“Sir,” replied Reilly, “I will not deny that the appearance of myself and my companions, in all probability, saved your life.”

“There was no probability in it, Willy—­none at all; it would have been a dead certainty in every sense.  My God! here, John—­put it down here—­fill for that gentleman and me—­thank you, John—­Willy,” he said as he took the glass in his trembling hand—­“Willy—­John, withdraw and send down, my daughter—­Willy”—­the old man looked at him, but was too full to utter a word.  At this moment his daughter entered the room, and her father, laying down the glass, opened his arms, and said in a choking voice, “Helen, my daughter—­my child—­come to me;” and as she threw herself into them he embraced her tenderly and wept aloud.

“Dear papa!” she exclaimed, after the first burst of his grief was over, “what has affected you so deeply?  Why are you so agitated?”

“Look at that noble young man,” he exclaimed, directing her attention to Reilly, who was still standing.  “Look at him, my life, and observe him well; there he stands who has this night saved your loving father from the deadly aim of an assassin—­from being murdered by O’Donnel, the Red Rapparee, in the lonely moors.”

Reilly, from the moment the far-famed Cooleen Dawn entered the room, heard not a syllable the old man had said.  He was absorbed, entranced, struck with a sensation of wonder, surprise, agitation, joy, and confusion, all nearly at the same moment.  Such a blaze of beauty, such elegance of person, such tenderness and feeling as chastened the radiance of her countenance into something that might be termed absolutely divine; such symmetry of form; such harmony of motion; such a seraphic being in the shape of woman, he had, in fact, never seen or dreamt of.  She seemed as if surrounded by an atmosphere of light, of dignity, of goodness, of grace; but that which, above all, smote him, heart on, the moment was the spirit of tenderness and profound sensibility which seemed to predominate in her whole being.  Why did his manly and intrepid heart palpitate?  Why did such a strange confusion seize upon him?  Why did the few words which she uttered in her father’s arms fill his ears with a melody that charmed him out of his strength?  Alas! is it necessary to ask?  To those who do not understand this mystery, no explanation could be of any avail; and to those who do, none is necessary.

[Illustration:  PAGE 18—­Looked with her dark eyes upon Reilly]

After her father had spoken, she raised herself from his arms, and assuming her full height—­and she was tall—­looked for a moment with her dark, deep, and terrible eyes upon Reilly, who in the meantime felt rapt, spell-bound, and stood, whilst his looks were riveted upon these irresistible orbs, as if he had been attracted by the influence of some delightful but supernatural power, under which he felt himself helpless.

That mutual gaze and that delightful moment! alas! how many hours of misery—­of sorrow—­of suffering—­and of madness did they not occasion!