“Well, but come along,” replied the squire; “I have changed my mind; we shall hang them both; Sir Robert will assist and support me.  I could overlook the offence of a man who only took my purse; yes, I could overlook that, but the man who would rob me of my child—­of the solace and prop of my heart and life—­of—­of—­of—­”

Here the tears came down his cheeks so copiously that his sobs prevented him from proceeding.  He recovered himself, however, for indeed he was yet scarcely sober after the evening’s indulgence, and the two parties returned to his house, where, after having two or three glasses of Burgundy to make his hand steady, he prepared himself to take the sheriff’s informations and sign unfortunate Reilly’s committal to Sligo jail.  The vindictive tenacity of resentment by which the heart of the ruffian Rapparee was animated against that young man was evinced, on this occasion, by a satanic ingenuity of malice that was completely in keeping with the ruffian’s character.  It was quite clear, from the circumstances we are about to relate, that the red miscreant had intended to rob Folliard’s house on the night of his attack upon it, in addition to the violent abduction of his daughter.  We must premise here that Reilly and the Rapparee were each strongly guarded in different rooms, and the first thing the latter did was to get some one to inform Mr. Folliard that he had a matter of importance concerning Reilly to mention to him.  This was immediately on their return, and before the informations against Reilly were drawn up.  Folliard, who knew not what to think, paused for some time, and at! last, taking the sheriff along with him, went! to hear what O’Donnel had to say.

“Is that ruffian safe?” he asked, before entering the room; “have you so secured him that he can’t be mischievous?”

“Quite safe, your honor, and as harmless as a lamb.”

He and the sheriff then entered, and found the huge savage champing his teeth and churning with his jaws, until a line of white froth encircled his mouth, rendering him a hideous and fearful object to look at.

“What is this you want with me, you misbegotten villain,” said the squire.  “Stand between the ruffian and me, fellows, in the meantime—­what is it, sirra?”

“Who’s the robber now, Mr. Folliard?” he asked, with something, however, of a doubtful triumph in his red glaring eye.  “Your daughter had jewels in a black cabinet, and I’d have secured the same jewels and your daughter along with them, on a certain night, only for Reilly; and it was very natural he should out-general me, which he did; but it was only to get both for himself.  Let him be searched at wanst, and, although I don’t say he has them, yet I’d give a hundred to one he has; she would never carry them while he was with her.”

The old squire, who would now, with peculiar pleasure, have acted in the capacity of hangman in Reilly’s case, had that unfortunate young man been doomed to undergo the penalty of the law, and that no person in the shape of Jack Ketch was forthcoming—­he, we say—­the squire—­started at once to the room where Reilly was secured, accompanied also by the sheriff, and, after rushing in with a countenance inflamed by passion, shouted out: