“Reilly, sir!” exclaimed the man in astonishment.  “Are you sure, sir, it’s not Sir Robert Whitecraft you want?”

“Are you sure, sir, that it’s not a cut of my whip about the ears you want?  Conduct me to where Reilly is, you rascal; do you pretend to know the individual I wish to see better than I do myself?  Push along, sirra.”

The turnkey accordingly conducted him to Reilly’s cell, which, considerably to his surprise, was a much more comfortable one than had been assigned to the baronet.  When they had reached the corridor in which it was situated, Folliard said, “Knock at the door, and when he appears tell him that I wish to see him.”

“I will, your honor.”

“Say I won’t detain him long.”

“I will, your honor.”

“Hang your honor, go and do what I desire you.”

“I will, your honor.”

Reilly’s astonishment was beyond belief on learning that his vindictive prosecutor had called upon him; but on more mature reflection, and comparing what had happened before with the only motive which he could assign for such a visit, he felt pretty certain that the squire came to revive, in his own person, a subject which he had before proposed to him through his daughter.  There was no other earthly object to which he could attribute his visit; but of course he made up his mind to receive him with every courtesy.  At length Folliard entered, and, before Reilly had time to utter a syllable, commenced: 

“Reilly,” said he, “you are astonished to see me here?”

“I am, sir,” replied Reilly, “very much.”

“Yes, I thought you would; and very few persons, except myself, would come upon such an errand to the man that has disgraced my daughter, myself, and my family; you have stained our name, sir—­a name that was never associated with any thing but honor and purity until you came among us.”

“If you have paid me this visit, sir, only for the purpose of uttering language which you know must be very painful to me, I would rather you had declined to call upon me at all.  I perceive no object you can have in it, unless to gratify a feeling of enmity on your part, and excite one of sorrow on mine.  I say sorrow, because, on considering our relative positions, and knowing the impetuosity of your temper, I am sorry to see you here; it is scarcely generous in you to come, for the purpose of indulging in a poor, and what, after all, may be an equivocal and premature triumph over a man whose love for your daughter, you must know, will seal his lips against the expression of one offensive word towards you.”

“But how, let me ask, sir, do you know what brought me here?  I didn’t come to scold you, nor to triumph over you; and I have already said the worst I shall say.  I know very well that you and Whitecraft will be hanged, probably from the same rope too, but, in the meantime, I would save you both if I could.  I fear indeed that to save him is out of the question, because it appears that there’s a cart-load of indictments against him.”