“I feel, Mr. Reilly, that you are a man of honor; and, in point of fact, there is ample apology for your conduct in the exquisite beauty of the young lady who accompanies you; but I must also feel for her father, whose bereavement, occasioned by her loss, would most assuredly break his heart.”

Here a deep panting of the bosom, accompanied by violent sobs, was heard by the party, and Cooleen Bawn whispered to Reilly, in a voice nearly stifled by grief and excitement: 

“Dear Reilly, I love you; but it was madness in us to take this step; let me return to my father—­only let me see him safe?”

“But Whitecraft?”

“Death sooner.  Reilly, I am ill, I am ill; this struggle is too much for me.  What shall I do?  My head is swimming.”

[Illustration:  PAGE 140—­discharged a pistol at our hero]

She had scarcely uttered these words when her father, accompanied by his servants, dashed rapidly up, and Cummiskey, the old huntsman, instantly seized Reilly, exclaiming, “Mr. Reilly, we have you now;” and whilst he spoke, his impetuous old master dashed his horse to one side, and discharged a pistol at our hero, and this failing, he discharged another.  Thanks to Lanigan, however, they were both harmless, that worthy man having forgotten to put in bullets, or even as much powder as would singe an ordinary whisker.

“Forbear, sir,” exclaimed the sheriff, addressing Cummiskey; “unhand Mr. Reilly.  He is already in custody, and you, Mr. Folliard, may thank God that you are not a murderer this night.  As a father, I grant that an apology may be made for your resentment, but not to the shedding of blood.”

“Lanigan! villain! treacherous and deceitful villain!” shouted the squire, “it was your perfidy that deprived me of my revenge.  Begone, you sneaking old profligate, and never let me see your face again.  You did not load my pistols as you ought.”

“No, sir,” replied Lanigan, “and I thank God that I did not.  It wasn’t my intention to see your honor hanged for murder.”

“Mr. Folliard,” observed the sheriff, you ought to bless God that gave you a prudent servant, who had too much conscience to become the instrument of your vengeance.  Restrain your resentment for the present, and leave Mr. Reilly to the laws of his country.  We shall now proceed to your house, where, as a magistrate, you can commit him to prison, and I will see the warrant executed this night.  We have also another prisoner of some celebrity, the Red Rapparee.”

“By sun and moon, I’ll go bail for him,” replied the infuriated squire.  “I like that fellow because Reilly does not.  Sir Robert spoke to me in his favor.  Yes, I shall go bail for him, to any amount.”

“His offence is not a bailable one,” said the cool sheriff; “nor, if the thing were possible, would it be creditable in you, as a magistrate, to offer yourself as bail for a common robber, one of the most notorious highwaymen of the day.”