“Well, by the great Boyne, Helen, you have knocked my intellects up.  I hope in God you have no Papist predilections, girl.  However, it’s only fair to give Reilly a trial; long-legs is to dine with us the day after tomorrow—­now, I will ask Reilly to meet him here—­perhaps, if I get an opportunity, I will sound him on the point myself—­or, perhaps, you will.  Will you promise to make the attempt?  I’ll take care that you and he shall have an opportunity.”

“Indeed, papa, I shall certainly mention the subject to him.”

“By the soul of Schomberg, Helen, if you do you’ll convert him.”

Helen was about to make some good-natured reply, when the noise of carriage wheels was heard at the hall-door, and her father, going to the window, asked, “What noise is that?  A carriage!—­who can it be?  Whitecraft, by the Boyne!  Well, it can’t be helped.”

“I will leave you, papa,” she said; “I do not wish to see this unfeeling and repulsive man, unless when it is unavoidable, and in your presence.”

She then withdrew.

Before we introduce Sir Robert Whitecraft, we must beg our readers to accompany us to the residence of that worthy gentleman, which was not more than three miles from that of Reilly.  Sir Robert had large estates and a sumptuous residence in Ireland, as well as in England, and had made the former principally his place of abode since he became enamored of the celebrated Cooleen Bawn.  On the occasion in question he was walking about through his grounds when a female approached him; whom we beg the reader to recognize as Mary Mahon.  This mischievous woman, implacable and without principle, had, with the utmost secrecy, served Sir Robert, and many others, in a capacity discreditable alike to virtue and her sex, by luring the weak or the innocent within their toils.

“Well, Mary,” said he, “what news in the country?  You, who are always on the move, should know.”

“No very good news for you, Sir Robert,” she replied.

“How is that, Mary?”

“Why, sir, Willy Reilly—­the famous Willy Reilly—­has got a footing in the house of old Squire Folliard.”

“And how can that be bad news to me, Mary?”

“Well, I don’t know,” said she, with a cunning leer; “but this I know, that they had a love scene together this very morning, and that he kissed her very sweetly near the chimney-piece.”

Sir Robert Whitecraft did not get into a rage; he neither cursed nor swore, nor even looked angrily, but he gave a peculiar smile, which should be seen in order to be understood.  “Where is your—­ahem—­your friend now?” he asked; and as he did so he began to whistle.

“Have you another job for him?” she inquired, in her turn, with a peculiar meaning.  “Whenever I fail by fair play, he tries it by foul.”

“Well, and have not I often saved his neck, as well by my influence as by allowing him to take shelter under my roof whenever he was hard pressed?”