“Stand aside,” she replied; “stand aside all of you; let me to her.”

She knelt beside the settee, looked distractedly,—­but keenly, at her for about half a minute—­but there she sat, calm, pale, and unconscious.  At length she turned her eyes upon Ellen—­for ever since the girl’s entrance she had been gazing on vacancy—­and immediately said: 

“Oh! can you tell me where is William Reilly?  They have taken me from him, and I cannot find him.  Oh! will you tell me where is William Reilly?”

Ellen gave two or three rapid sobs; but, by a powerful effort, she somewhat composed herself.

“Miss Folliard,” she said, in a choking voice, however, “darling Miss Folliard—­my beloved mistress—­Cooleen Bawn—­oh, do you not know me—­me, your own faithful Ellen, that loved you—­and that loves you so well—­ay, beyond father and mother, and all others living in this unhappy world?  Oh, speak to me, dear mistress—­speak to your own faithful Ellen, and only say that you know me, or only look upon me as if you did.”

Not a glance, however, of recognition followed those loving solicitations; but there, before them all, she sat, with the pale face, the sorrowful brow, and the vacant look.  Ellen addressed her with equal tenderness again and again, but with the same melancholy effect.  The effect was beyond question—­reason had departed; the fair temple was there, but the light of the divinity that had been enshrined in it was no longer visible; it seemed to have been abandoned probably for ever.  Ellen now finding that every effort to restore her to rational consciousness was ineffectual, rose up, and, looking about for a moment, her eyes rested upon her father.

“Oh, Ellen!” he exclaimed, “spare me, spare me—­you know I’m in your power.  I neglected your honest and friendly warning, and now it is too late.”

“Poor man!” she replied, “it is not she, but you, that is to be pitied.  No; after this miserable sight, never shall my lips breathe one syllable of censure against you.  Your punishment is too dreadful for that.  But when I look upon her—­look upon her now—­oh, my God! what is this?”—­

“Help the girl,” said Mrs. Brown quickly, and with alarm.  “Oh, she has fallen—­raise her up, Mr. Folliard.  Oh, my God, Mrs. Hastings, what a scene is this!”

They immediately opened her stays, and conveyed her to another settee, where she lay for nearly a quarter of an hour in a calm and tranquil insensibility.  With the aid of the usual remedies, however, she was, but with some difficulty, restored, after which she burst into tears, and wept for some time bitterly.  At length she recovered a certain degree of composure, and, after settling her dress and luxuriant brown hair, aided by Mrs. Brown and Mrs. Hastings, she arose, and once more approaching her lovely, but unconscious, mistress, knelt down, and, clasping her hands, looked up to heaven, whilst she said: