Before Miss Folliard came down to make tea, Reilly had summoned the servants, and given them instructions as to their conduct during the expected attack.  Having arranged this, he went to the yard, and found a large body of his tenants armed with such rude weapons as they could procure; for, at this period, it was a felony for a Roman Catholic to have or carry arms at all.  The old squire, however, was well provided in that respect, and, accordingly, such as could be spared from the house were distributed among them.  Mr. Folliard himself felt his spirit animated by a sense of the danger, and bustled about with uncommon energy and activity, considering what he had suffered in the course of the evening.  At all events, they both resolved to conceal the matter from Helen till the last moment, in order to spare her the terror and alarm which she must necessarily feel on hearing of the contemplated violence.  At tea, however, she could not avoid observing that something had disturbed her father, who, from his naturally impetuous character, ejaculated, from time to time, “The bloodthirsty scoundrel!—­murdering ruffian!  We shall hang him, though; we can hang him for the conspiracy.  Would the fool’s, Tom Steeples’, evidence be taken, do you think?”

“I fear not, sir,” replied Reilly.  “In the meantime, don’t think of it, don’t further distress yourself about it.”

“To think of attacking my house, though; and if it were only I myself that—­however, we are prepared, that’s one comfort; we are prepared, and let them—­hem!—­Helen, my darling, now that we’ve had our tea, will you retire to your own room.  I wish to talk to Mr. Reilly here, on a particular and important subject, in which you yourself are deeply concerned.  Withdraw, my love, but don’t go to bed until I see you again.”

Helen went upstairs with a light foot and a bounding heart.  A certain hope, like a dream of far-off and unexpected happiness, rushed into and filled her bosom with a crowd of sensations so delicious that, on reaching her own room, she felt completely overpowered by them, and was only relieved by a burst of tears.  There was now but one image before her imagination, but one image impressed upon her pure and fervent heart; that image was the first that love had ever stamped there, and the last that suffering, sorrow, madness, and death were ever able to tear from it.

When the night had advanced to the usual hour for retiring to rest, it was deemed necessary to make Helen acquainted with the meditated outrage, in order to prevent the consequences of a nocturnal alarm for which she might be altogether unprepared.  This was accordingly done, and her natural terrors were soothed and combated by Reilly and her father, who succeeded in reviving her courage, and in enabling her to contemplate what was to happen with tolerable composure.