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Willy Reilly by William Carleton

W >> William Carleton >> Willy Reilly




"Oh! can you tell me where is William Reilly?"

"William Reilly will soon be with you," he replied; "he will soon be
here."

A start--barely, scarcely perceptible, was noticed by the keen eye of
the physician; but it passed away, and left nothing but that fixed and
beautiful vacancy behind it.

"Sir," said the physician, "I do not absolutely despair of Miss
Folliard's recovery: the influence of some deep excitement, if it could
be made accessible, might produce a good effect; it was by a shock it
came upon her, and I am of opinion that if she ever does recover it will
be by something similar to that which induced her pitiable malady."

"I will give a thousand pounds--five thousand--ten thousand, to any man
who will be fortunate enough to restore her to reason," said her father.

"One course," proceeded the physician, "I would recommend you to pursue;
bring her about as much as you can; give her variety of scenery and
variety of new faces; visit your friends, and bring her with you. This
course may have some effect; as for medicine, it is of no use here, for
her health is in every other respect good."

He then took his leave, having first received a fee which somewhat
astonished him.

His advice, however, was followed; her father and she, and Connor,
during the summer and autumn months, visited among their acquaintances
and friends, by whom they were treated with the greatest and most
considerate kindness; but, so far as poor Helen was concerned, no
symptom of any salutary change became visible; the long, dull blank of
departed reason was still unbroken.

* * * * * * *

Better than seven years--and a half had now elapsed, when she and her
father came by invitation to pay a visit to a Mr. Hamilton, grandfather
to the late Dacre Hamilton of Monaghan, who--the grandfather we
mean--was one of the most notorious priest-hunters of the day, We need
not say that her faithful Connor was still in attendance. Old Folliard
went riding out with his friend, for he was now so much debilitated as
to be scarcely able to walk abroad for any distance, when, about the
hour of two o'clock, a man in the garb, and with all the bearing of a
perfect gentleman, knocked at the door, and inquired of the servant who
opened it whether Miss Folliard were not there. The servant replied in
the affirmative, upon which the stranger asked if he could see her.

"Why, I suppose you must be aware, sir, of Miss Folliard's unfortunate
state of mind, and that she can see nobody; sir, she knows nobody, and
I have strict orders to deny her to every one unless some particular
friend of the family."

The stranger put a guinea into his hand, and added, "I had the pleasure
of knowing her before she lost her reason, and as I have not seen her
since, I should be glad to see her now, or even to look on her for a
few minutes."

"Come up, sir," replied the man, "and enter the drawing-room immediately
after me, or I shall be ordered to deny her."

The gentleman followed him; but why did his cheek become pale, and why
did his heart palpitate as if it would burst and bound out of his bosom?
We shall see. On entering the drawing-room he bowed, and was about to
apologize for his intrusion, when the _Cooleen Bawn_, recognizing him as
a stranger, approached him and said:

"Oh! can you tell me where is William Reilly? They have taken me from
him, and I cannot find him. Oh, can you tell me any thing about William
Reilly?"

The stranger staggered at this miserable sight, but probably more at the
contemplation of that love which not even insanity could subdue. He felt
himself obliged to lean for support upon the back of a chair, during
which brief space he fixed his eyes upon her with a look of the most
inexpressible tenderness and sorrow.

"Oh!" she repeated, "can you tell me where is William Reilly?"

"Alas! Helen," said he, "I am William Reilly."

"You!" she exclaimed. "Oh, no, the wide, wide Atlantic is between him and
me."

"It was between us, Helen, but it is not now; I am here in life before
you--your own William Reilly, that William Reilly whom you loved so
well, but so fatally. I am he: do you not know me?"

"You are not William Reilly," she replied; "if you were, you would have
a token."

"Do you forget that?" he replied, placing in her hand the emerald ring
she had given him at the trial. She started on looking at it, and a
feeble flash was observed to proceed from her eyes.

"This might come to you," she said, "by Reilly's death; yes, this might
come to you in that way; but there is another token which is known to
none but himself and me."

