“A native of England, is she not?  Eliza Herbert!” he exclaimed; “in the lowermost depths of perdition there is not such a villain.  This Eliza Herbert is neither more nor less than one of his—­but I will not pain your pure and delicate mind by mentioning at further length what she is and was to him.  The clergyman of the parish, Mr. Brown, knows the whole circumstances.  See him at church, and get him to communicate them to your father.  The fact is, this villain, who is at once cunning and parsimonious, had a double motive, each equally base and diabolical, in sending her here.  In the first place, he wished, by getting her a good place, to make your father the unconscious means of rewarding her profligacy; and in the second of keeping her as a spy upon you.”

A blush, resulting from her natural sense of delicacy, as well as from the deepest indignation at a man who did not scruple to place the woman whom he looked upon as almost immediately to become his wife, in the society of such a wretch—­such a blush, we say, overspread her whole neck and face, and for about two minutes she shed bitter tears.  But she felt the necessity of terminating their interview, from an apprehension that Miss Herbert, as she was called, on not finding her in the room, might institute a search, and in this she was not mistaken.

She had scarcely concluded when the shrill voice of Miss Herbert was heard, as she rushed rapidly down the stairs, screaming, “Oh, la! oh, dear me! oh, my goodness!  Where, where—­oh, bless me, did any one see Miss Folliard?”

Lanigan, however, had prepared for any thing like a surprise.  He planted himself, as a sentinel, at the foot of the stairs, and the moment he heard the alarm of Miss Herbert on her way down, he met her half way up, after having given a loud significant cough.

“Oh, cook, have you seen Miss Folliard?  I can’t find her in the house!”

“Is her father in his study, Miss Herbert? because I want to see him; I’m afeared there’s a screw loose.  I did see Miss Folliard; she went out a few minutes ago—­indeed she rather stole out towards the garden, and, I tell you the truth, she had a—­condemned look of her own.  Try the garden, and if you don’t find her there, go to the back gate, which you’ll be apt to find open.”

“Oh, I will, I will; thank you, cook.  I’m certain it’s an elopement.”

“Indeed, I wouldn’t be surprised to find,” replied Lanigan, “that she is with Reilly this moment; any way you haven’t a minute to lose.”

She started towards the garden, which she ran over and over; and there we shall leave her, executing the fool’s errand upon which Lanigan had sent her.  “Now,” said he, going in, “the coast’s clear; I have sent that impertinent jade out to the garden, and as the back gate is open—­the gardener’s men are wheeling out the rubbish—­and they are now at dinner—­I say, as the back gate is open, it’s ten to one but she’ll scour the country.  Now, Miss Folliard, go immediately to your room; as for this poor man, I will take care of him.”