It would be impossible to describe the agony of the lovers after a separation which might probably be their last. Our readers, however, may very well conceive it, and it is not our intention to describe it here. At this stage of our story, Reilly, who was, as we have said, in consequence of his gentlemanly manners and liberal principles, a favorite with all classes and all parties, and entertained no apprehensions from the dominant party, took his way homewards deeply impressed with the generous affections which his Cooleen Bawn had expressed for him. He consequently looked upon himself as perfectly safe in his own house. The state of society in Ireland, however, was at that melancholy period so uncertain that no Roman Catholic, however popular, or however innocent, could for one week calculate upon safety either to his property or person, if he happened to have an enemy who possessed any influence in the opposing Church. Religion thus was made the stalking-horse, not only of power, but of persecution, rapacity, and selfishness, and the unfortunate Roman Catholic who considered himself safe to-day might find himself ruined tomorrow, owing to the cupidity of some man who turned a lustful eye upon his property, or who may have entertained a feeling of personal ill-will against him. Be this as it may, Reilly wended his melancholy way homewards, and had got within less than a quarter of a mile of his own house when he was met by Fergus in his mendicant habit, who startled him by the information he disclosed.
“Where are you bound for, Mr. Reilly?” said the latter.
“For home,” replied Reilly, “in order to secure my money and the papers connected with the family property.”
“Well, then,” said the other, “if you go home now you are a lost man.”
“How is that?” asked Reilly.
“Your house at this moment is filled with sogers, and surrounded by them too. You know that no human being could make me out in this disguise; I had heard that they were on their way to your place, and afeered that they might catch you at home, I was goin' to let you know, in ordher that you might escape them, but I was too late; the villains were there before me. I took heart o' grace, however, and went up to beg a little charity for the love and honor of God. Seem' the kind of creature I was, they took no notice of me; for to tell you the truth, they were too much bent on searchin' for, and findin' you. God protect us from such men, Mr. Reilly,” and the name he uttered in alow and cautious voice; “but at all events this is no country for you to live in now. But who do you think was the busiest and the bittherest man among them?”
“Why Whitecraft, I suppose.”
“No; he wasn't there himself—no; but that double distilled traitor and villain, the Red Rapparee, and bad luck to him. You see, then, that if you attempt to go near your own house you're a lost man, as I said.”
“I feel the truth of what you say,” replied Reilly, “but are you aware that they committed any acts of violence? Are you aware that they disturbed my property or ransacked my house?”
“Well, that's more than I can say,” replied Fergus, “for to tell you the truth, I was afraid to trust myself inside, in regard of that scoundrel the Rapparee, who, bein' himself accustomed to all sorts of disguises, I dreaded might find me out.”