She paused for a moment herself; and her brother could observe that the hope which his manner was calculated to awaken, lit itself into a faiut smile rather visible in her eyes than on her features.

“Why, I believe you are smiling yourself, Una.”

“John,” said she, earnestly, “is it good?”

“It is, darling—­he won’t die.”

“Kiss me, kiss me,” she said; “may eternal blessings rest upon you!”

She then kissed him affectionately, laid her head back upon the pillow, and John saw with delight that the large tears of happiness rolled in torrents down her palo cheeks.

It was indeed true that Connor O’Donovan was not to die.  The memorials which had reached government from so many quarters, backed as they were by very powerful influence, and detailing as they did a case of such very romantic interest, could scarcely fail in arresting the execution of so stern and deadly a sentence.  It was ascertained, too, by the intercourse of his friends with government, that the judge who tried his case, notwithstanding the apparent severity of his charge, had been moved by an irresistible impulse to save him, and he actually determined from the beginning to have his sentence commuted to transportation for life.

The happy effect of this communication on Una O’Brien diffused a cheerful spirit among her family and relatives, who, in truth, had feared that her fate would ultimately depend upon that of her lover.  After having been much relieved by the copious flood of tears she shed, and heard with composure all the details connected with the mitigation of his sentence, she asked her brother if Connor’s parents had been yet made acquainted with it.

“I think not,” he replied; “the time is too short.”

“John,” said the affectionate girl, “oh, consider his mother; and think of the misery that one single hour’s knowledge of this may take away from her heart!  Go to her, my dear John, and may all the blessings of heaven rest upon you!”

“Good—­by, then, Una dear; I will go.”

He took her worn hand in his, as he spoke, and, looking on her with affectionate admiration, added—­

“Yes! good-by, my darling sister; believe me, Una, that I think if there’s justice in Heaven, you’ll have a light heart yet.”

“It is very light now,” she returned, “compared with what it was; but go, John, don’t lose a moment; for I know what they suffer.”

Her mother, after John’s departure for Fardorougha’s, went up to sit with her; but she found that the previous scene, although it relieved, had exhausted her.  In the course of a few minutes their limited dialogue ceased, and she sank into a sound and refreshing sleep, from which she did not awaken until her brother had some time returned from the execution of his pious message.  And piously was that message received by her for whose misery the considerate heart of Una O’Brien felt so deeply.  Fardorougha had been out about the premises, mechanically looking to the manner in which the business of his farm had been of late managed by his two servants, when he descried O’Brien approaching the house at a quick if not a hurried pace.  He immediately went in and communicated the circumstance to his wife.