The meeting of two such kindred spirits may be easily conceived.  There were few words wasted between them, but they were full of truth and sincerity.

“My noble fellow,” said O’Brien, clasping Connor’s hand, “she is at home with a beating heart and a happy one, waiting for you.”

“John,” replied the other fervently, “the wealth of the universe is below her price.  I’m not worthy of her, except in this, that I could shed my heart’s dearest blood to do her good.”

“Little you know of it yet,” said the other smiling significantly, “but you will soon.”

It appeared that Fardorougha’s wife had borne the hardships of both voyages better than her husband, who, as his son sensibly observed, had been too much worn down before by the struggle between his love for him and his attachment to his money.

“His cares are now nearly over,” said Connor, with a sigh.  “Indeed, he is so far gone that I don’t know how to lave him while I’m providin’ a home for him to die in.”

“That is already done,” replied O’Brien.  “Una did not forget it.  They have a house near ours, furnished with everything that can contribute to their comfort.”

Connor, on hearing this, paused, and his cheek became pale and red alternately with emotion—­his nerves thrilled, and a charm of love and pleasure diffused itself over his whole being.

“There is no use in my speaking,” he exclaimed; “love her more than I do I cannot.”

In consequence of Fardorougha’s illness, they were forced to travel by slower and shorter stages than they intended.  O’Brien, however, never left them; for he knew that should the miser die on the way, they would require the presence and services of a friend.  In due time, however, they reached the place appointed by John for the car to meet them; and ere many hours had passed, they found themselves once more in what they could call their home.  From the miser’s mind the power of observing external nature seemed to have been altogether withdrawn; he made no observation whatever upon the appearance or novelty of the scene to which he was conveyed, nor of the country through which he passed; but when put to bed he covered himself with the bed-clothes, and soon fell into a slumber.

“Connor,” said his mother, “your father’s now asleep, an’ won’t miss you; lose no time, thin, in goin’ to see her; and may God strinthen you both for sich a meetin’!” They accordingly went.  The Bodagh was out, but Una and her mother were sitting in the parlor when the noise of a jaunting-car was heard driving up to the door; Una involuntarily looked out of the window, and seeing two she started up, and putting her hands together, hysterically exclaimed thrice, “Mother, mother, mother, assist me, assist me—­he’s here!” Her mother caught her in her arms; and at the same moment Connor rushed in.  Una could only extend her arms to receive him; he clasped her to his heart, and she sobbed aloud several times rapidly, and then her head sank upon his bosom.