His secretary acknowledged the receipt of the memorial, and stated that the object of his Excellency was not to administer the laws in cruelty, but in mercy; that he considered all classes of his Majesty’s subjects equally entitled to their protection; and that with respect to the persons against whom such serious charges and allegations had been made, he had only to say, that if they were substantiated against them in a court of justice, they must suffer like other criminals—­if they can be proved, Government will leave them, as it would any common felons, to the laws of the country.  His Excellency is determined to administer those laws with the strictest impartiality, and without leaning to any particular class or creed.  So far as the laws will allow him, their protection shall be extended, on just and equal principles to the poor and to the rich, to the Catholic and to the Protestant.

This communication, which was kept strictly secret, reached the Marquis of ——­ at a critical period of our narrative.  Whitecraft, who was ignorant of it, but sufficiently aware of the milder measures which the new Administration had adopted, finding that the trade of priest-hunting and persecution was, for the present, at an end, resolved to accelerate his marriage with Miss Folliard, and for this purpose he waited upon her father, in order to secure his consent.  His object was to retire to his English estates, and there pass the remainder of his life with his beautiful but reluctant bride.  He paid his visit about two o’clock, and was told that Miss Folliard and her father were in the garden.  Hither he accordingly repaired, and found the squire, his daughter, and Reilly, in the green-house.  When the squire saw him he cried out, with something of 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’s occupation’s gone,’ and the Earl of Chesterfield goes to mass every Sunday, and is now able to repeat his padareem in Irish.”

“I am glad to find you so pleasant, Mr. Folliard; but I’m delighted to see the beautiful state of your green-house—­oh, Miss Folliard!—­excuse me.  Your back was to me, and you were engaged in trailing that beautiful shrub; allow me the honor of shaking hands with you.”

“Sir Robert, I bid you good-day, but you see that I have my garden gloves on; you will excuse me.”

“Oh, Miss Folliard,” he replied, “your will is the spirit of the British Constitution 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 I hope so.”

“’Gad, you got it there, Sir Robert,” replied her father, laughing.

“I must confess it,” replied the baronet; “but I think, in order to ingratiate myself with Miss Folliard, I shall take whatever side she recommends me.  How, Mr. Folliard,” he proceeded, fixing his eyes upon Reilly—­“what the deuce is this?  Have you got Robinson Crusoe here?”