"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 obstacles should 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 would suffer to go into an early grave, he said, sooner than abandon his religion; and I loved him a thousand times better for his n.o.ble adherence to it."

"Did he not save your father's life?"

"He did, and the life of a faithful and attached old servant at the same time."

Now, although this fact was generally known, yet the statement of it here occasioned a strong expression of indignation against the man who could come forward and prosecute the individual, to whose courage and gallantry he stood indebted for his escape from murder. The uncertainty of Folliard's character, however, was so well known, and his whimsical changes of opinion such a matter of proverb among the people, that many persons said to each other:

"The cracked old squire is in one of his tantrums now; he'll be a proud man if he can convict Reilly to-day; and perhaps to-morrow, or in a month hence, he'll be cursing; himself for what he did--for that's his way."

"Well, Miss Folliard," said Fox, "we will not detain you any longer; this to you must be a painful scene; you may retire, madam."

[Ill.u.s.tration: PAGE 175--Give that ring to the prisoner]

She did not immediately withdraw, but taking a green silk purse out of her bosom, she opened it, and, after inserting her long, white, taper fingers into it, she brought out a valuable emerald ring, and placing it in 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 is the last time my eyes can ever rest upon you with love and sorrow." Here a few bright tears ran down her lovely cheeks. "If you should be sent to a far-off land, wear this for the sake of her who appreciated your virtues, your n.o.ble spirit, and your pure and disinterested love; look upon it when, perhaps, the Atlantic may roll between us, and when you do, think of your _Cooleen Bawn_, and the love she bore you; but if a still unhappier fate should be yours, let it be placed with you in your grave, and next that heart, that n.o.ble heart, that refused to sacrifice your 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, the majesty of her beauty, and the pathos of her expressions, absolutely flooded the court with tears. The judge wept, and hardened old barristers, with hearts like the nether millstone, were forced to put their handkerchiefs to their eyes; but as they felt that it might be detrimental to! their professional characters to be caught weeping, they shaded off the pathos under the hypocritical pretence of blowing their noses. 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 his face upon his hands, as he bent over the bar, in order to conceal his emotion. He received the ring with moist eyes, kissed it, and placed it in 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 she met Mrs. Brown and Mrs. Hastings, both of whom she found in tears--for they had been in the gallery, and witnessed all that had happened. They both embraced her tenderly, and attempted to console her as well as they could; but a weight like death, she said, pressed upon her heart, and she begged them not to distract her by their sympathy, kind and generous as she felt it to be, but to allow her to sit, and nurture her own thoughts until she could hear the verdict of the jury. Mrs. Hastings returned to the gallery, and arrived there in time to hear the touching and brilliant speech of Fox, which we are not presumptuous enough to imagine, much less to stultify ourselves by attempting to give. He dashed the charge of Reilly's theft of the jewels to pieces--not a difficult task, after the evidence that had been given; and then dwelt upon the loves of this celebrated pair with such force and eloquence and pathos that the court was once more melted into tears. The closing speech by the leading counsel against Reilly was bitter; but the gist of 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 consent upon 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 had been guilty. The state of the law at the present time, he a.s.sured them, rendered it a felony to marry a Catholic and a Protestant together; and he then left the case in the hands, he said, of an honest Protestant jury.

The judge's charge was brief. He told the jury that they could not convict the prisoner on the imputed felony of the jewels; but that the proof of his having taken away Miss Folliard from her father's house, with--as the law stood--her felonious abduction, for the purpose of inveigling her into an unlawful marriage with himself, was the subject for their consideration. Even had he been a Protestant, the law could afford 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 in his 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 a convulsive working about the chest and glottis of the foreman, who at length 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 set to 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 was p.r.o.nounced, she instantly withdrew; but how to convey the melancholy tidings to the _Cooleen Bawn_ she knew not. In the meantime the foreman, who had not fully delivered himself of the verdict, added, after two or three desperate hiccups--"on the second count."

This, if the foreman had not labored under such an extraordinary hesitation, might have prevented much suffering, and many years of unconscious calamity to one of the unhappy parties of whom we are writing, 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_ was awaiting the verdict with a dreadful intensity of feeling, the latter rose up, and, throwing her arms about her neck, looked into her face, with an expression of eagerness and wildness, which Mrs. Hastings thought might be best allayed by knowing the worst, as the heart, in such circ.u.mstances, generally collects itself, and falls back upon its own resources.

"Well, Mrs. Hastings, well--the verdict?"

"Collect yourself, my child--be firm--be a woman. Collect yourself--for you will require it. The verdict--Guilty!"

The _Cooleen Bawn_ did not faint--nor become weak--but she put her fair white hand to her forehead--then looked around the room, then upon Mrs.

Brown, and lastly upon Mrs. Hastings. They also looked upon her. G.o.d help both her and them! Yes, they looked upon her countenance--that lovely countenance--and then into her eyes--those eyes! But, alas! where was their beauty now? Where their expression?

"Miss Folliard! my darling Helen!" exclaimed Mrs. Hastings, in tears--"great G.o.d, what is this, Mrs. Brown? Come here and look at her."

Mrs. Brown, on looking at her, whispered, in choking accents, "Oh! my G.o.d, the child's reason is overturned; what is there now in those once glorious eyes but vacancy? Oh, that I had never lived to see this awful day! Helen, the treasure, the delight of all who ever knew you, what is wrong? Oh, speak to us--recognize us--your own two best friends--Helen--Helen! speak to us."

She looked upon them certainly; but it was with a dead and vacant stare which wrung their hearts.

"Come," said she, "tell me where is William Reilly? Oh, bring me to William Reilly; they have taken me from him, and I. know not where to find him."

The two kind-hearted ladies looked at one another, each stupefied by the mystery 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 to Mr. 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 p.r.o.nounced sentence upon Reilly. The old man, who, under all possible circ.u.mstances, was so affectionately devoted and attentive to his daughter, immediately proceeded to the room, in a state of great triumph and exultation exclaiming, "Guilty, guilty; we have noosed him at last." He even snapped his fingers, and danced about for a time, until rebuked by Mrs.

Hastings.

"Unhappy and miserable old man," she exclaimed, with tears, "what have you done? Look at the condition of your only child, whom you have murdered. She is now a maniac."

[Ill.u.s.tration: PAGE 176--What, what is this? What do you mean?]

"What," he exclaimed, rushing to her, "what, what is this? What do you mean? Helen, my darling, my child--my delight--what is wrong with you?

Recollect yourself, my dearest treasure. Do you not know me, your own father? Oh, Helen, Helen! for the love of G.o.d speak to me. Say you know me--call me father--rouse yourself--recollect me--don't you know who I am?"

There, however, was the frightfully vacant glance, but no reply.

"Oh," said she, in a low, calm voice, "where is William Reilly? They have taken me from him, and I cannot find him; bring me to William Reilly."