that, as they expressed it, “the bad drop of the old rogue would sooner or later come out in the young one;” “he wouldn’t be what he was, or the bitter heart of the miser would appear;” with many other apothegms of similar import.  The family of the Bodagh, however, were painfully and peculiarly circumstanced.  With the exception of Una herself, none of them entertained a doubt that Connor was the incendiary.  Flanagan had maintained a good character, and his direct impeachment of Connor, supported by such exact circumstantial evidence, left nothing to be urged in the young man’s defence.  Aware as they were of the force of Una’s attachment, and apprehensive that the shock, arising from the discovery of his atrocity, might be dangerous if injudiciously disclosed to her, they resolved, in accordance with the suggestion of their son, to break the matter to herself with the utmost delicacy and caution.

“It is better,” said John, “that she should hear of the misfortune from ourselves; for, after breaking it to her as gently as possible, we can at least attempt to strengthen and console her under it.”

“Heaven above sees,” exclaimed his mother, “that it was a black and unlucky business to her and to all of us; but now that she knows what a revingeful villain he is, I’m sure she’ll not find it hard to banish him out of her thoughts. Deah Grasthias for the escape she had from him at any rate!”

“John, bring her in,” said the father; “bring the unfortunate young crature in.  I can’t but pity her, Bridget; I can’t but pity ma colleen voghth.”

When Una entered with her brother she perceived by a glance at the solemn bearing of her parents, that some unhappy announcement was about to be made to her.  She sat down, therefore, with a beating heart and a cheek already pale with apprehension.

“Una,” said her father, “we sent for you to mention a circumstance that we would rather you should hear from ourselves than from strangers.  You were always a good girl, Una—­an’ obadient girl, and sensible beyant your years; and I trust that your good sinse and the grace of the Almighty will enable you to bear up undher any disappointment that may come upon you.”

“Surely, father, there can be nothing worse than I know already,” she replied.

“Why, what do you know, dear?”

“Only what you told me the day Fardorougha was here, that nothing agreeable to my wishes could take place.”

“I would give a great deal that the business was now as it was even then,” responded her father; “there’s far worse to come, Una, an’ you must be firm, an’ prepare to hear what’ll thry you sorely.”

“I can’t guess it, father; but for God’s sake tell me at once.”

“Who do you think burned our property?”

“And I suppose if she hadn’t been undher the one roof wid us that it’s ourselves he’d burn,” observed her mother.

“Father, tell me the worst at once—­whatever it may be;—­how could I guess the villain or villains who destroyed our property?”