—Fergus Reilly is on the Trail of the Rapparee—He Escapes—Sir Robert begins to feel Confident of Success.

Lanigan, on passing the dining parlor, heard what he conceived to be loud and angry voices inside the room, and as the coast was clear he deliberately put his ear to the key-hole, which ear drank in the following conversation:

“I say, Sir Robert, I\'ll shoot the villain. Do not hold me. My pistols are unloaded and loaded every day in the year; and ever since I transported 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 a suspicious 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, unless I shoot him?”

“Under the last Administration, sir, I could have answered your question; 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 after tomorrow; the documents are all ready, and in the course of to-morrow the license can be procured. In the meantime, you must dispatch him to-night.”

“What do you mean, Sir Robert?”

“I say you must send him about his business. In point of fact, I think the fellow knows that he is discovered, and it is not unlikely that he may make an effort to carry off your daughter this very night.”

“But, Sir Robert, can we not seize him and surrender him to the authorities? Is he not an outlaw?”

“Unfortunately, Mr. Folliard, he is not an outlaw; I stretched a little too far there. It is true I got his name put into the Hew and-Cry, but upon 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 some one 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, “that neither 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, and won\'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 with you, but you must be calm and quiet, and not seem to entertain any suspicions.”

“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 poison that 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 Earl came to rule over us; and sure, they say, he\'s a greater gentleman than the king himself. All I can say is, that if this same Sir Robert forces the Cooleen Baum to such an unnatural marriage, I\'ll try a dose, hit or miss, for a cowheel anyway.”

Lanigan laughed, and the butler passed on with the lunch.

We may state here that the squire, notwithstanding his outspoken manner against Popery, like a terrible reverend baronet not long deceased, who, notwithstanding his discovery of the most awful Popish plots, and notwithstanding the most extravagant denunciations against Popery, like him, we say, the old squire seldom had more than one or two Protestant servants under his roof. Pat hated Longshanks, as he termed him, as did all the household, which, indeed, was very natural, as he was such a notorious persecutor of their religion and their clergy.

Lanigan lost no time in acquainting Reilly with what he had heard, and the heart of the latter palpitated with alarm on hearing that the next day but one was likely to join his Cooleen Bawn, by violent and unnatural proceedings, to the man whom she so much detested. He felt that it was now time to act in order to save her. Arrangements were consequently made between them as to the time and manner of their escape, and those arrangements, together with the dialogue he had overheard, 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 is affected by the state of the atmosphere. He looked into the future with terror, and again became, to the astonishment of his guest—we now talk of their conduct after dinner—actuated by some thought or impulse that put him into high spirits. Whitecraft, cool and cautious, resolved to let him have his way; for the squire was drinking deeply, and the Burgundy was good and strong.

“Bob, my boy,” said he, “you don\'t drink, and that is a bad sign. You have either a bad head of late, or a bad heart, which is worse. Hang you, sir, why don\'t you drink? I have seen you lay lots of my guests under the table when you were quite cool; but now, what are you at? They can\'t run away to-night. Helen doesn\'t know that the discovery has been made. And now, Bob, you dog, listen to me, I say—would you have had the manliness and courage to expose yourself for the sake of a pretty girl as he did?—that is—here\'s a bumper to Helen! Curse you, will nothing make you drink? No, faith, he hadn\'t seen Helen at the time; it was for a 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 Whitecraft was obliged to call up some of the male servants to carry him to his chamber and put him to bed. In this task Lanigan assisted, and thanked his stars that he was incapacitated from watching the lovers, or taking any means to prevent their escape. As for Whitecraft, thought he, I will soon send him about his business. Now, this gentleman\'s suspicions were the more deeply excited, in consequence of Helen\'s refusal to meet him at either lunch or dinner, a refusal which she gave on the plea of indisposition. He had therefore made up his mind to watch the motions of Cooleen Bawn, and he would have included Reilly in his surveillance were it not that Lanigan informed him of what he termed the mysterious disappearance of the under-gardener.

“What!” exclaimed Whitecraft, “is he gone?”

“He has gone, Sir Robert, and he left his week\'s wages behind him, for he never came to the steward to ask it. And now, Sir Robert, to tell you the 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 the Catholics—have the countenance of Government, I think that riding late won\'t be for your health. The night air, you know, isn\'t wholesome to some people. I am merely givin\' you a hint, Sir Robert, bekaise you are a 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. Who knows what Reilly may be plotting? You know he doesn\'t like a bone in your honor\'s skin; and the Reillys are cruel and desperate.”

“But, Lanigan, are you aware of any plot or conspiracy that has been got up against my life?”

“Not at all, your honor; but I put it to yourself, sir, whether you don\'t feel that I\'m speaking the truth.”

“I certainly know very well,” replied the baronet, “that I am exceedingly unpopular with the Popish party; but, in my conduct towards them, 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 and others were supported and egged on by such laws. Why, sir, a hangman could—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 would shake hands with a hangman, unless some unfortunate highway robber or murderer, that gives him his hand because he knows that he will never see his purty face agin. This discourse is all folly, however—you haven\'t a minute to lose—shall I order your horse?”

“Yes, you had better, Lanigan,” replied the other, with a dogged appearance of cowardice and revenge. He could not forgive Lanigan the illustration that involved the comparison of the hangman; still his conscience and his cowardice both whispered to him that the cook was in the right.

