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."

"Mr. Reilly," exclaimed the _Cooleen Bawn_, "this--this--is--I am quite
unprepared for--I mean--to hear that such noble and generous conduct to
my father