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 passions 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 bluster 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 assumption 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 harass 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 assuredly 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.”