When Fergus entered his cell he found him neither fettered nor manacled, but perfectly in the enjoyment at least of bodily freedom.  It is impossible, indeed, to say how far the influence of money may have gone in securing him the comforts which surrounded him, and the attentions which he received.  On entering his cell, Fergus was struck by the calm and composed air with which he received him.  His face, it is true, was paler than usual, but a feeling of indignant pride, if not of fixed but stern indignation, might be read under the composure into which he forced himself, and which he endeavored to suppress.  He approached Fergus, and extending his hand with a peculiar smile, very difficult to be described, said: 

“Fergus, I am glad to see you; I hope you are safe—­at least I have heard so.”

“I am safe, sir, and free,” replied Fergus; “thanks to the Red Rapparee and the sheriff for it.”

“Well,” proceeded Reilly, “you have one comfort—­the Red Rapparee will neither tempt you nor trouble you again; but is there no danger of his gang taking up his quarrel and avenging him?”

“His gang, sir?  Why, only for me he would a’ betrayed every man of them to Whitecraft and the Government, and had them hanged, drawn, and quartered—­ay, and their heads grinning at us in every town in the county.”

“Well, Fergus, let his name and his crimes perish with him; but, as for you, what do you intend to do?”

“Troth, sir,” replied Fergus, “it’s more than I rightly know.  I had my hopes, like others; but, somehow, luck has left all sorts of lovers of late—­from Sir Robert Whitecraft to your humble servant.”

“But you may thank God,” said Reilly, with a smile, “that you had not Sir Robert Whitecraft’s luck.”

“Faith, sir,” replied Fergus archly, “there’s a pair of us may do so.  You went nearer his luck—­such as it was—­than I did.”

“True enough,” replied the other, with a serious air; “I had certainly a narrow escape; but I wish to know, as I said, what you intend to do?  It is your duty now, Fergus, to settle industriously and honestly.”

“Ah, sir, honestly.  I didn’t expect that from you, Mr. Reilly.”

“Excuse me, Fergus,” said Reilly, taking him by the hand; “when I said honestly I did not mean to intimate any thing whatsoever against your integrity.  I know, unfortunately, the harsh circumstances which drove you to associate with that remorseless villain and his gang; but I wish you to resume an industrious life, and, if Ellen Connor is disposed to unite her fate with yours, I have provided the means—­ample means for you both to be comfortable and happy.  She who was so faithful to her mistress will not fail to make you a good wife.”

“Ah,” replied Fergus, “it’s I that knows that well; but, unfortunately, I have no hope there.”

“No hope; how is that?  I thought your affection was mutual.”

“So it is, sir—­or, rather, so it was; but she has affection for nobody now, barring the Cooleen Bawn.”