[Illustration: 314] Terrified by the sudden shock, the old man rung his bell with violence, and screamed for help, in accents where there was no counterfeited anxiety; and in another moment his servant rushed iu, followed by Nalty, and in a few seconds later by O'Reilly himself, who, hearing the cries, believed that the effort to feign a death-bed bad _turned_ into a dreadful reality. “There--there--she is ill--she is dying! It was too much--the shock did it!” cried the old man, now horror-struck at the ruin he had caused. “She is better,--her pulse is coming back,” whispered O'Reilly; “a little water to her lips,-that will do.” “She is coming to--I see it now,” said old Hickman; “leave the room, Bob; quick, before she sees you.” As O'Reilly gently disengaged his arm, which, in placing the fainting form on the sofa, was laid beneath her head, Lady Eleanor slowly opened her eyes, and fixed them upon him. O'Reilly suddenly became motionless; the calm and steady gaze seemed to have paralyzed him; he could not stir, he could not turn away his own eyes, but stood like one fascinated and spell-bound. “Oh dear! oh dear!” muttered the old man; “she 'll know him now, and see it all.” “Yes,” exclaimed Lady Eleanor, pushing back from her the officious bands that ministered about her. “Yes, sir, I do see it all! Oh, let me be thankful for the gleam of reason that has guided me in this dark hour. And you, too, do you be thankful that you have been spared from working such deep iniquity!” As she spoke she arose, not a vestige of illness remaining, but a deep flush mantling in the cheek that, but a moment back, was deathly pale. “Farewell, sir. You had a brief triumph over the fears of a poor weak woman; but I forgive you, for you have armed her heart with a courage it never knew before.” With these words she moved calmly towards the door, which O'Reilly in respectful silence held open; and then, descending the stairs with a firm step, left the house. “Is she gone, Bob?” said the old man, faintly, as the door clapped heavily. “Is she gone?” O'Reilly made no reply, but leaned his head on the chimney, and seemed lost in thought. “I knew it would fail,” said Nalty in a whisper to O'Reilly. “What 's that he 's saying, Bob?--what 's Nalty saying?” “That he knew it would fail, sir,” rejoined O'Reilly, with a bitterness that showed he was not sorry to say a disagreeable thing. “Ay! but Nalty was frightened about his annuity; he thought, maybe, I 'd die in earnest. Well, we 've something left yet.” “What's that?” asked O'Reilly, almost sternly. “The indictment for forgery,” said Hickman, with a savage energy. “Then you must look out for another lawyer, sir,” said Nalty. “That I tell you frankly and fairly.” “What?--I didn't hear.” “He refuses to take the conduct of such a case,” said O'Reilly; “and, indeed, I think on very sufficient grounds.”