Reilly paused, and appeared deeply moved by this.  “What,” said he, “will she not leave her?  But I am not surprised at it.”

“No, sir, she will not leave her, but has taken an oath to stay by her night and day, until—­better times come.”

We may say here that Reillys friends took care that neither jailer nor turnkey should make him acquainted with the unhappy state of the Cooleen Bawn; he was consequently ignorant of it, and, fortunately, remained so until after his return home.

“Fergus,” said Reilly, “can you tell me how the Cooleen Bawn bears the sentence which sends me to a far country?”

“How would she bear it, sir?  You needn’t ask:  Connor, at all events, will not part from her—­not, anyway, until you come back.”

“Well, Fergus,” proceeded Reilly, “I have, as I said, provided for you both; what that provision is I will not mention now.  Mr. Hastings will inform you.  But if you have a wish to leave this unhappy and distracted country, even without Connor, why, by applying to him, you will be enabled to do so; or, if you wish to stay at home and take a farm, you may do so.”

“Divil a foot I’ll leave the country,” replied the other.  “Ellen may stick to the Cooleen Bawn, but, be my sowl, I’ll stick to Ellen, if I was to wait these seven years.  I’ll be as stiff as she is stout; but, at any rate, she’s worth waitin’ for.”

“You may well say so,” replied Reilly, “and I can quarrel neither with your attachment nor your patience; but you will not forget to let her know the provision which I have left for her in the hands of Mr. Hastings, and tell her it is a slight reward for her noble attachment to my dear Cooleen Bawn.  Fergus,” he proceeded, “have you ever had a dream in the middle of which you awoke, then fell asleep and dreamt out the dream?”

“Troth had I, often, sir; and, by the way, talkin’ of dreams, I dreamt last night that I was wantin’ Ellen to marry me, and she said, ’not yet, Fergus, but in due time.’”

“Well, Fergus,” proceeded Reilly, “perhaps there is but half my dream of life gone; who knows when I return—­if I ever do—­but my dream may be completed? and happily, too; I know the truth and faith of my dear Cooleen Bawn.  And, Fergus, it is not merely my dear Cooleen Bawn that I feel for, but for my unfortunate country.  I am not, however, without hope that the day will come—­although it may be a distant one—­when she will enjoy freedom, peace, and prosperity.  Now, Fergus, good-by, and farewell!  Come, come, be a man,” he added, with a melancholy smile, whilst a tear stood even in his own eye—­“come, Fergus, I will not have this; I won’t say farewell for ever, because I expect to return and be happy yet—­if not in my own country, at least in some other, where there is more freedom and less persecution for conscience’ sake.”

Poor Fergus, however, when the parting moment arrived, was completely overcome.  He caught Reilly in his arms—­wept over him bitterly—­and, after a last and sorrowful embrace, was prevailed upon to take his leave.