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.