“Confound it,” the squire soliloquized, on their way home, “I am as stupid as Whitecraft himself, who was never stupid until now; there have I been with him in that cursed dungeon, and neither of us ever thought of taking measures for his defence.  Why, he must have the best lawyers at the Bar, and fee them like princes.  Gad!  I have a great notion to ride back and speak to him on the subject; he’s in such a confounded trepidation about his life that he can think of nothing else.  No matter, I shall write to him by a special messenger early in the morning.  It would be a cursed slap in the face to have one of our leading men hanged—­only, after all, for carrying out the wishes of an anti-Papist Government, who connived at his conduct, and encouraged him in it.  I know he expected a coronet, and I have no doubt but he’d have got one had his party remained in; but now all the unfortunate devil is likely to get is a rope—­and be hanged to them!  However, as to my own case about Reilly—­I must secure a strong bar against him; and if we can only prevail upon Helen to state the facts as they occurred, there is little doubt that he shall suffer; for hang he must, in consequence of the disgrace he has brought upon my daughter’s name and mine.  Whatever I might have forgiven, I will never forgive him that.”

He then rode on at a rapid pace, and did not slacken his speed until he reached home.  Dinner was ready, and he sat down with none but Helen, who could scarcely touch a morsel.  Her father saw at once the state of her mind, and felt that it would be injudicious to introduce any subject that might be calculated to excite her.  They accordingly talked upon commonplace topics, and each assumed as much cheerfulness, and more than they could command.  It was a miserable sight, when properly understood, to see the father and daughter forced, by the painful peculiarity of their circumstances, thus to conceal their natural sentiments from each other.  Love, however, is often a disturber of families, as in the case of Reilly and Cooleen Bawn; and so is an avaricious ambition, when united to a selfish and a sensual attachment, as in the case of Whitecraft.

It is unnecessary now, and it would be only tedious, to dwell upon the energetic preparations that were made for the three approaching trials.  Public rumor had taken them up and sent them abroad throughout the greater portion of the kingdom.  The three culprits were notorious—­Sir Robert Whitecraft, the priest-hunter and prosecutor; the notorious Red Rapparee, whose exploits had been commemorated in a thousand ballads; and “Willy Reilly,” whose love for the far-famed Cooleen Bawn, together with her unconquerable passion for him, had been known throughout the empire.  In fact, the interest which the public felt in the result of the approaching trials was intense, not only in Ireland, but throughout England and Scotland, where the circumstances connected with them were borne on the wings of the press.  Love, however, especially the romance of it—­and here were not only romance but reality enough—­love, we say, overcomes all collateral interests—­and the history of the loves of Willy Reilly and his “dear Cooleen Bawn” even then touched the hearts of thousands, and moistened many a young eye for his calamities and early fate, and the sorrows of his Cooleen Bawn.