After all, it is likely, that had not the fearful occurrences of this morning taken place, their sweet boy might have been spared to them.  The shock, however, occasioned by the discharge of the gun, and the noise of the conflict, acting upon a frame so feeble were more than he could bear.  Be this as it may, the constables were not many minutes gone, when, to their surprise, he staggered back again out of his little room, where Father Roche had placed him, and tottering across the floor, slipped in the deceased man’s blood, and fell.  The mother flew to him, but Harman had already raised him up; when on his feet, he looked at the blood and shuddered—­a still more deadly paleness settled on his face—­his breath came short, and his lips got dry and parched—­he could not speak nor stand, had not Harman supported him.  He looked again at the blood with horror, and then at his mother, whilst he shrank up, as it were, into himself, and shivered from head to foot.

“Darling of my heart,” she exclaimed, “I understand you.  Bryan, our treasure, be a man for the sake of your poor heart-broken mother—­I will, I will, my darling life, I will wipe it off of you, every stain of it—­why should such blood and my innocent son come together?”

She now got a cloth, and in a few moments left not a trace of it upon him.  He had not yet spoken, but on finding himself cleansed from it, he stretched out his hands, thereby intimating that he wished to go to her.

“Do you not perceive a bottle on the shelf there?” said Harman, “it contains wine which I brought for his—­,” he checked himself;—­“Alas! my poor boy,” he exclaimed involuntarily, “you are doubly dear to your-mother now.  Mix it with water,” he proceeded, “and give him a little, it will strengthen and revive him.”

“Better,” said Father Roche in a low voice, not intended for his, “to put him back into his own bed; he is not now in a state to be made acquainted with his woeful loss.”  As he spoke the boy glanced at the corpse of his father, and almost at the same moment his mother put wine and water to his lips.  He was about to taste it, but on looking into the little tin porringer that contained it, he put it away from him, and shuddered strongly.

“It’s mixed with the blood,” said he, “and I can’t;” and again he put it away from him.

“Bryan, asthore,” said his mother, “it’s not blood; sure it’s wine that Mr. Harman, the blessin’ of God be upon him, brought to you.”

He turned away again, however, and would not take it.  “Bring me to my father,” said he, once more stretching out his arms towards his mother, “let me stay a while with him.”

“But he’s asleep, Bryan,” said Harman, “and I’m sure you would not wish to awaken him.”

“I would like to kiss him then,” he replied, “and to sleep a while with him.”

“Och, let him, poor darling,” said his mother, as she took him in her arms, “it may ease his little heart, and then he’ll feel satisfied.”