Well and truly did they keep their words, for we have the satisfaction of adding, that on the seventh day from the date of that conversation, they received a communication from the Castle, informing them that, after having taken the peculiar hardships of O’Donovan’s singular case into mature consideration, they deemed the prayer of the memorial such as they felt pleasure in complying with; and that the Colonial Secretary had been written to, to take the proper steps for the return of the young man and his parents to their own country at the expense of the Government.

This was enough, and almost more than O’Brien expected.  He had now done as much as could be done for the present, and nothing remained but to await their arrival with hope and patience.  In truth, the prospect that now presented itself to the Bodagh’s family was one in which, for the sake of the beloved Una, they felt a deep and overwhelming interest.  Ever since Connor’s removal from the country her spirits had gradually become more and more depressed.  All her mirth and gayety had abandoned her; she disrelished reading; she avoided company; she hardly ever laughed, but, on the contrary, indulged in long fits of bitter grief while upon her solitary rambles.  Her chief companion was Biddy Nulty, whom she exempted from her usual employment whenever she wished that Connor should be the topic of their conversation.  Many a time have they strolled together through the garden, where Una had often stood, and, pointing to the summer—­house, where the acknowledgments of their affection were first exchanged, said to her humble companion,—­

“Biddy, that is the spot where he first told me that he loved me, and where I first acknowledged mine to him.”

She would then pull out from her heart the locket which contained his rich brown hair, and, after kissing it, sit and weep on the spot which was so dear to her.

Biddy’s task, then, was to recount to the unhappy girl such anecdotes as she remembered of him; and, as these were all to his advantage, we need scarcely say that many an entertainment of this kind she was called upon to furnish to her whose melancholy enjoyment was now only the remembrance of him, and what he had once been to her.

“I would have been in a convent long before now, Biddy,” said she, a few days before Flanagan’s trial, “but I cannot leave my father and mother, because I know they could not live without me.  My brother John has declined Maynooth lest I should feel melancholy for want of some person to amuse me and to cheer me; and now I feel that it would be an ungrateful return I should make if I entered a convent and left my parents without a daughter whom they love so well, and my brother without a sister on whom he doats.”

“Well, Miss,” replied Biddy, “don’t be cast down; for my part I’d always hope for the best.  Who knows, Miss, but a betther lave may be turned up for you yet?  I’d hould a naggin’ that God nivir intinded an innocent creature like you to spind the rest of your life in sadness and sorrow, as you’re doin’.  Always hope for the best.”