plied the courageous old squire; "no, sir, I am not a
man very easily frightened; but I will confess that the sight of you has
sickened me and filled me with horror."

"Well, now, Mr. Folliard," said the baronet, "let this matter, this
misunderstanding, this mistake, or rather this deep and diabolical plot
on the part of the Jesuit, Reilly, be at once cleared up. We wish, that
is to say I wish, to prevent your good nature from being played upon by
a designing villain. Now, O'Donnel, relate, or rather disclose, candidly
and truly, all that took place with respect to this damnable plot
between you and Reilly."

"Why, the thing, sir," said the Rapparee, addressing himself to the
squire, "is very plain and simple; but, Sir Robert, it was not a plot
between me and Reilly--the plot was his own. It appears that he saw your
daughter and fell desperately in love with her, and knowin' your strong
feeling against Catholics, he gave up all hopes of being made acquainted
with Miss Folliard, or of getting into her company. Well, sir, aware
that you were often in the habit of goin' to the town of Boyle, he comes
to me and says in the early part of the day, 'Randal, I will give you
fifty goolden guineas if you help me in a plan I have in my head.' Now,
fifty goolden guineas isn't easily earned; so I, not knowing what the
plan was at the time, tould him I could not say nothing till I heard
it. He then tould me that he was over head and ears in love with your
daughter, and that have her he should if it cost him his life. 'Well,'
says I, 'and how can I help you?' 'Why,' said he, 'I'll show you that:
her ould persecuting scoundrel of a father'--excuse me, sir--I'm givin'
his own words--"

"I believe it, Mr. Folliard," said the baronet, "for these are
the identical terms in which he told me the story before; proceed,
O'Donnel."

"'The ould scoundrel of a father,' says he, 'on his return from Boyle,
generally comes by the ould road, because it is the shortest cut. Do you
and your men lie in wait in the ruins of the ould chapel, near Loch na
Garran'--it is called so, sir, because they say there's a wild horse in
it that comes out of moonlight nights to feed on the patches of green
that are here and there among the moors--'near Loch na Gaitan,' says
he; 'and when he gets that far turn out upon him, charge him with
transportin' your uncle, and when you are levellin' your gun at him, I
will come, by the way, and save him. You and I must spea