but, papa," she continued, "for all my former offences against
you will you pity and forgive me?"

"I do both, you foolish darling; but what makes you speak so?"

"Because I feel melancholy to-night, papa; and now, papa, if ever I
should do any thing wrong, won't you pity and forgive your own _Cooleen
Bawn_?"

"Get along, you gipsy--don't be crying. What could you do that papa
wouldn't forgive you, unless to run away with Reilly? Don't you know
that you can wind me round your finger?"

"Farewell, papa," she said, weeping all the time, for, in truth, she
found it impossible to control herself; "farewell--good night! and
remember that you may have a great deal to forgive your own _Cooleen
Bawn_ some of these days."

On leaving the bedroom, where she was hurried by her feelings into
this indiscreet dialogue, she found herself nearly incapable of walking
without support. The contending affections for her father and her lover
had nearly overcome her. By the aid of the staircase she got to her
own room, where she was met by Connor, into whose arms she fell almost
helpless.

"Ah, Connor," she said, alluding to her father, whom she could not trust
herself to name, "to-morrow morning what will become of him when
he finds that I am gone? But I know his affectionate heart. He will
relent--he will relent for the sake of his own _Cooleen Bawn_. The laws
against Catholics are now relaxed, and I am glad of it. But I have one
consolation, my dear girl, that I am trusting myself to a man of honor.
We will proceed directly to the Continent;--that is, if no calamitous
occurrence should take place to prevent us; and there, after our
nuptials shall have been duly celebrated, I will live happy with
Reilly--that is, Connor, as happy as absence from my dear father will
permit me--and Reilly will live happy, and, at least, free from the
persecution of bad laws, and such villains as base and vindictive
Whitecraft. You, Connor, must accompany me to the back of the garden,
and see me off. Take this purse, Connor, as some compensation for your
truth and the loss of your situation."

It was now, when the moment of separation approached, that Connor's
tears began to flow, far less at the generosity of her mistress than
her affection, and that which she looked upon as probably their final
separation.

"Dear Connor," said her mistress, "I would expect that support to my
breaking heart which I have hitherto experienced from you. Be firm now,