d whilst McKeon went to
the inn again to get some dinner ready, Father John went up to the
prison to visit the prisoner in his cell.

The young man had to a great degree recovered his self-possession. He
told Father John that he had given up all hope for himself--that he
believed he had made up his mind perfectly to face death like a brave
man. He then talked about his sister, and lamented grievously that
she, ill as she was, should have been dragged into court with the
vain object of saving his life. He asked many questions about the
manner of her death--her disease--the state of her feelings towards
himself--all which Father John found it most difficult to answer; and
he was just beginning to inquire how his father had borne all the
griefs which had accumulated themselves upon him, when one of the
turnkeys opened the door of the cell, and told him that he was to
return immediately into court--that the jury had agreed--and that the
judge was now going into court to receive the verdict.

Father John turned deadly pale, and leant against the wall for
support. A hectic red partially suffused the prisoner's face, and his
eyes became somewhat brighter than before. A slight shudder passed
over his whole frame; in spite of all that he had suffered--all
that he made up his mind to suffer--it was evident that there was a
fearful degree of anxiety in his bosom, a painful hope still clinging
to his heart.

The fetters were again fixed on to his legs, and he was led away in
the midst of a body of policemen into court. Father John hurried to
the same place, where he found Mr. McKeon already seated on one of
the dark benches. There were but very few there, as every one had
left it after the business of the day had been concluded; some of
those who were in town and had heard that the jury were at last
unanimous, had hurried down; but the generality of the strangers who
were still remaining in Carrick, preferred the warmth of the hotel
fires to paddling down through the rain, dirt, and dark, even to hear
the verdict in a case in which every one was so much interested.

The barristers' and attorneys' seats were wholly deserted by their
customary learned occupants; there was but one lawyer present, and
he, probably thinking it unprofessional to appear to take more than
a lawyer's interest in any case, was standing by himself in the dark
obscurity between the dock and the bottom of one of the galleries.
This was Mr. O'Malley--and th