that the heart of your daughter is incapable of veiling a single thought that pa.s.ses in it from a parent who loves her so well, I will place its most cherished secret in your own keeping. I shall not be outdone even by you, dear papa, in generosity, in confidence, in affection. Papa," she added, placing her head upon his bosom, whilst the tears flowed fast down her cheeks, "papa, I love William Reilly--love him with a pure and disinterested pa.s.sion!--with a pa.s.sion which I feel const.i.tutes my destiny in this life--either for happiness or misery. That pa.s.sion is irrevocable. It is useless to ask me to control or suppress it, for I feel that the task is beyond my power. My love, however, is not base nor selfish, papa, but founded on virtue and honor. It may seem strange that I should make such a confession to you, for I know it is un--usual in young persons like me to do so; but remember, dear papa, that except yourself I have no friend. If I had a mother, or a sister, or a cousin of my own s.e.x, to whom I might confide and unburden my feelings, then indeed it is not probable I would make to you the confession which I have made; but we are alone, and you are the only being left me on whom can 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, and the very error, if it be one, is diminished by the magnanimity and truth which prompted you to disclose it to me. I will go to bed, dearest, and sleep if I can. I trust in G.o.d there is no calamity about to overshadow our house or destroy our happiness."

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

On reaching home Reilly found Fergus, one of his own relatives, as we have said, the same who, warned by his remonstrances, had abandoned the gang 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 now secure him if you like. I don't look upon sayin' this as treachery to him, nor would I mention it only that Pavideen, the smith, who shoes and doctors 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 Red Rapparee has a hand in it. He is promised a pardon from government, and some 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 can have it, and get an enemy put out of your way at the same time."

"No, Fergus," replied Keilly; "in a moment of indignation I threatened him in order to save the life of a fellow-creature. But let the laws deal with him. As for me, you know what he deserves at my hands, but I shall never become the hound of a government which oppresses me unjustly. No, no, it is precisely because a price is laid upon the unfortunate 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 should betray me, Fergus, he cannot make me guilty. To the laws, to G.o.d, and his own conscience, I leave him. No, Fergus, all sympathy between me and the laws that oppress us is gone. Let them vindicate themselves against thieves and robbers and murderers, with as much vigilance and energy as they do against the harmless forms of religion and the rights of conscience, and the country will soon be free from such licentious pests as 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 so deeply 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! I have no language to express what I feel. Proceed, however," he added, attempting to calm the tumult that agitated his heart; "what about this plot or plan for putting me out of the country?"

"Well, sir, it's determined on to send you, by the means of the same laws you speak of, out of the country. The red villain is to come in with a charge against you and surrender himself to government as a penitent man, and the person who is to protect him is Sir Robert Whitecraft."

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