“Ay, ay! love-lies-bleeding; no doubt but she'll take care of that. Well, go and get an under-gardener wherever you can, and let my garden be, at all events, such as a stranger can walk through, and such as becomes my name and property. Engage such a person, give him whatever you consider fair wages, and the house-steward will pay him weekly. These are matters I can't trouble myself with now-I have other things to think of.” On the day mentioned in _Cooleen Bawn's_ message, Reilly hazarded a visit to the squire's house, and after giving a single knock, begged to see the cook. The porter having looked at him with the usual contempt which menials of his class bestow upon poor persons, went down to the kitchen with a good deal of reluctance, and told the cook, with a grin, that one of his relations wanted to see him. “Well,” replied Lanigan, who had been made aware of the intended visit, “it's wonderful, in these hard times, the number of respectable but reduced families that's goin' about. What kind of a gentleman is he, John? because I am very busy now. To be sure there is a great deal of cold vittles left, that would be lost and destroyed if we didn't give them to the poor; and you know the masther, who is a charitable man, desired us to do so. I'll go up and see what the poor devil wants.” He accordingly went up to the hall-door, and found Reilly there. It was to no purpose that he had been already apprised of his disguise--it was so complete that he did not know him--his beard was half an inch long; and, besides, Reilly, knowing the risk he ran in this daring adventure, had discolored his complexion with some wash that gave it the tinge of a mulatto. The cook was thunderstruck. “Well, my good fellow,” said he, not in the slightest degree recognizing him, “what do you want with me?” “Lanigan,” replied Reilly, “don't you know me?” “Know you! how the devil should I know you?--I never saw you before. What do you want with me?” “Lanigan,” whispered the other, “did you never hear of Willy Reilly?” “Yes, I did; have you any message from him?” “I am the man myself,” said Reilly, “but you don't know me, I am so completely disguised. Don't you know my voice?” “Merciful Father!” said the cook, “I'm in a doldrum; can I be sure that you don't come from Sir Robert Whitecraft, the notorious blackguard?” “Lanigan, I am Willy Reilly: my voice ought to tell you so; but I wish to see and speak with my dear _Cooleen Bawn_.” “Oh, my God, sir!” replied Lanigan, “but this love makes strange transmigrations. She won't know you, sir.” “Make your mind easy on that point,” replied Reilly; “only let her know that I am here.”