n her? We all know how she was attached to Ellen."

In addition to those fearful intimations, Ellen heard inside the sobs
and groans of her distracted father, mingled with caresses and such
tender and affectionate language as, she knew by the words, could only
be addressed to a person incapable of understanding them. Mrs. Brown
held the door partially closed, but the faithful girl would not be
repulsed. She pushed in, exclaiming:

"Stand back, Mrs. Brown, I must see my mistress!--if she is my mistress,
or anybody's mistress now,"--and accordingly she approached the settee
on which the _Cooleen Bawn_ sat. The old squire was wringing his hands,
sobbing, and giving vent to the most uncontrollable sorrow.

"Oh, Ellen," said he, "pity and forgive me. Your mistress is gone,
gone!--she knows nobody!"

"Stand aside," she replied; "stand aside all of you; let me to her."

She knelt beside the settee, looked distractedly,--but keenly, at her
for about half a minute--but there she sat, calm, pale, and unconscious.
At length she turned her eyes upon Ellen--for ever since the girl's
entrance she had been gazing on vacancy--and immediately said:

"Oh! can you tell me where is William Reilly? They have taken me from
him, and I cannot find him. Oh! will you tell me where is William
Reilly?"

Ellen gave two or three rapid sobs; but, by a powerful effort, she
somewhat composed herself.

"Miss Folliard," she said, in a choking voice, however, "darling Miss
Folliard--my beloved mistress--_Cooleen Bawn_--oh, do you not know
me--me, your own faithful Ellen, that loved you--and that loves you
so well--ay, beyond father and mother, and all others living in this
unhappy world? Oh, speak to me, dear mistress--speak to your own
faithful Ellen, and only say that you know me, or only look upon me as
if you did."

Not a glance, however, of recognition followed those loving
solicitations; but there, before them all, she sat, with the pale face,
the sorrowful brow, and the vacant look. Ellen addressed her with equal
tenderness again and again, but with the same melancholy effect. The
effect was beyond question--reason had departed; the fair temple was
there, but the light of the divinity that had been enshrined in it was
no longer visible; it seemed to have been abandoned probably for
ever. Ellen now finding that every effort to restore her to rational
consciousness was ineffectual, rose up, and, looking about for a moment,
her eyes rested