“Thin you’ll obey me as a daughter should,” said Honor.  “This is too much for you, Oona; part we both must from him, an’ neither of us is able to bear much, more.”

She here gave Connor a private signal to be firm, pointing unobservedly to Una’s pale cheek, which at that moment lay upon her bosom.

“Connor,” she proceeded, “Oona has what you sent her.  Nogher—­an’ he is breakin’ his heart too—­gave it to me; an’ my daughter, for I will always call her so, has it this minute next her lovin’ heart.  Here is hers, an’ let it lie next yours.”

Connor seized the glossy ringlet from his mother’s hand, and placed it at the moment next to the seat of his undying affection for the fair girl from whose ebon locks it had been taken.

His mother then kissed Una again, and, rising, said—­

“Now, my daughther, remimber I am your mother, an’ obey me.”

“I will,” said Una, attempting to repress her grief—­“I will; but—­”

“Yes, darlin’, you will.  Now, Connor, my son, my son—­Connor?”

“What is it, mother, darlin’?”

“We’re goin’, Connor,—­we’re lavin’ you—­be firm—­be a man.  Aren’t you my son, Connor? my only son—­an’ the ould man—­an’ never, never more—­kneel down—­kneel down, till I bless you.  Oh, many, many a blessin’ has risen from your mother’s lips an’ your mother’s heart, to Heaven for you, my son, my son!”

Connor knelt, his heart bursting, but he knelt not alone.  By his side was his own Una, with meek and bended head, awaiting for his mothers blessing.

She then poured forth that blessing; first:  upon him who was nearest to her heart, and afterwards upon the worn but still beautiful; girl, whose love for that adored son had made her so inexpressibly dear to her.  Whilst! she uttered this fervent but sorrowful benediction, a hand was placed upon the head of each, after which she stooped and kissed them both, but without shedding a single tear.

“Now,” said she, “comes the mother’s wakeness; but my son will help me by his manliness—­so will my daughter.  I am very weak.  Oh, what heart can know the sufferin’s of this hour, but mine?  My son, my son—­Connor O’Donovan, my son!”

At this moment John O’Brien entered the room; but the solemnity and pathos of her manner and voice hushed him so completely into silent attention, that it is probable she did not perceive him.

“Let me put my arms about him and kiss his lips once more, an’ then I’ll say farewell.”

She again approached the boy, who S opened his arms to receive her, and, after having kissed him and looked into his face, said, “I will now go—­I will’ now go;” but instead of withdrawing, as she had intended, it was observed that she pressed him more closely to her heart than before; plied her hands about his neck and bosom, as if she were not actually conscious of what she did; and at length sunk into a forgetfulness of all her misery upon the aching breast of her unhappy son.