Connor made no reply, but sat down and pressed his right hand upon his forehead, as if to collect energy sufficient to meet the double trial which was now before him.

“I have only one course, John,” said he, “now, and that is, to appear to be—­what I am not—­a firm—­hearted man.  I must try to put on a smiling face before them.”

“If it be Una,” returned the other, “I shall withdraw for a while.  I know her extreme bashfulness in many cases; and I know, too, that anything like restraint upon her heart at present—­in a word, I shall retire for a little.”

“It may be as well,” said Connor; “but so far as I am concerned, it makes no difference—­just as you think proper.”

“Your mother will be a sufficient witness,” said the delicate—­minded brother; “but I will see you again after they have left you.”

“You must,” replied O’Donovan.  “Oh I see me—­see me again.  I have something to say to you of more value even than Una’s life.”

The door then opened, and assisted, or rather supported, by the governor of the gaol, and one of the turnkeys, Honor O’Donovan and Una O’Brien entered the gloomy cell of the guiltless convict.

The situation in which O’Donovan was now placed will be admitted, we think, by the reader, to have been one equally unprecedented and distressing.  It has been often said, and on many occasions with perfect truth, that opposite states of feeling existing in the same breast generally neutralize each other.  In Connor’s heart, however, there was in this instance nothing of a conflicting nature.  The noble boy’s love for such a mother bore in its melancholy beauty a touching resemblance to the purity of his affection for Una O’Brien—­each exhibiting in its highest character those virtues which made the heart of the mother proud and! loving, and that of his beautiful girl generous and devoted.  So far, therefore, from their appearance together tending to concentrate his moral fortitude, it actually divided his strength, and forced him to meet each with a I heart subdued and softened by his love for the other.

As they entered, therefore, he approached! them, smiling as well as he could; and, first taking a hand of each, would have led them over to a deal form beside the fire, but it was soon evident, that, owing to their weakness and agitation united, they required greater support.  He and O’Brien accordingly helped them to a seat, on which they sat with every symptom of that exhaustion which results at once from illness and mental suffering.

Let us not forget to inform our readers that the day of this mournful visit was that on which, according to his original sentence, he should have yielded up his life as a penalty to the law.

“My dear mother,” said he, “you an’ Una know that this day ought not to be a day of sorrow among us.  Only for the goodness of my friends, an’ of Government, it’s not my voice you’d be now listening to—­but that is now changed—­so no more about it.  I’m glad to see you both able to come out.”