She then gazed with a long look of love and sorrow upon the fine countenance of her manly son, and nature would be no longer restrained—­

“Let me lay my head upon your breast,” said she; “I’m attemptin’ too much—­the mother’s heart will give out the mother’s voice—­will speak the mother’s sorrow!  Oh, my son, my son, my darlin’, manly son—­are you lavin’ your lovin’ mother for evermore, for evermore?”

She was overcome; placing her head upon his bosom, her grief fell into that beautiful but mournful wail with which, in Ireland, those of her sex weep over the dead.

Indeed, the scene assumed a tenderness, from this incident, which was inexpressibly affecting, inasmuch as the cry of death was but little out of place when bewailing that beloved boy, whom, by the stern decree of law, she was never to see again.

Connor kissed her pale cheek and lips, and rained down a flood of bitter tears upon her face; and Una, borne away by the enthusiasm of her sorrow, threw her arms also around her, and wept aloud.

At length, after having, in some degree, eased her heart, she sat up, and with that consideration and good sense for which she had ever been remarkable, said—­

“Nature must have its way; an’ surely, within reason, it’s not sinful, seein’ that God himself has given us the feelin’s of sorrow, whin thim that we love is lavin’ us—­lavin’ us never, never to see them agin.  It’s only nature, afther all; and now ma colleen dhas”—­

Her allusion to the final separation of those who love—­or, in her own words, “to the feelin’s of sorrow, whin thim that we love is lavin us”—­was too much for the heart and affections of the fair girl at her side, whose grief now passed all the bounds which her previous attempts at being firm had prescribed to it.

[Illustration:  PAGE 282—­ O’Donovan took the beloved one in his arms]

O’Donovan took the beloved one in his arms, and, in the long embrace which ensued, seldom were love and sorrow so singularly and mournfully blended.

“I don’t want to prevent you from cryin’ a colleen machree; for I know it will lighten an’ aise your heart,” said Honor; “but remimber your wakeness an’ your poor health; an’, Connor avourneen, don’t you—­if you love her—­don’t forget the state her health’s in either.”

“Mother, mother, you know it’s the last time I’ll ever look upon my Una’s face again,” he exclaimed.  “Oh, well may I be loath an’ unwillin’ to part with her.  You’ll think of me, my darlin’ life, when I’m gone—­not as a guilty man, Una dear, but as one that if he ever committed a crime, it was lovin’ you an’ bringin’ you to this unhappy state.”