"I scarcely know," replied the other. "I must lie quiet for a while, at any rate."

"Do so," said Reilly; "and listen, Fergus. See Paudeen, the smith, from time to time, and get whatever he knows out of him. His father was a tenant of ours, and he ought to remember our kindness to him and his."

"Ay," said Fergus, "and he does too."

"Well, it is clear he does. Get from him all the information you can, and let me hear it. I would give you shelter in my house, but that now would be dangerous both to you and me. Do you want money to support you?"

"Well, indeed, Mr. Reilly, I do and I do not. I can--"

"That's enough," said Reilly; "you want it. Here, take this. I would recommend you, as I did before, to leave this unhappy country; but as circ.u.mstances have turned out, you may for some time yet be useful to me. Good-night, then, Fergus. Serve me in this matter as far as you can, for I stand in need of it."

As nothing like an organized police existed in Ireland at the period of which we speak, an outlaw or Rapparee might have a price laid upon his head for months--nay, for years--and yet continue his outrages and defy the executive. Sometimes it happened that the authorities, feeling the weakness of their resources and the inadequacy of their power, did not hesitate to propose terms to the leaders of these banditti, and, by affording them personal protection, succeeded in inducing them to betray their former a.s.sociates. Now Reilly was well aware of this, and our readers need not be surprised that the communication made to him by his kinsman filled him not only with anxiety but alarm. A very slight charge indeed brought forward by a man of rank and property--such a charge, for instance, as the possession of firearms--was quite sufficient to get a Roman Catholic banished the country.

On the third evening after this our friend Tom Steeple was met by its proprietor in the avenue leading to Corbo Castle.

"Well, Tom," said the squire, "are you for the Big House?" for such is the general term applied to all the ancestral mansions of the country.

Tom stopped and looked at him--for we need scarcely observe here that with poor Tom there was no respect of persons; he then shook his head and replied, "Me don't know whether you tall or not. Tom tall--will Tom go to Big House--get bully dinnel--and Tom sleep under the stairs--eh?

Say aye, an' you be tall too."

"To be sure, Tom; go into the house, and your cousin Larry Lanigan, the cook, will give you a bully dinner; and sleep where you like."

The squire walked up and down the avenue in a thoughtful mood for some moments until another of our characters met him on his way towards the entrance gate. This person was no other than Molly Mahon.

"Ha!" said he, "here is another of them--well, poor devils, they must live. This, though, is the great fortune-teller. I will try her."

"G.o.d save your honor," said Molly, as she approached him and dropped a courtesy.

"Ah, Molly," said he, "you can see into the future, they say. Well, come now, tell me my fortune; but they say one must cross your palm with silver before you can manage the fates; here's a shilling for you, and let us hear what you have to say."

"No, sir," replied Molly, putting back his hand, "imposthors may do that, because they secure themselves first and tell you nothing worth knowin' afterwards. I take no money till I first tell the fortune."

"Well, Molly, that's honest at all events; let me hear what you have to tell me."

"Show me your hand, sir," said she, and taking it, she looked into it with a solemn aspect. "There, sir," she said, "that will do. I am sorry I met you this evening."

"Why so, Molly?"

"Because I read in your hand a great deal of sorrow."

"Pooh, you foolish woman--nonsense!"

"There's a misfortune likely to happen to one of your family; but I think it may be prevented."

"How will it be prevented?"

"By a gentleman that has a t.i.tle and great wealth, and that loves the member of your family that the misfortune is likely to happen to."

The squire paused and looked at the woman, who seemed to speak seriously, and even with pain.

"I don't believe a word of it, Molly; but granting that it be true, how do you know it?"

"That's more than I can tell myself, sir," she replied. "A feelin' comes over me, and I can't help speakin' the words as they rise to my lips."

"Well, Molly, here's a shilling for you now; but I want you to see my daughter's hand till I hear what you have to say for her. Are you a Papist, Molly?"

"No, your honor, I was one wanst; but the moment we take to this way of life we mustn't belong to any religion, otherwise we couldn't tell the future."

"Sell yourself to the devil, eh?"

"Oh, no, sir; but--"

"But what? Out with it."

"I can't, sir; if I did, I never could tell a fortune agin."

"Well--well; come up; I have taken a fancy that you shall tell my daughter's for all that."

"Surely there can be nothing but happiness before her, sir; she that is so good to the poor and distressed; she that has all the world admirin'

her wonderful beauty. Sure, they say, her health was drunk in the Lord Lieutenant's house in the great Castle of Dublin, as the Lily of the Plains of Boyle and the Star of Ireland."

"And so it was, Molly, and so it was; there's another shilling for you. Come now, come up to the house, and tell her fortune; and mark me, Molly, no flattery now--nothing but the truth, if you know it."

"Did I flatter you, sir?"

"Upon my honor, any thing but that, Molly; and all I ask is that you won't flatter her. Speak the truth, as I said before, if you know it."

Miss Folliard, on being called down by her father to have her fortune told, on seeing Molly, drew back and said, "Do not ask me to come in direct contact with this woman, papa. How can you, for one moment, imagine that a person of her life and habits could be gifted with that which has never yet been communicated to mortal (the holy prophets excepted)--a knowledge of futurity?"

"No matter, my darling, no matter; give her your hand; you will oblige and gratify me."

"Here, then, dear papa, to please you--certainly."

Molly took her lovely hand, and having looked into it, said, turning to the squire, "It's very odd, sir, but here's nearly the same thing that I tould to you awhile ago."

"Well, Molly," said he, "let us hear it."

Miss Folliard stood with her snowy hand in that of the fortune-teller, perfectly indifferent to her art, but not without strong feelings of disgust at the ordeal to which she submitted.

"Now, Molly," said the squire, "what have you to say?"

"Here's love," she replied, "love in the wrong direction--a false step is made that will end in misery--and--and--and--"

"And what, woman?" asked Miss Folliard, with an indignant glance at the fortune-teller. "What have you to add?"

"No!" said she, "I needn't speak it, for it won't come to pa.s.s. I see a man of wealth and t.i.tle who will just come in in time to save you from shame and destruction, and with him you will be happy."

"I could prove to you," replied the _Cooleen Dawn_, her face mantling with blushes of indignation, "that I am a better prophetess than you are. Ask her, papa, where she last came from."