"Whisper," said he, and as he spoke he applied his mouth to her ear, and
breathed the token into it.

[Illustration: PAGE 182--It is he! it is he!]

She stood back, her eyes flashed, her beautiful bosom heaved; she
advanced, looked once more, and exclaimed, with a scream, "It is he!
it is he!" and the next moment she was insensible in his arms. Long but
precious was that insensibility, and precious were the tears which his
eyes rained down upon that pale but lovel countenance. She was soon
placed upon a settee, but Reilly knelt beside her, and held one of her
hands in his. After a long trance she opened her eyes and again started.
Reilly pressed her hand and whispered in her ear, "Helen, I am with you
at last."

She smiled on him and said, "Help me to sit up, until I look about me,
that I may be certain this is not a dream."

She then looked about her, and as the ladies of the family spoke
tenderly to her, and caressed her, she fixed her eyes once more upon her
lover, and said, "It is not a dream then; this is a reality; but, alas!
Reilly, I tremble to think lest they should take you from me again."

"You need entertain no such apprehension, my dear Helen," said the lady
of the mansion. "I have often heard your father say that he would give
twenty thousand pounds to have you well, and Reilly's wife. In fact,
you have nothing to fear in that, or any other quarter. But there's his
knock; he and my husband have returned, and I must break this
blessed news to him by degrees, lest it might be too much for him if
communicated without due and proper caution."

She accordingly went down to the hall, where they were hanging up their
great coats and hats, and brought them into her husband's study.

"Mr. Folliard," said she with a cheerful face, "I think, from some
symptoms of improvement noticed to-day in Helen, that we needn't be
without hope."

"Alas, alas!" exclaimed the poor father, "I have no hope; after such
a length of time I am indeed without a shadow of expectation. If
unfortunate Reilly were here, indeed her seeing him, as that Sligo
doctor told me, might give her a chance. He saw her about a week before
we came down, and those were his words. But as for Reilly, even if he
were in the country, how could I look him in the face? What wouldn't I
give now that he were here, that Helen was well, and that one word of
mine could make them man and wife?"

"Well, well," she replied, "don't be cast down; perhaps I could tell you
good news if I wished."

"You're beating about the bush, Mary, at all events," said her husband,
laughing.

"Perhaps, now, Mr. Folliard," she continued, "I could introduce a young
lady who is so fond of you, old and ugly as you are, that she would not
hesitate to kiss you tenderly, and cry with delight on your bosom you
old thief."

They both started at her words with amazement, and her husband said:
"Egad, Alick, Helen's malady seems catching. What the deuce do you mean,
Molly? or must I, too, send for a doctor?"

"Shall I introduce you to the lady, though?" she proceeded, addressing
the father; "but remember that, if I do, you must be a man, Mr.
Folliard!"

"In God's name! do what you like," said Mr. Hamilton, "but do it at
once."

She went upstairs, and said, "As I do not wish to bring your father up,
Helen, until he is prepared for a meeting with Mr. Reilly, I will bring
you down to him. The sight of you now will give him new life."

"Oh, come, then," said Helen, "bring me to my father; do not lose a
moment, not a moment--oh, let me see him instantly!"

The poor old man suspected something. "For a thousand!" said he, "this
is some good news about Helen!"

"Make your mind up for that," replied his mend; "as sure as you live it
is; and if it be, bear it stoutly."

In the course of a few minutes Mrs. Hamilton entered the room with
Helen, now awakened to perfect reason, smiling, and leaning upon her
arm. "Oh, dear papa!" she exclaimed, meeting him, with a flood of tears,
and resting her head on his bosom.

"What, my darling!--my darling! And you know papa once more!--you know
him again, my darling Helen! Oh, thanks be to God for this happy day!"
And he kissed her lips, and pressed her to his heart, and wept over her
with ecstasy and delight. It was a tender and tearful embrace.

"Oh, papa!" said she, "I fear I have caused you much pain and sorrow:
something has been wrong, but I am well now that he is here. I felt the
tones of his voice in my heart."

"Who, darling, who?"

"Reilly, papa."

