Early the next morning the squire was so completely exhausted by the consequences of watching, anxiety, and want of rest, that he felt himself overcome by sleep, and was obliged to go to bed.  Before he went, however, he made Reilly promise that he would not go until he had breakfasted, then shook him cordially by the hand, thanked him again and again for the deep and important obligations he had imposed upon him and his child, and concluded by giving him a general invitation to his house, the doors of which, he said, as well as the heart of its owner, should be ever ready to receive him.

“As for Helen, here,” said he, “I leave her to thank you herself, which I am sure she will do in a manner becoming the services you have rendered her, before you go.”

She then kissed him tenderly and he retired to rest.

At breakfast, Reilly and Miss Folliard were, of course, alone, if we may say so.  Want of rest and apprehension had given a cast of paleness to her features that, so far from diminishing, only added a new and tender character to her beauty.  Reilly observed the exquisite loveliness of her hand as she poured out the tea; and when he remembered the gentle but significant pressure which it had given to his, more than once or twice, on the preceding night, he felt as if he experienced a personal interest in her fate—­as if their destinies were to be united—­as if his growing spirit could enfold hers, and mingle with it forever.  The love he felt for her pervaded and softened his whole being with such a feeling of tenderness, timidity, and ecstasy, that his voice, always manly and firm, now became tremulous in its tones; such, in truth, as is always occasioned by a full and overflowing heart when it trembles at the very opportunity of pouring forth the first avowal of its affection.

“Miss Folliard,” said he, after a pause, and with some confusion, “do you believe in Fate?”

The question appeared to take her somewhat by surprise, if one could judge by the look she bestowed upon him with her dark, flashing eyes.

“In Fate, Mr. Reilly? that is a subject, I fear, too deep for a girl like me.  I believe in Providence.”

“All this morning I have been thinking of the subject.  Should it be Fate that brought me to the rescue of your father last night, I cannot but feel glad of it; but though it be a Fate that has preserved him—­and I thank Almighty God for it—­yet it is one that I fear has destroyed my happiness.”

“Destroyed your happiness, Mr. Reilly! why, how could the service you rendered papa last night have such an effect?”

“I will be candid, and tell you, Miss Folliard.  I know that what I am about to say will offend you—­it was by making me acquainted with his daughter, and by bringing me under the influence of beauty which has unmanned—­distracted me—­beauty which I could not resist—­which has overcome me—­subdued me—­and which, because it is beyond my reach and my deserts, will occasion me an unhappy life—­how long soever that life my last.”