motive I know
not, mentioned to me the substance of what I have now written. He is, it
seems, a cousin to the bearer of this, and got the information from him
after having had much difficulty, he says, in putting it together.
I know not how it is, but I can assure you that every servant in the
castle seems to know that I am attached to you.

"Ever, my dearest Reilly, yours, and yours only, until death,

"Helen Folliard."

We need not attempt to describe the sensations of love and indignation
produced by this letter. But we shall state the facts.

"Here, Tom," said Reilly, "is the reward for your fidelity," as he
handed him some silver; "and mark me, Tom, don't breathe to a human
being that you have brought me a letter from the _Cooleen Bawn_. Go into
the house and get something to eat; there now--go and get one of your
bully dinners."

"It is true," said he, "too true I am doomed-devoted. If I remain in
this country I am lost. Yes, my life, my love, my more than life--I feel
as you do, that our fates, whether for good or evil, are inseparable.
Yes, I shall see you this night if I have life."

He had scarcely concluded this soliloquy when his namesake, Fergus
Reiliy, disguised in such a way as prevented him from being recognized,
approached him, in the lowly garb of a baccah or mendicant.

"Well, my good fellow," said he, "what do you want? Go up to the house
and you will get food."

"Keep quiet," replied the other, disclosing himself, "keep quiet; get
all your money into one purse, settle your affairs as quickly as you
can, and fly the country this night, or otherwise sit down and make
your will and your peace with God Almighty, for if you are found here
by to-morrow night you sleep in Sligo jail. Throw me a few halfpence,
making as it were charity. Whitecraft has spies among your own
laborers, and you know the danger I run in comin' to you by daylight.
Indeed, I could not do it without this disguise. To-morrow night you are
to be taken upon a warrant from Sir Robert Whitecraft; but never mind;
as to Whitecraft, leave him to me--I have a crow to pluck with him."

"How is that, Fergus?"

"My sister, man; did you not hear of it?"

"No, Fergus, nor I don't wish to hear of it, for your sake; spare your
feelings, my poor fellow; I know perfectly well what a hypocritical
scoundrel he is."

"Well," replied Fergus, "it was only yesterday I heard of it myself; and
are we to bear this?--we that have hands and ey