"Hamilton, bring him down instantly; but oh, Helen, darling, how will I
see him?--how can I see him? but he must come, and we must all be happy.
Bring him down."

"You know, papa, that Reilly is generosity itself."

"He is, he is, Helen, and how could I blame you for loving him?"

[Illustration: PAGE 183--My son! my son!]

Reilly soon entered; but the old man, already overpowered by what had
just occurred, was not able to speak to him for some time. He clasped
and pressed his hand, however, and at length said:

"My son! my son! Now," he added, after he had recovered himself, "now
that I have both together, I will not allow one minute to pass until I
give you both my blessing; and in due time, when Helen gets strong, and
when I get a little stouter, you shall be married; the parson and the
priest will make you both happy. Reilly, can you forgive me?"

"I have nothing to forgive you, sir," replied Reilly; "whatever you did
proceeded from your excessive affection for your daughter; I am more
than overpaid for any thing I may have suffered myself; had it been ages
of misery, this one moment would cancel the memory of it for ever."

"I cannot give you my estate, Reilly," said the old man, "for that is
entailed, and goes to the next male issue; but I can give you fifty
thousand pounds with my girl, and that will keep you both comfortable
for life."

"I thank you, sir," replied Reilly, "and for the sake of your daughter
I will not reject it; but I am myself in independent circumstances, and
could, even without your generosity, support Helen in a rank of life not
unsuitable to her condition."

It is well known that, during the period in which the incidents of our
story took place, no man claiming the character of a gentleman ever
travelled without his own servant to attend him. After Reilly's return
to his native place, his first inquiries, as might be expected, were
after his _Cooleen Bawn_; and his next, after those who had been in some
degree connected with those painful circumstances in which he had been
involved previous to his trial and conviction. He found Mr. Brown and
Mr. Hastings much in the same state in which he left them. The latter,
who had been entrusted with all his personal and other property, under
certain conditions, that depended upon his return after the term of his
sentence should have expired, now restored to him, and again reinstated
him on the original terms into all his landed and other property,
together with such sums as had accrued from it during his absence,
so that he now found himself a wealthy man. Next to _Cooleen Bawn_,
however, one of his first inquiries was after Fergus Reilly, whom he
found domiciled with a neighboring middleman as a head servant, or kind
of under steward. We need not describe the delight of Fergus on once
more meeting his beloved relative at perfect liberty, and free from all
danger in his native land.

"Fergus," said Reilly, "I understand you are still a bachelor--how does
that come?"

"Why, sir," replied Fergus, "now that you know every thing about the
unhappy state of the _Cooleen Bawn_, surely you can't blame poor Ellen
for not desartin' her. As for me I cared nothing about any other girl,
and I never could let either my own dhrame, or what you said was
yours, out o' my head. I still had hope, and I still have, that she may
recover."

Reilly made no reply to this, for he feared to entertain the vague
expectation to which Fergus alluded.

"Well, Fergus," said he, "although I have undergone the sentence of a
convict, yet now, after my return, I am a rich man. For the sake of old
times--of old dangers and old difficulties--I should wish you to live
with me, and to attend me as my own personal servant or man. I shall get
you a suit of livery, and the crest of O'Reilly shall be upon it. I wish
you to attend upon me, Fergus, because you understand me, and because I
never will enjoy a happy heart, or one day's freedom from sorrow again.
All hope of that is past, but you will be useful to me--and that you
know."

