It was one evening about ten days after O’Donovan’s conviction that Bodagh Buie O’Brien’s wife sat by the bedside of her enfeebled and languishing daughter.  The crisis of her complaint had passed the day before; and a very slight improvement, visible only to the eye of her physician, had taken place.  Her delirium remained much as before; sometimes returning with considerable violence, and again leaving reason, though feeble and easily disturbed, yet when unexcited by external causes, capable of applying its powers to the circumstances around her.  On this occasion the mother, who watched every motion and anticipated every wish of the beloved one, saw that she turned her eye several times upon her as if some peculiar anxiety distressed her.

“Una, jewel,” she at length inquired, “is there anything you want, colleen maehree; or anything I can do for you?”

“Come near me, mother,” she replied, “come near me.”

Her mother approached her still more nearly.

“I’m afraid,” she said, in a very low voice, “I’m afraid to ask it.”

“Only wait for a minute or two,” said her mother, “an’ John will—­but here’s the doctor’s foot; they wor spakin’ a word or two below; an’ whisper, darlin’ o’ my heart, sure John has something to tell you—­something that will”—­

She looked with a searching anxiety into her mother’s face; and it might have been perceived that the morning twilight of hope beamed faintly but beautifully upon her pale features.  The expression that passed over them was indeed so light and transient that one could scarcely say she smiled; yet that a more perceptible serenity diffused its gentle irradiation over her languid countenance was observed even by her mother.

The doctor’s report was favorable.

“She is slowly improving,” he said, on reaching the parlor, “since yesterday; I’m afraid, however, she’s too weak at present to sustain this intelligence.  I would recommend you to wait for a day or two, and in the meantime to assume a cheerful deportment, and to break it to her rather by your looks and manner than by a direct or abrupt communication.”

They promised to observe his directions; but when her mother informed them of the hint she herself threw out to her, they resolved to delay the matter no longer; and John, in consequence of what his mother had led her to expect, went to break the intelligence to her as well as he could.  An expectation had been raised in her mind, and he judged properly enough that there was less danger in satisfying it than in leaving her just then in a state of such painful uncertainty.

“Dear Una,” said he, “I am glad to hear the doctor say that you are better.”

“I think I am a little,” said she.

“What was my mother saying to you, just now, before the doctor was with you?  But why do you look at me so keenly, Una?” said he, cheerfully; “it’s sometime since you saw me in such a good humor—­isn’t it?”