ed Reilly, "don't you know me?"

"Know you! how the devil should I know you?--I never saw you before.
What do you want with me?"

"Lanigan," whispered the other, "did you never hear of Willy Reilly?"

"Yes, I did; have you any message from him?"

"I am the man myself," said Reilly, "but you don't know me, I am so
completely disguised. Don't you know my voice?"

"Merciful Father!" said the cook, "I'm in a doldrum; can I be sure that
you don't come from Sir Robert Whitecraft, the notorious blackguard?"

"Lanigan, I am Willy Reilly: my voice ought to tell you so; but I wish
to see and speak with my dear _Cooleen Bawn_."

"Oh, my God, sir!" replied Lanigan, "but this love makes strange
transmigrations. She won't know you, sir."

"Make your mind easy on that point," replied Reilly; "only let her know
that I am here."

"Come down to the kitchen then, sir, and I shall put you into the
servants' hall, which branches off it. It is entered, besides, by a
different door from that of the kitchen, and while you stay there--and
you can pass into it without going through the kitchen--I will try to
let her know where you are. She has at present a maid who was sent by
Sir Robert Whitecraft, and she is nothing else than a spy; but it'll go
hard, or I'll baffle her."

He accordingly placed Reilly in the servants' hall, and on his way to
the drawing-room met Miss Folliard going to her own apartment, which
commanded a view of the front of the house. He instantly communicated
to her the fact of Reilly's presence in the servants' hall; "but,"
added Lanigan, "you won't know him--his own mother, if she was livin',
wouldn't know a bone in his body."

"Oh!" she replied, whilst her eyes flashed fearfully, in fact, in a
manner that startled the cook--"oh! if he is there I shall soon know
him. He has a voice, I think--he has a voice! Has he not, Lanigan?"

"Yes, ma'am," replied Lanigan, "he has a voice, and a heart too."

"Oh! yes, yes," she said, "I must go to him; they want to marry me to
that monster--to that bigot and persecutor, on this very day month; but,
Lanigan, it shall never be--death a thousand times sooner than such
a union. If they attempt to bind us, death shall cut the link
asunder--that I promise you, Lanigan. But I must go to him--I must go to
him."

She ran down the stairs as she spoke, and Lanigan, having looked after
her, seemed deeply concerned.

"My God!" he exclaimed, "what will become of that sweet girl if