These words affected all who heard them, many even to tears.

“I have no remedy,” observed the judge.  “Tipstaff, take away the witness to prison.  It is painful to me,” he added, in a broken voice, “to feel compelled thus to punish you for an act which, however I may respect the motives that dictate it, I cannot overlook.  The ends of justice cannot be frustrated.”

“Mylord,” exclaimed the prisoner, “don’t punish the old man for refusing to speak against me.  His love for me is so strong that I know he couldn’t do it.  I will state the truth myself, but spare him.  I did not sleep in my own bed on the night Mr. O’ Brien’s haggard was burned, nor on the night before it.  I slept in my father’s barn, with Flanagan; both times at his own request but I did not then suspect his design in asking me.”

“This admission, though creditable to your affection and filial duty, was indiscreet,” observed the judge.  “Whatever you think might be serviceable, suggest to your attorney, who can communicate it to your counsel.”

“My lord,” said Connor, “I could not see my father punished for loving me as he does an’ besides I have no wish to conceal anything.  If the whole truth could be known I would stand but a short time where I an nor would Flanagan be long out of it.”

There is an earnest and impressive tone in truth, especially when spoken under circumstances of great difficulty, where it is rather disadvantageous to him who utters it, that in many instances produces conviction by an inherent candor which all feel, without as process of reasoning or argument.  Theis was in those few words a warmth of affection towards his father, and a manly simplicity heart, each of which was duly appreciated by the assembly about him, who felt, without knowing why, the indignant scorn of falsehood that so emphatically pervaded his expressions.  It was indeed impossible to hear them, and look upon his noble countenance and figure, without forgetting the humbleness of his rank in life, and feeling for him a marked deference and respect.

The trial then proceeded; but, alas! the hopes of Connor’s friends abandoned them at its conclusion; for although the judge’s charge was as favorable as the nature of the evidence permitted, yet it was quite clear that the jury had only one course to pursue, and that was to bring in a conviction.  After the lapse of about ten minutes, they returned to the jury—­box, and, as the foreman handed down their verdict, a feather might have been heard falling in the court.  The faces of the spectators got pale, and the hearts of strong men beat as if the verdict about to be announced were to fall upon themselves, and not upon the prisoner.  It is at all times an awful and trying ceremony to witness, but on this occasion it was a much more affecting one than had occurred in that court for many years.  As the foreman handed down the verdict, Connor’s eye followed the paper with the same calm resolution which