As he spoke he attempted to take her hand.  Reilly, in the meantime, was waiting for an opportunity to bid his love goodnight.

[Illustration:  PAGE 35—­Touch me not, sir]

“Touch me not, sir,” she replied, her glorious eyes flashing with indignation.  “I charge you as the base cause of drawing down the disgrace of shame, the sin of ingratitude, on my father’s head.  But here that father stands, and there you, sir, stand; and sooner than become the wife of Sir Robert Whitecraft I would dash myself from the battlements of this castle.  William Reilly, brave and generous young man, goodnight!  It matters not who may forget the debt of gratitude which this family owe you—­I will not.  No cowardly slanderer shall instil his poisonous calumnies against you into my ear.  My opinion of you is unchanged and unchangeable.  Farewell!  William Relly!”

We shall not attempt to describe the commotions of love, of happiness, of rapture, which filled Reilly’s bosom as he took his departure.  As for Cooleen Bawn, she had now passed the Rubicon, and there remained nothing for her but constancy to the truth of her affection, be the result what it might.  She had, indeed, much of the vehemence of her father’s character in her; much of his unchangeable purpose, when she felt or thought she was right; but not one of his unfounded whims or prejudices; for she was too noble-minded and sensible to be influenced by unbecoming or inadequate motives.  With an indignant but beautiful scorn, that gave grace to resentment, she bowed to the baronet, then kissed her father affectionately and retired.

The old man, after she had gone, sat for a considerable time silent.  In fact, the superior force of his daughter’s character had not only surprised, but overpowered him for the moment.  The baronet attempted to resume the conversation, but he found not his intended father-in-law in the mood for it.  The light of truth, as it flashed from the spirit of his daughter, seemed to dispel the darkness of his recent suspicions; he dwelt upon the possibility of ingratitude with a temporary remorse.

“I cannot speak to you, Sir Robert,” he said; “I am confused, disturbed, distressed.  If I have treated that young man ungratefully, God may forgive me, but I will never forgive myself.”

“Take care, sir,” said the baronet, “that you are not under the spell of the Jesuit and your daughter too.  Perhaps you will find, when it is too late, that she is the more spellbound of the two.  If I don’t mistake, the spell begins to work already.  In the meantime, as Miss Folliard will have it, I withdraw all claims upon her hand and affections.  Good-night, sir;” and as he spoke he took his departure.

For a long time the old man sat looking into the fire, where he began gradually to picture to himself strange forms and objects in the glowing embers, one of whom he thought resembled the Red Rapparee about to shoot him; another, Willy Reilly making love to his daughter; and behind all, a high gallows, on which he beheld the said Reilly hanging for his crime.