“I’m afeard,” said Mrs. M’Ivor, “that by the time the trial’s over to-morrow, it’ll be too late; but let us say the day afther, if it’s the same to you.”

“Well, then,” replied Mave, “you can call to our place, as it’s on your way, an’ we’ll both go together.”

“If she knew her,” said Mave to her friends, on her way home, “as I do; if she only knew the heart she has—­the lovin’, the fearless, the great heart;—­oh, if she did, no earthly thing would prevent her from goin’ to her without the loss of a minute’s time.  Poor Sarah!—­brave and generous girl—­what wouldn’t I do to bring her back to health!  But ah, mother, I’m afeard;” and as the noble girl spoke, the tears gushed to her eyes—­“‘It’s my last act for you,’ she whispered to me, on that night when the house was surrounded by villains—­’I know what you risked for me in the shed; I know it, dear Mave, an’ I’m now sthrivin’ to pay back my debt to you.’  Oh, mother!” she exclaimed, “where—­where could one look for the like of her! an’ yet how little does the world know about her goodness, or her greatness, I may say.  Well,” proceeded Mave, “she paid that debt; but I’m afeard, mother, it’ll turn out that it was with her own life she paid it.”

At the hour appointed, Mrs. M’Ivor and Mave set out on their visit to Sarah, each now aware of the dreadful and inevitable doom that awaited her father, and of the part which one of them, at least, had taken in bringing it about.

About half an hour before their arrival, Sarah, whose anxiety touching the fate of old Dalton could endure no more, lay awaiting the return of her nurse—­a simple, good-hearted, matter-of-fact creature, who had no notion of ever concealing the truth under any circumstances.  The poor girl had sent her to get an account of the trial the best way she could, and, as we said, she now lay awaiting her return.  At length she came in.

“Well, Biddy, what’s the news—­or have you got any?”

The old woman gently and affectionately put her hand over on Sarah’s forehead, as if the act was a religious ceremony, and accompanied an invocation, as, indeed, she intended it to do.

“May God in His mercy soon relieve you from your thrials, my poor girl, an’ bring you to Himself! but it’s the black news I have for you this day.”

Sarah started.

“What news,” she asked, hastily—­“what black news?”

“Husth, now, an’ I’ll tell you;—­in the first place, your mother is alive, an’ has come to the counthry.”

Sarah immediately sat up in the bed, without assistance, and fastening her black, brilliant eyes upon the woman, exclaimed—­“My mother—­my mother—­my own mother!—­an’ do you dare to tell me that this is black news?  Lave the house, I bid you.  I’ll get up—­I’m not sick—­I’m well.  Great God! yes, I’m well—­very well; but how dare you name black news an’ my mother—­my blessed mother—­in the same breath, or on the same day?”