This night was an eventful one. The course of our narrative brings us and our readers to the house of Captain Smellpriest, who had for his next-door neighbor the stalwart curate of the parish, the Rev. Samson Strong, to whom some allusion has been I already made in these pages. Now the difference between Smellpriest and Whitecraft was this—Smellpriest was not a magistrate, as Whitecraft was, and in his priest-hunting expeditions only acted upon warrants issued by some bigoted and persecuting magistrate or other who lived in the district. But as his propensity to hunt those unfortunate persons was known, the execution of the warrants was almost in every instance entrusted to his hands. 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 and executioner. At all events, the race of blood was pretty equal between them, so far as the clergy was concerned; but in general enmity to the Catholic community at large, Whitecraft was far more cruel and comprehensive in his vengeance. It is indeed an observation founded upon truth and experience, that in all creeds, in proportion to his ignorance and bigotry, so is the violence of the persecutor. Whitecraft, the self-constituted champion of Protestantism, had about as much religion as Satan himself—or indeed less, for we are told that he believes and trembles, while Whitecraft, on the contrary, neither believed nor trembled. But if he did not fear God, he certainly feared man, and on the night in question went home with as craven a heart—thanks to Lanigan—as ever beat in a coward\'s bosom. Smellpriest, however, differed from Whitecraft in many points; he was brave, though cruel, and addicted to deep potations. Whitecraft, it is true, drank more deeply still 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 it had been drawn, unless, indeed, to reduce him to greater sobriety and sharpen his prejudices.

Be this as it may, the Rev. Samson Strong made his appearance in Smellpriest\'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 and hiccuping both at the same time.

“It\'s a hunt, my dear friend. One of those priests of Baal has united in unholy bands a Protestant subject with a subject of the harlot of abominations.”

“Samson, my buck,” said Smellpriest, “I hope this Popish priest of yours will not turn out to be a wild-goose. You know you have sent me upon many a wild-goose chase before; in—in—in fact, you nev—never sent me upon any other. You\'re a blockhead, oh, divine Samson; and that—that thick head of yours would flatten a cannon-ball. But what is it?—an intermarriage between the two P\'s—Popish and Protestant?”

“My dear,” said his wife, “you must be aware that the Popishers have only got liberty to clatter their beads in public; but not to marry a Popisher to a Protestanter. This is a glorious opportunity for you to come 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 call them, sir, that I don\'t feel as if I—but I can\'t express what I feel at his 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 glances pass between his wife and the broad-shouldered curate.

“No, madam, only about two miles. Smellpriest, you know Jack Houlaghan\'s stripe?”

“Yes—I know Jack Houlaghan\'s stripe, in Kilrudden.”

“Well, when you g\'et to the centre of the stripe, look a little to your right, and—as the night is light enough—you will see a house—a cottage rather; to this cottage bring your men, and there you will find your game. I would not, captain, under other circumstances, advise you to 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 with a little refreshment.”

He was easily induced to do so, and he accordingly took a couple of glasses of punch, and when about to mount his horse, it was found that he 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, was well armed. It is unnecessary to state to the reader that the pursuit was a vain one. They searched the house to no purpose; neither priest or friar was there, and he, consequently, had the satisfaction of performing another wild-goose chase with his usual success, whenever the Rev. Samson Strong sent him in pursuit. In the meantime the moon went down, and the night became exceedingly dark; but the captain\'s spirits were high and boisterous, so much so that they began to put themselves forth in song, the song in question being the once celebrated satire upon James the Second and Tyrconnell, called “Lillibullero,” now “The Protestant Boys.” How this song gained so much popularity it is difficult to guess, for we are bound to say that a more pointless and stupid 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 full chorus, and request our readers to accompany us to another locality.

The sheriff had now recovered from a dreadful attack of the prevailing epidemic, and was able to resume his duties. In the meantime he had heard of the change which had taken place in the administration of affairs at headquarters—a change at which he felt no regret, but rather a good deal of satisfaction, as it relieved him from the performance of very disagreeable and invidious duties, and the execution of many severe and inhuman laws. He was now looking over and signing some papers, when he rang the bell, and a servant entered. “Tom,” said he, “there is an old man, a poor mendicant, to call here, who was once a servant in our family; when he comes show him into the office. I expect some important family information from him respecting the property which we are disputing 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, and it was on the evening of the same that Smellpriest was sent upon the usual chase, on the information of the Rev. Samson Strong; so that the events to which we have alluded occurred, as if by some secret relation to each other, on the same day.

At length our friend Fergus entered the office, in his usual garb of an aged and confirmed mendicant.

“Well, Reilly,” said the sheriff, “I am glad you have come. I could have taken up this ruffian, this Red Rapparee, as he is properly called, upon suspicion; but that would have occasioned delay; and it is my object to lodge him in jail this night, so as to give him no chance of escape unless he breaks prison; but in order to prevent that, I shall give strict injunctions, in consequence of the danger to be apprehended from so 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; he done it twice before; and he\'s under the notion that he never was born to 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 to what I have already done. You know what I have promised you, and that for some time past, and that I have the Secretary\'s letter stating that you are free, and have to dread neither arrest nor punishment; but that is upon the condition that you shall give all the evidence against this man that you are possessed of. In that case the Government will also bountifully reward you besides.”

“The Government need not think of any such thing, your honor,” replied Reilly; “a penny of Government money will never cross my pocket. It isn\'t for any reward I come against this man, but because he joined the blood-hounds of Sir Robert Whitecraft against his own priests and his own religion; or at last against the religion he professed, for I don\'t think 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, to take the bed from undher the sick father or the sick mother, and to leave 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 like a man in the face of danger. That I may never see to-morrow,” he proceeded, with vehemence, “but I\'d rather rob ten rich men than harish one poo............