“Now,” said he to the gaoler, “that every thing is over, and the worst come to the worst, the sooner I get to my cell the better.  I have despised the world too long to care a single curse what it says or thinks of me, or about me.  All I’m sorry for is, that I didn’t take more out of it, and that I let it slip through my hands so asily as I did.  My curse upon it and its villany!  Bring me in.”

The gratification of the country for a wide circle round, was now absolutely exuberant.  There was not only the acquittal of the good-hearted and generous old man, to fill the public with a feeling of delight, but also the unexpected resurrection, as it were, of honest Bartholomew Sullivan, which came to animate all parties with a double enjoyment.  Indeed, the congratulations which both parties received, were sincere and fervent.  Old Condy Dalton had no sooner left the dock than he was surrounded by friends and relatives, each and all anxious to manifest their sense of his good fortune, in the usual way of “treating” him and his family.  Their gratitude, however, towards the Almighty for the unexpected interposition in their favor, was too exalted and pious to allow them to profane it by convivial indulgences.  With as little delay, therefore, as might be, they sought their humble cabin, where a scene awaited them that was calculated to dash with sorrow the sentiments of justifiable exultation which they felt.

Our readers may remember that owing to Sarah’s illness, the Prophet, as an after thought, had determined to give to the abduction of Mave Sullivan the color of a famine outrage; and for this purpose he had resolved also to engage Thomas Dalton to act as a kind of leader—­a circumstance which he hoped would change the character of the proceedings altogether to one of wild and licentious revenge on the part of Dalton.  Poor Dalton lent himself to this, as far as its aspect of a mere outbreak had attractions for the melancholy love of turbulence, by which he had been of late unhappily animated.  He accordingly left home with the intention of taking a part in their proceedings; but he never joined them.  Where he had gone to, or how he had passed the night, nobody knew.  Be this as it may, he made his appearance at home about noon on the day of his father’s trial, in evidently a dying state, and in this condition his family found him on their return.  ’Tis true they had the consolation of perceiving that he was calmer and more collected than he had been since the death of Peggy Murtagh.  His reason, indeed, might be said to have been altogether restored.

They found him sitting in his father’s arm chair, his head supported—­oh, how tenderly supported!—­by his affectionate sister, Mary.

Mrs. Dalton herself had come before, to break the joyful tidings to this excellent girl, who, on seeing her, burst into tears, exclaiming in Irish—­

“Mother, dear, I’m afraid you’re bringing a heavy heart to a house of sorrow!”