“I would do every thing—anything to make you happy, my dear treasure,” said he, “if I only knew how.”
“Dear papa,” she replied, “of that I am conscious; and as a proof that the heart of your daughter is incapable of veiling a single thought that passes in it from a parent who loves her so well, I will place its most cherished secret in your own keeping. I shall not be outdone even by you, dear papa, in generosity, in confidence, in affection. Papa,” she added, placing her head upon his bosom, whilst the tears flowed fast down her cheeks, “papa, I love William Reilly—love him with a pure and disinterested passion!—with a passion which I feel constitutes my destiny in this life—either for happiness or misery. That passion is irrevocable. It is useless to ask me to control or suppress it, for I feel that the task is beyond my power. My love, however, is not base nor selfish, papa, but founded on virtue and honor. It may seem strange that I should make such a confession to you, for I know it is un—usual in young persons like me to do so; but remember, dear papa, that except yourself I have no friend. If I had a mother, or a sister, or a cousin of my own sex, to whom I might confide and unburden my feelings, then indeed it is not probable I would make to you the confession which I have made; but we are alone, and you are the only being left me on whom can rest my sorrow—for indeed my heart is full of sorrow.”
“Well, well, I know not what to say. You are a true girl, Helen, and the very error, if it be one, is diminished by the magnanimity and truth which prompted you to disclose it to me. I will go to bed, dearest, and sleep if I can. I trust in God there is no calamity about to overshadow our house or destroy our happiness.”
He then sought his own chamber; and Cooleen Bawn, after attending him thither, left him to the care of his attendant and retired herself to her apartment.
On reaching home Reilly found Fergus, one of his own relatives, as we have said, the same who, warned by his remonstrances, had abandoned the gang of the Red Rapparee, waiting to see him.
“Well, Fergus,” said he, “I am glad that you have followed my advice. You have left the lawless employment of that blood-stained man?”
“I have,” replied the other, “and I'm here to tell you that you can now secure him if you like. I don't look upon sayin' this as treachery to him, nor would I mention it only that Pavideen, the smith, who shoes and doctors his horses, tould me something that you ought to know.”
“Well, Fergus, what is it?”
“There's a plot laid, sir, to send you out o' the country, and the Red Rapparee has a hand in it. He is promised a pardon from government, and some kind of a place as thief-taker, if he'll engage in it against you. Now, you know, there's a price upon his head, and, if you like, you can have it, and get an enemy put out of your way at the same time.”
“No, Fergus,” replied Keilly; “in a moment of indignation I threatened him in order to save the life of a fellow-creature. But let the laws deal with him. As for me, you know what he deserves at my hands, but I shall never become the hound of a government which oppresses me unjustly. No, no, it is precisely because a price is laid upon the unfortunate miscreant's head that I would not betray him.”