Fergus was deeply affected at these words, although he was gratified
in the highest degree at the proposal. In the course of a few days he
entered upon his duties, immediately after which Reilly set out on his
journey to Monaghan, to see once more his beloved, but unhappy, Cooleen
Baton. On arriving at that handsome and hospitable town, he put up at
an excellent inn, called the "Western Arms," kept by a man who was the
model of innkeepers, known by the sobriquet of "honest Peter Philips".
We need, not now recapitulate that with which the reader is already
acquainted; but we cannot omit describing a brief interview which took
place in the course of a few days after the restoration of the _Cooleen
Bawn_ to the perfect use of her reason, between two individuals, who,
we think, have some claim upon the good-will and good wishes of our
readers. We allude to Fergus Reilly and the faithful Ellen Connor.
Seated in a comfortable room in the aforesaid inn--now a respectable
and admirably kept hotel--with the same arms over the door, were the two
individuals alluded to. Before them stood a black bottle of a certain
fragrant liquor, as clear and colorless as water from the purest spring,
and, to judge of it by the eye, quite as harmless; but there was the
mistake. Never was hypocrisy better exemplified than by the contents of
that bottle. The liquor in question came, Fergus was informed, from
the green woods of Truagh, and more especially from a townland named
Derrygola, famous, besides, for stout men and pretty girls.

"Well, now, Ellen darlin'," said Fergus, "if ever any two bachelors *
were entitled to drink their own healths, surely you and I are. Here's
to us--a happy marriage, soon and sudden. As for myself, I've had the
patience of a Trojan."

*"Bachelor," in Ireland, especially in the country parts of
it, where English is not spoken correctly, is frequently
applied to both the sexes.

Ellen pledged him beautifully with her eyes, but very moderately with
the liquor.

"Bedad!" he proceeded, "seven years--ay, and a half--wasn't a bad
apprenticeship, at any rate; but, as I tould Mr. Reilly before he left
the country--upon my sowl, says I, Mr. Reilly, she's worth waitin' for;
and he admitted it."

"But, Fergus, did ever any thing turn out so happy for all parties? To
me it's like a dream; I can scarcely believe it."

"Faith, and if it be a dhrame, I hope it's one we'll never waken from.
And so the four of us are to be married on the same day; and we're all
to live with the squire."

"We are, Fergus; the Cooleen Bawn will have it so; but, indeed, her
father is as anxious for it almost as she is. Ah, no, Fergus, she could
not part with her faithful Ellen, as she calls me; nor, after all,
Fergus, would her faithful Ellen wish to part with her?"

"And he's to make me steward; begad, and if I don't make a good one,
I'll make an honest one. Faith, at all events, Ellen, we'll be in a
condition to provide for the childre', plaise God."

Ellen gave him a blushing look of reproach, and desired him to keep a
proper tongue in his head.

"But what will we do with the five hundred, Ellen, that the squire and
Mr. Reilly made up between them?"

"We'll consult Mr. Reilly about it," she replied, "and no doubt but
he'll enable us to lay it out to the best advantage. Now, Fergus dear,
I must go," she added; "you know she can't bear me even now to be any
length of time away from her. Here's God bless them both, and continue
them in the happiness they now enjoy."

"Amen," replied Fergus, "and here's God bless ourselves, and make us
more lovin' to one another every day we rise; and here's to take a
foretaste of it now, you thief."

Some slight resistance, followed by certain smacking sounds, closed the
interview; for Ellen, having started to her feet, threw on her cloak and
bonnet, and hurried out of the room, giving back, however, a laughing
look at Fergus as she escaped.

In a few months afterwards they were married, and lived with the old man
until he became a grandfather to two children, the eldest a boy, and
the second a girl. Upon the same day of their marriage their humble but
faithful friends were also united; so that there was a double wedding.
The ceremony, in the case of Reilly and his _Cooleen Bawn_, was
performed by the Reverend Mr. Brown first, and the parish priest
afterwards; Mr. Strong, who had been for several years conjoined to Mrs.
Smellpriest, having been rejected by both parties as the officiating
clergyman upon the occasion, although the lovely bride was certainly his
parishioner. Age and time, however, told upon the old man; and at the
expiration of three years they laid him, with many tears, in the grave
of his fathers. Soon after this Reilly and his wife, accompanied by
Fergus and Ellen--for the _Cooleen Bawn_ would not be separated from
the latter--removed to the Continent, where they had a numerous family,
principally of sons; and we need not tell our learned readers, at least,
that those young men distinguished not only themselves, but their name,
by acts of the most brilliant courage in continental warfare. And so,
gentle reader, ends the troubled history of Willy Reilly and his own
_Cooleen Bawn_.

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