The priest, seeing that she was dead, offered up a short but earnest prayer for the repose of her soul, after which he turned his attention to the boy.

“The question now is,” he observed to his companion, “can we save this poor, but interesting child?”

“I hardly think it possible,” she replied; “doesn’t your reverence see that death’s workin’ at him—­and an’ aisey job he’ll have of the poor thing now.”

“Hunger and cold have here done awful work,” said Father Hanratty, “as they have and will in many other conditions similar to this.  I shall mount my horse, and if you lift the poor child up, I will wrap him as well as I can in my great coat,”—­which, by the way, he stripped off him as he spoke.  He then folded it round the boy, and putting him into Nelly’s arms, was about to leave the cabin, when the child, looking round him for a moment, and then upon his mother, made a faint struggle to get back.

“What is it, asthore?” asked the woman; “what is it you want?”

“Lave me wid my mother,” he said; “let me go to her; my poor father’s dead, an’ left us—­oh! let me stay with her.”

The poor boy’s voice was so low and feeble, that it was with difficulty she heard the words, which she repeated to the priest.

“Dear child,” said the latter, “we are bringing you to where you will get food and drink, and a warm bed to go to, and you will get better, I hope.”

And as he took the helpless and innocent sufferer into his arms, after having fixed himself in the saddle, the tears of strong compassion ran down his cheeks.

“He is as light as a feather, poor thing,” exclaimed the kind-hearted man; “but I trust in heaven we may save him yet.”

And they immediately hurried onward to the next house, which happened to be that of our friend Jerry Sullivan, to the care of whose humane and. affectionate family they consigned him.

We cannot dwell here upon that which every reader can anticipate; it is enough to say that the boy with care recovered, and that his unfortunate mother with her two children received an humble grave in the nearest churchyard, beyond the reach of the storms and miseries of life forever.

On reaching the Grange, or rather the house now occupied by widow Hanlon, the priest having sent for Charley, into whose confidence he had for some time been admitted, had a private conference, of considerable length, with him and the pedlar; after which, Nelly was called in, as it would seem, to make some disclosure connected with the subject they were discussing.  A deep gloom, however, rested upon both Hanlon and the pedlar; and it was sufficiently evident that whatever the import of Nelly M’Gowan’s communication may have been, it was not of so cheering a nature as to compensate for the absence of widow Hanlon, and the party for which she had been sent.  Father Hanratty having left them, they took an early breakfast, and proceeded to Ballynafail—­which we choose to designate as the assize town—­in order to watch, with disappointed and heavy hearts, the trial of Condy Dalton, in whose fate they felt a deeper interest than the reader might suppose.