"I hope, at all events, that I will act the part of a Christian,"

returned O'Donovan. "I certainly would rather live; but I'm not afeard of death, and if it comes, I trust I will meet it humbly but firmly."

"I believe," said the sheriff, "you need entertain little apprehension of death; I'm inclined to think that that part of your sentence is not likely to be put in execution. I have heard as much."

"I think, sir, by your manner, that you have," returned Connor; "but I beg you to tell me without goin' about. Don't be afeared, sir, that I'm too wake to hear either good news or bad."

The sheriff made no reply; but placed in his hands the official doc.u.ment which remitted to him the awful penalty of his life. Connor read it over slowly, and the other kept his eye fixed keenly upon his countenance, in order to observe his bearing under circ.u.mstances that are often known to test human fort.i.tude as severely as death itself. He could, however, perceive no change; not even the unsteadiness of a nerve or muscle was visible, nor the slightest fluctuation in the hue of his complexion.

"I feel grateful to the lord lieutenant for his mercy to me," said he, handing him back the letter, "as I do to the friends who interceded for me; I never will or can forget their goodness. Oh, never, never!"

"I believe it," said the sheriff; "but there's one thing that I'm anxious to press upon your attention; and it's this, that no further mitigation of your punishment is to be expected from government; so that you must make up your mind to leave your friends and your country for life, as you know now."

"I expect nothing more," returned Connor, "except this, that the hand of G.o.d may yet bring the guilt of burning home to the man that committed it, and prove my innocence. I'm _now_ not without some hope that such a thing may be brought about some how. I thank you, Misther Sheriff, for your kindness in coming to me with this good news so soon; all that I can say is, that I thank you from my heart. I am bound to say, too, that any civility and comfort that could be shown was afforded me ever since I came here, an' I feel it, an' I'm grateful for it."

Both were deeply impressed by the firm tone of manly sincerity and earnestness with which he spoke, blended as it was by a melancholy which gave, at the same time, a character of elevation and pathos to all he said. They then shook hands with him, after chatting for some time on indifferent subjects, the jailer promising to make his situation while he should remain in prison as easy as the regulations would allow him or, "who knows," he added, smiling, "but we might make them a little easier?"

"That's a fine young fellow," said he to the sheriff, after they had left him.

"He is a gentleman," replied the sherif "by nature a gentleman; and a very uncommon one, too. I defy a man to doubt word that comes out of his lips; all he says is impressed with the stamp of truth itself and by h----n's he never committed the felony he's in for! Keep him as comfortable as you can."

They then separated.

The love of life is the first and strong principle in our nature, and what man is there except some unhappy wretch pressed down by long and galling misery to the uttermost depths of despair, who, knows that life was forfeited, whether justly or it matters little, to the laws of his country will not feel the mercy which bids him live with a corresponding sense of grat.i.tude. The son of the pious mother acted, as if she was still his guide and monitress.

He knelt down and poured out his grat.i.tude to that great Being who had the final claim upon it, and whose blessing he fervently invoked upon the heads of those true friends by whose exertions and influence he knew that life was restored to him.

Of his life while he remained in this country there is little more to be said than what is usually known to occur in the case of of convicts similarly circ.u.mstanced, if we exclude his separation from the few persons who were dear to him. He saw his father the next day and the old man felt almost disappointed discovering that he was deprived of the pleasure which he proposed to himself of be the bearer of such glad tidings to him. Those who visited him, however, noticed with a good deal of surprise, that he appeared as laboring under some secret aim which, however, no tact or address on their part could induce him to disclose.

Many of them, actuated by the best motives, asked him in distinct terms why he appeared to be troubled; but the only reply they received was a good-humored remark that it was not to be expected that he could leave forever all that was dear to him on earth with a very cheerful spirit.

It was at this period that his old friend Nogher M'Cormick came to pay him a visit; it being the last time, as he said, that he would ever have an opportunity of seeing his face. Nogher, whose moral impressions were by no means so correct as Connor's, asked him, with a face of dry, peculiar mystery, if he had any particular wish unfulfilled; or if there remained behind him any individual against whom he entertained a spirit of enmity. If there were he begged him to make no scruple in entrusting to him a full statement of his wishes on the subject, adding that he might rest a.s.sured of having them accomplished.

"One thing you may be certain of, Nogher," said he, to the affectionate fellow, "that I have no secrets to tell; so don't let that go abroad upon me. I have heard to-day," he added, "that the vessel we are to go in will sail on this day week. My father was here this mornin'; but I hadn't heard it then. Will you, Nogher, tell my mother privately that she mustn't come to see me on the day I appointed with my father? From the state of health she's in, I'm tould she couldn't bear it. Tell her, then, not to come till the day before I sail; an' that I will expect to see her early on that day. And, Nogher, as you know more about this unhappy business than any one else, except the O'Briens and ourselves, will you give this little packet to my mother? There's three or four locks of my hair in it; one of them is for Una; and desire my mother to see Una, and to get a link of her hair to wear next my heart. My poor father--now that he finds he must part with me--is so distracted and distressed, that I couldn't trust him with this message. I want it to be kept a secret to every one but you, my mother, and Una; but my poor father would he apt to mention it in some fit of grief."

"But is there nothing else on your mind, Connor?"

"There's no heavy guilt on my mind, Nogher, I thank my G.o.d and my dear mother for it."

