“He was educated on the Continent by the Jesuits.”

“No!” replied the squire, dreadfully alarmed at this piece of information, “he was not; by the great Boyne, he wasn’t.”

This mighty asseveration, however, was exceedingly feeble in moral strength and energy, for, in point of fact, it came out of the squire’s lips more in the shape of a question than an oath.

“It is unquestionably true, sir,” said the baronet; “ask himself, and he will admit it.”

“Well, and granting that he was,” replied the squire, “what else could he do, when the laws would not permit of his being educated here?  I speak not against the laws, God forbid, but of his individual case.”

“We are travelling from the point, sir,” returned the baronet.  “I was observing that Reilly is an accomplished person, as indeed every Jesuit is.  Be that as it may, I again beg to assure you that your life stood in no risk.”

“I don’t understand you, Sir Robert.  You’re a perfect oracle; by the great Deliverer from Pope and Popery, wooden shoes, and so forth, only that Reilly made his appearance at that moment I was a dead man.”

“Not the slightest danger, Mr. Folliard.  I am aware of that, and of the whole Jesuitical plot from the beginning, base, ingenious, but diabolical as it was.”

The squire rose up and looked at him for a minute, without speaking, then sat down again, and, a second time, was partially up, but resumed his seat.

“A plot!” he exclaimed; “a plot, Sir Robert!  What plot?”

“A plot, Mr. Folliard, for the purpose of creating an opportunity to make your acquaintance, and of ingratiating himself into the good graces and affections of your lovely daughter; a plot for the purpose of marrying her.”

The Squire seemed for a moment thunderstruck, but in a little time he recovered.  “Marrying her!” he exclaimed; “that, you know, could not be done, unless he turned Protestant.”

It was now time for the baronet to feel thunderstricken.

“He turn Protestant!  I don’t understand you, Mr. Folliard.  Could any change on Reilly’s part involve such a probability as a marriage between him and your daughter?”

“I can’t believe it was a plot, Sir Robert,” said the squire, shifting the question, “nor I won’t believe it.  There was too much truth and sincerity in his conduct.  And, what is more, my house would have been attacked last night; I myself robbed and murdered, and my daughter-my child, carried off, only for him.  Nay, indeed, it was partially attacked, but when the villainy found us prepared they decamped; but, as for marriage, he could not marry my daughter, I say again, so long as he remains a Papist.”

“Unless he might prevail on her to turn Papist.”