“I think I know another gentleman of my acquaintance who holds property in some similar trust for Papists,” observed Helen, “but who certainly is incapable of imitating the villany of that most unprincipled man.” “Come, come, Helen; come, my girl; tut--ahem; come, you are getting into politics now, and that will never do. A girl like you ought to have nothing to do with politics or religion.” “Religion! papa.” “Oh--hem-I don't mean exactly that. Oh, no; I except religion; a girl may be as religious as she pleases, only she must say as little upon the subject as possible. Come, another cup of tea, with a little more sugar, for, I give you my honor, you did not make the last one of the sweetest;” and so saying, he put over his cup with a grimace, which resembled that of a man detected in a bad action, instead of a good one. At this moment John, the butler, came in with a plate of hot toast; and, as he was a privileged old man, he addressed his master without much hesitation. “That was a quare business,” he observed, using the word quare as an equivocal one, until he should see what views of the circumstance his master might take; “a quare business, sir, that happened to Mr. Reilly.” “What business do you allude to, you old sinner?” “The burning of his house and place, sir. All he has, or had, is in a heap of ashes.” Helen felt not for the burning, but her eyes were fixed upon the features of the old man, as if the doom of her life depended on his words; whilst the paper on which ee write is not whiter than were her cheeks. “What--what--how was it?” asked his master; “who did it?--and by whose authority was it done?” “Sir Robert Whitecraft and his men did it, sir.” “Ay, but I can't conceive he had any authority for such an act.” “Wasn't Mr. Reilly an outlaw, sir? Didn't the Red Rapparee, who is now a good Protestant, swear insurrection against him?” “The red devil, sirra,” replied the old squire, forgetting his animosity to Reilly in the atrocity and oppression of the deed--“the red devil, sirra! would that justify such a cowardly scoundrel as Sir Robert--ugh--ugh--ugh--that went against my breath, Helen. Well, come here, I say, you old sinner; they burned the place, you say?” “Sir Robert and his men did, sir.” “I'm not doubting that, you old house-leek. I know Sir Robert too well--I know the infernal--ahem; a most excellent loyal gentleman, with two or three fine estates, both here and in England; but he prefers living here, for reasons best known to himself and me, and--and to somebody else. Well, they burned Reilly out--but tell me this; did they catch the rascal himself? eh? here's five pounds for you, if you can say they have him safe.” “That's rather a loose bargain, your honor,” replied the man with a smile; “for saying it?--why, what's to prevent me from saying it, if I wished?” “None of your mumping, you old snapdragon; but tell me the truth, have they secured him hard and fast?”