"Well, I can tell you one thing before you go, Connor--Bartle Flanagan's well watched. If he has been guilty--if--derry downs, who doubts it'?--well never mind; I'll hould a trifle we get him to show the cloven foot, and condemn himself yet."

"The villain," said Connor, "will be too deep--too polished for you."

"Ten to one he's not. Do you know what we've found out since this business?"

"No."

"Why, the divil resave the squig of punch, whiskey, or liquor of any sort or size he'll allow to pa.s.s the lips of him. Now, Connor, aren't you up to the cunnin' villainy of the thraitor in that maynewvre?"

"I am, Nogher; I see his design in it. He is afeard if he got drunk that he wouldn't be able to keep his own secret."

"Ah, then, by the holy Nelly, we'll sleep him yet, or he'll look sharp.

Never you mind him, Connor."

"Nogher! stop," said Connor, almost angrily, "stop; what do you mane by them last words?"

"Divil a much; it's about the blaggard I'm spakin'; he'll be ped, I can tell you. There's a few friends of yours that intinds, some o' these nights, to open a gusset under one of his ears only; the divil a thing more."

"What! to take the unhappy man's life--to murdher him?"

"Hut, Connor; who's spakin' about murdher? No, only to make him miss his breath some night afore long. Does he desarve mercy that 'ud swear away the life of an innocent man?"

"Nogher," replied the other, rising up and speaking with the utmost solemnity--

"If one drop of his blood is spilt on my account, it will bring the vengeance of Heaven upon the head of every man havin' a hand in it. Will you, because he's a villain, make yourself murdherers--make yourselves blacker than he is?"

"Wiry, thin, death alive! Connor, have you your seven sinsis about you?

Faith, that's good; as if it was a sin to knock such a white-livered Judas upon the head! Sin!--oh h.e.l.l resave the morsel o' sin in that but the contrairy. Sure its only sarvin' honest people right, to knock such a desaiver on the head. If he had parjured himself for sake of the truth, or to a.s.sist a brother in trouble--or to help on the good cause--it would be something; but to go to--but--arra, be me sowl, he'll sup sarra for it, sure enough! I thought it would make your mind aisy, or I wouldn't mintion it till we'd let the breath out of him."

"Nogher," said Connor, "before you leave this unfortunate room, you must take the Almighty to witness that you'll have no hand in this b.l.o.o.d.y business, an' that you'll put a stop to it altogether. If you don't, and that his life is taken, in the first place, I'll be miserable for life; and in the next, take my word for it, that the judgment of G.o.d will fall heavily upon every one consarned in it."

"What for? Is it for slittin' the juggler of sich a rip? Isn't he as bad as a heretic, an' worse, for he turned against his own. He has got himself made the head of a lodge, too, and holds Articles; but it's not bein' an Article-bearer that'll save him, an' he'll find that to his cost. But, indeed, Connor, the villain's a double thraitor, as you'd own, if you knew what I heard a hint of?"

"Well, but you must lave him to G.o.d."

"What do you think but I got a whisper that he has bad designs on her."

"On who?" said O'Donovan (starting).

"Why, on your own girl, Oona, the Bodagh's daughter. He intends, it's whispered, to take her off; an' it seems, as her father doesn't stand well with the boys, that Bartle's to get a great body of them to a.s.sist him in bringing her away."

Connor paced his cell in deep and vehement agitation. His resentment against this double-dyed villain rose to a fearful pitch; his color deepened-his eye shot fire, and, as he clenched his hand convulsively, Nogher saw the fury which this intelligence had excited in him.

"No," he proceeded, "it would be an open sin an' shame to let such an etarnal limb of the devil escape."

It may, indeed, be said that O'Donovan never properly felt the sense of his restraint until this moment. When he reflected on the danger to which his beloved Una was exposed from the dark plans of this detestable villain, and recollected that there existed in the members of the illegal confederacy such a strong spirit of enmity against Bodagh Buie, as would induce them to support Bartle in his designs upon his daughter, he pressed his hand against his forehead, and walked about in a tumult of distress and resentment, such as he had never yet felt in his bosom.

"It's a charity it will be," said Nogher, shrewdly availing himself of the commotion he had created, "to stop the vagabone short in the coorse of his villany. He'll surely bring the darlin' young girl off, an'

destroy her."

For a few moments he felt as if his heart were disposed to rebel against the common ordinances of Providence, as they appeared to be manifested in his own punishment, and the successful villainy of Bartle Flanagan.

The reflection, however, of a strong and naturally pious mind soon enabled him to perceive the errors into which his pa.s.sions would lead him, if not restrained and subjected. He made an effort to be calm, and in a considerable degree succeeded.

"Nogher," said he, "let us not forget that this Bartle--this--but I will not say it--let us not forget that G.o.d can asily turn his plans against himself. To G.o.d, then, let us lave him. Now, hear me--you must swear in His presence that you will have neither act nor part in doing him an injury--that you will not shed his blood, nor allow it to be shed by others, as far as you can prevent it."

Nogher rubbed his chin gravely, and almost smiled at what he considered to be a piece of silly nonsense on the part of Connor. He determined, therefore, to satisfy his scruples as well as he could; but, let the consequence be what it might, to evade such an oath.

"Why, Connor," said he, "surely, if you go to that, we can have no ill-will against the d--n villain; an' as you don't wish it, we'll dhrop--the thing; so now make your mind aisy, for another word you or any one else won't ever hear about it."

"And you won't injure the man?"