Part 18 (2/2)

”My G.o.d!” exclaimed the other, ”perhaps he has been killed; let us instantly a.s.sist him. Hold this portfolio whilst I render him whatever a.s.sistance I can.”

As he spoke they heard a heavy groan, and on approaching found the man sitting; but still unable to rise.

”You have unfortunately been thrown, sir,” said Reilly; ”I trust in G.o.d you are not seriously hurt.”

”I hope not, sir,” replied the man, ”but I was stunned, and have been insensible for some time; how long I cannot say.”

”Good gracious, sir!” exclaimed Reilly, ”is this Mr. Brown?”

”It is, Mr. Reilly; for heaven's sake aid me to my limbs--that is, if I shall be able to stand upon them.” Reilly did so, but found that he could not stand or walk without' a.s.sistance. The horse, in the meantime, had extricated himself.

”Come, Mr. Brown,” said Reilly, ”you! must, allow me to a.s.sist you home.

It is very fortunate that you have not many perches to go. This poor man will lead your horse up to the stable.”

”Thank you, Mr. Reilly,” replied the gentleman, ”and in requital for your kindness you must take a bed at my house tonight. I am aware of your position,” he added in a confidential voice, ”and that you cannot safely sleep in your own; with me you will be secure.”

Reilly thanked him, and said that this kind offer was most welcome and acceptable, as, in point of fact, he scarcely knew that night where to seek rest with safety. They accordingly proceeded to the parsonage--for Mr. Brown was no other than the Protestant rector of the parish, a man with whom Reilly was on the most friendly and intimate terms, and a man, we may add, who omitted no opportunity of extending shelter, protection, and countenance to such Roman Catholics as fell under the suspicion or operation of the law. On this occasion he had been called very suddenly to the deathbed of a paris.h.i.+oner, and was then on his return home, after having administered to the dying man the last consolations of religion.

On reaching the parsonage, Fergus handed the portfolio to its owner, and withdrew to seek shelter in some of his usual haunts for the night; but Mr. Brown, aided by his wife, who sat up for him, contrived that Reilly should be conducted to a private room, without the knowledge of the servants, who were sent as soon as possible to bed. Before Reilly withdrew, however, that night, he requested Mr. Brown to take charge of his money and family papers, which the latter did, a.s.suring him that they should be forthcoming whenever he thought proper to call for them.

Mr. Brown had, not been seriously hurt, and was able in a day or two to pay the usual attention to the discharge of his duties.

Reilly, having been told where to find his bedroom, retired with confidence to rest. Yet we can scarcely term it rest, after considering the tumultuous and disagreeable events of the evening. He began to ponder upon the life of persecution to which Miss Folliard must necessarily be exposed, in consequence of her father's impetuous and fiery temper; and, indeed, the fact was, that he felt this reflection infinitely more bitter than any that touched himself. In these affectionate calculations of her domestic persecution he was a good deal mistaken, however, Sir Robert Whitecraft had now gained a complete ascendancy over the disposition and pa.s.sions of her father. The latter, like many another country squire--especially of that day--when his word and will were law to his tenants and dependants, was a very great man indeed, when dealing with them. He could bl.u.s.ter and threaten, and even carry his threats into execution with a confident swagger that had more of magisterial pride and the pomp of property in it, than a sense of either light or justice. But, on the other hand, let him meet a man of his own rank, who cared nothing about his authority as a magistrate, or his a.s.sumption as a man of large landed property, and he was nothing but a poor weak-minded tool in his hands. So far our description is correct; but when such a knave as Sir Robert Whitecraft came in his way--a knave at once calculating, deceitful, plausible, and cunning--why, our worthy old squire, who thought himself a second Solomon, might be taken by the nose and led round the whole barony.

There is no doubt that he had sapiently laid down his plans--to hara.s.s and persecute his daughter into a marriage with Sir Robert, and would have probably driven her from under his roof, had he not received the programme of his conduct from Whitecraft. That cowardly caitiff had a double motive in this. He found that if her father should ”pepper her with persecution,” as the old fellow said, before marriage, its consequences might fall upon his own unlucky head afterwards--in other words, that Helen would most a.s.suredly make him then suffer, to some purpose, for all that his pretensions to her hand had occasioned her to undergo previous to their union; for, in truth, if there was one doctrine which Whitecraft detested more than another--and with good reason too--it was that of Retribution.

”Mr. Folliard,” said Whitecraft in the very last conversation they had on this subject, ”you must not persecute your daughter on my account.”

”Mustn't I? Why hang it, Sir Robert, isn't persecution the order of the day? If she doesn't marry you quietly and willingly, we'll turn her out, and hunt her like a priest.”

”No, Mr. Folliard, violence will never do. On the contrary, you must change your hand, and try an opposite course. If you wish to rivet her affections upon that Jesuitical traitor still more strongly, persecute her; for there is nothing in this life that strengthens love so much as opposition and violence. The fair ones begin to look upon themselves as martyrs, and in proportion as you are severe and inexorable, so in proportion are they resolved to win the crown that is before them. I would not press your daughter but that I believe love to be a thing that exists before marriage--never after. There's the honeymoon, for instance. Did ever mortal man or mortal woman hear or dream of a second honeymoon? No, sir, for Cupid, like a large blue-bottle, falls into, and is drowned, in the honey-pot.”

”Confound me,” replied the squire, ”if I understand a word you say.

However, I dare say it may be very good sense for all that, for you always had a long noddle. Go on.”

”My advice to you then, sir, is this-make as few allusions to her marriage with me as possible; but, in the meantime, you may praise me a little, if you wish; but, above all things, don't run down Reilly immediately after paying either my mind or person any compliment. Allow the young lady to remain quiet for a time. Treat her with your usual kindness and affection; for it is possible, after all, that she may do more from her tenderness and affection for you than we could expect from any other motive; at all events, until we shall succeed in hanging or transporting this rebellious scoundrel.”

”Very good--so he is. Good William! what a son-in-law I should have! I who transported one priest already!”

”Well, sir, as I was saying, until we shall have succeeded in hanging or transporting him. The first would be the safest, no doubt: but until we shall be able to accomplish either one or the other, we have not much to expect in the shape of compliance from your daughter. When the villain is removed, however, hope, on her part, will soon die out--love will lose its _pabulum_.”

”Its what?” asked the squire, staring at him with a pair of round eyes that were full of perplexity and wonder.

”Why, it means food, or rather fodder.”

”Curse you, sir,” replied the squire indignantly; ”do you want to make a beast of my daughter?”

”But it's a word, sir, applied by the poets, as the food of Cupid.”

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