“A light heart, dear Mary—­a light and a grateful heart.  Your father, acushla machree—­your father, my dear, unhappy Tom, is not a murderer.”

The girl had one arm around her brother’s neck, but she instinctively raised the other, as if in ecstatic delight, but in a moment she dropped it again, and said sorrowfully—­

“Ay; but, mother dear, didn’t he say himself he was guilty?”

“He thought so, dear; but it was only a rash blow; and oh, how many a deadly accident has come from harsh blows!  The man was not killed at all, dear Mary, but is alive and well, and was in the court-house this day.  Oh! what do we not owe to a good God for His mercy towards us all?  Tom, dear, I am glad to see you at home; you must not go out again.”

“Oh, mother dear,” said his sister, kissing him, and bursting into tears, “Tom’s dying!”

“What’s this?” exclaimed his mother—­“death’s in my boy’s face!”

He raised his head gently, and, looking at her, replied, with a faint smile—­

“No, mother, I will not go out any more; I will be good at last—­it’s time for me.”

At this moment old Dalton and the rest of the family entered the house, but were not surprised at finding Mary and her mother in tears; for they supposed, naturally enough, that the tears were tears of joy for the old man’s acquittal.  Mrs. Dalton raised her hand to enjoin silence; and then, pointing to her son, said—­

“We must keep quiet for a little.”

They all looked upon the young man, and saw, that death, immediate death, was stamped upon his features, gleamed wildly out of his eyes, and spoke in his feeble and hollow voice.

“Father,” said he, “let me kiss you, or come and kiss me.  Thank God for what has happened this day.  Father,” he added, looking up into the old man’s face, with an expression of unutterable sorrow and affection—­“father, I know I was wild; but I will be wild no more.  I was wicked, too; but I will be wicked no more.  There, is an end now to all my follies and all my crimes; an’ I hope—­I hope that God will have mercy upon me, an’ forgive me.”

The tears rained fast upon his pale face from the old man’s eyes, as he exclaimed—­

“He will have mercy upon you, my darlin’ son; look to Him.  I know, darlin’, that whatever crimes or follies you committed, you are sorry for them, an’ God will forgive you.”

“I am,” he replied; “kiss me all of you; my sight is gettin’ wake, an’ my tongue isn’t isn’t so strong as it was.”

One after one they all kissed him, and as each knew that this tender and sorrowful, embrace must be the last that should ever pass between them, it is impossible adequately to describe the scene which then took place.

“I have a request to make,” he added, feebly; “an’ it is, that I may sleep with Peggy and our baby.  Maybe I’m not worthy of that; but still I’d like it, an’ my heart’s upon it; an’ I think she would like it, too.”