“By the life of my body, Sir Robert, I won’t stand this.  Did you come here, sir, to insult me and to drive me into madness?  What devil could have put it into your head that my daughter, sir, or any one with a drop of my blood in their veins, to the tenth generation, could ever, for a single moment, think of turning Papist?  Sir, I hoped that you would have respected the name both of my daughter and myself, and have foreborne to add this double insult both to her and me.  The insolence even to dream of imputing such an act to her I cannot overlook.  You yourself, if you could gain a point or feather your nest by it, are a thousand times much more likely to turn Papist than either of us.  Apologize instantly, sir, or leave my house.”

“I can certainly apologize, Mr. Folliard,” replied the baronet, “and with a good conscience, inasmuch as I had not the most remote intention of offending you, much less Miss Folliard—­I accordingly do so promptly and at once; but as for my allegations against Reilly, I am in a position to establish their truth in the clearest manner, and to prove to you that there wasn’t a. single robber, nor Rapparee either, at or about your house last night, with the exception of Reilly and his gang.  If there were, why were they neither heard nor seen?”

“One of them was—­the Red Rapparee himself.”

“Do not be deceived, Mr. Folliard; did you yourself, or any of your family or household, see him?”

“Why, no, certainly, we did not; I admit that.”

“Yes, and you will admit more soon.  I shall prove the whole conspiracy.”

“Well, why don’t you then?”

“Simply because the matter must be brought about with great caution.  You—­must allow me a few days, say three or four, and the proofs shall be given.”

“Very well, Sir Robert, but in the meantime I shall not throw Reilly overboard.”

“Could I not be permitted to pay my respects to Miss Folliard before I go, sir?” asked Sir Robert.

“Don’t insist upon it,” replied her father; “you know perfectly well that she—­that you are no favorite with her.”

“Nothing on earth, sir, grieves me so much,” said the baronet, affecting a melancholy expression of countenance, which was ludicrous to look at.

“Well, well,” said the old man, “as you can’t see her now, come and meet Reilly here at dinner the day after to-morrow, and you shall have that pleasure.”

“It will be with pain, sir, that I shall force myself into that person’s society; however, to oblige you, I shall do it.”

“Consider, pray consider, Sir Robert,” replied the old squire, all his pride of family glowing strong within him, “just consider that my table, sir, and my countenance, sir, and my sense of gratitude, sir, are a sufficient guarantee to the worth and respectability of any one whom I may ask to my house.  And, Sir Robert, in addition to that, just reflect that I ask him to meet my daughter, and, if I don’t mistake, I think I love, honor, and respect her nearly as much as I do you.  Will you come then, or will you not?”