CHAPTER XIV.—­Reilly takes Service with Squire Folliard.

Reilly led a melancholy life after the departure of the pious bishop.  A week, 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 to her; in the meantime, how was he to do this?  There was no letter-paper in the farmer’s house, nor any to be procured within miles, and, under these circumstances, he resolved to pay a visit to Mr. Brown.  After some trouble he was admitted to the presence of that gentleman, who could scarcely satisfy himself of his identity; but, at length, he felt assured, and asked him into the study.

“My dear Reilly,” said he, “I think you are infatuated.  I thought you had been out of the country long before this.  Why, in heaven’s name, do you remain in Ireland, when you know the difficulty of escape?  I have had, since I saw you last, two or three domiciliary visits from Whitecraft and his men, who searched my whole house and premises in a spirit of insolence that was, most indelicate and offensive.  Hastings and I have sent a memorial to the Lord Lieutenant, signed by some of the most respectable Protestant gentry in the, country, in which we stated his wanton tyranny as well as his oppression of his Majesty’s subjects—­harmless and loyal men, and whom he pursues with unsatiable vengeance, merely because they are Roman Catholics.  I certainly do not expect 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 narrow escapes; but I think it would be difficult to know me in my present disguise.”

“I grant that,” said Mr. Brown, “but then is there nothing to be apprehended from treachery?”

“I think not,” replied the other.  “There is only the farmer and his family, with whom the bishop and I harbored, who are aware of my disguise, and to that number I must now add yourself.”

“Well,” replied Mr. Brown, smiling, “I do not think you have much to apprehend from me.”

“No,” said Reilly, “you have given me too many substantial proofs of your confidence for that.  But I wish to write a letter; and I have neither pen, ink, nor paper; will you be good enough to lend me the use of your study for a few minutes, and your writing materials?”

The excellent clergyman immediately conducted him to the study, and placed the materials before him with his own hands, after which he left the room.  Reilly then sat down, and penned the following letter to his dear Cooleen Bawn: