Bawn, on several occasions, small gushes, as it were, of unsettled thought, and of temporary wildness, almost approaching to insanity.  She knew, besides, that insanity was in the family on her father’s side; * and, as she had so boldly and firmly stated to that father himself, she dreaded the result which Reilly’s conviction might produce upon a mind with such a tendency, worn down and depressed as it had been by all she had suffered, and more especially what she must feel by the tumult and agitation of that dreadful day.

* The reader must take this as the necessary material for our fiction.  There never was insanity in Helen’s family; and we make this note to prevent them from taking unnecessary offence.

It was about two hours after dark when she was startled by the noise of the carriage-wheels as they came up the avenue.  Her heart beat as if it would burst, the blood rushed to her head, and she became too giddy to stand or walk; then it seemed to rush back to her heart, and she was seized with thick breathing and feebleness; but at length, strengthened by the very intensity of the interest she felt, she made her way to the lower steps of the hall door in time to be present when the carriage arrived at it.  She determined, however, wrought up as she was to the highest state of excitement, to await, to watch, to listen.  She did so.  The carriage stopped at the usual place, the coachman came down and opened the door, and Mr. Folliard came out.  After him, assisted by Mrs. Brown, came Helen, who was immediately conducted in between the latter and her father.  In the meantime poor Ellen could only look on.  She was incapable of asking a single question, but she followed them up to the drawing-room where they conducted her mistress.  When she was about to enter, Mrs. Brown said: 

“Ellen, you had better not come in; your mistress is unwell.”

Mrs. Hastings then approached, and, with a good deal of judgment and consideration, said: 

“I think it is better, Mrs. Brown, that Ellen should see her, or, rather, that she should see Ellen.  Who can tell how beneficial the effect may be on her?  We all know how she was attached to Ellen.”

In addition to those fearful intimations, Ellen heard inside the sobs and groans of her distracted father, mingled with caresses and such tender and affectionate language as, she knew by the words, could only be addressed to a person incapable of understanding them.  Mrs. Brown held the door partially closed, but the faithful girl would not be repulsed.  She pushed in, exclaiming: 

“Stand back, Mrs. Brown, I must see my mistress!—­if she is my mistress, or anybody’s mistress now,”—­and accordingly she approached the settee on which the Cooleen Bawn sat.  The old squire was wringing his hands, sobbing, and giving vent to the most uncontrollable sorrow.

“Oh, Ellen,” said he, “pity and forgive me.  Your mistress is gone, gone!—­she knows nobody!”