for you see I am not firm, and your tears only render me less adequate
to encounter the unknown vicissitudes which lie before me."

"Well, then, I will be firm, my dear mistress; and I tell you that if
there is a God in heaven that rewards virtue and goodness like yours,
you will be happy yet. Come, now, he is waiting for you, and the less
time we lose the better. We shall go out by the back way--it is the
safest."

They accordingly did so, and had nearly reached the back wall of the
garden when they met Malcomson and Cummiskey, on their way into the
kitchen, in order to have a mug of strong ale together. The two men,
on seeing the females approach, withdrew to the shelter of a clump of
trees, but not until they were known by Connor.

"Come, my dear mistress," she whispered, "there is not one second of
time to be lost. Cummiskey, who is a Catholic, might overlook our being
here at this hour; because, although he is rather in the light of a
friend than a servant to your father, still he is a friend to Reilly as
well; but as for that ugly Scotchman, that is nothing but bone and skin,
I would place no dependence whatever upon him."

We will not describe the meeting between Reilly and the _Cooleen Bawn_.
They had no time to lose in the tender expressions of their feelings.
Each shook hands with, and bid farewell to, poor affectionate Connor,
who was now drowned in tears; and thus they set off, with a view of
leaving the kingdom, and getting themselves legally married in Holland,
where they intended to reside.

CHAPTER XX.--The Rapparee Secured

--Reilly and the _Cooleen Bawn_ Escape, and are Captured.

Cummiskey had a private and comfortable room of his own, to which he and
the cannie Scotchman proceeded, after having ordered from the butler a
tankard of strong ale. There was a cheerful fire in the grate, and
when the tankard and glasses were placed upon the table the Scotchman
observed:

"De'il be frae my saul, maisther Cummiskey, but ye're vera comfortable
here."

"Why, in troth, I can't complain, Mr. Malcomson; here's your health,
sir, and after that we must drink another."

"Mony thanks, Andrew."

"Hang it, I'm not Andrew: that sounds like Scotch; I'm Andy, man alive."

"Wfiel mony thanks, Andy; but for the maitter o' that, what the de'il
waur wad it be gin it were Scotch?"

"Bekaise I wouldn't like to be considered a Scotchman, somehow."

"Weel, Andrew--Andy--I do just suppose as muckle; gin ye