ncoherence of distraction; but it was not words that
marked his despair most strongly, the appalling and heart-sickening
groans that came from the terror-stricken and dying man must haunt me
while I live; the expression, too, of hopeless, imploring agony with
which he turned his eyes from object to object, I can never forget. At
length, appearing suddenly to recollect himself, he said, with startling
alertness, but in a voice so altered that I scarce could recognise the
tones:

'Purcell, Purcell, go and tell my poor mother; she must know all, and
then, quick, quick, quick, call your uncle, bring him here; I must have
a chance.' He made a violent but fruitless effort to rise, and after
a slight pause continued, with deep and urgent solemnity: 'Doctor, how
long shall I live? Don't flatter me. Compliments at a death-bed are out
of place; doctor, for God's sake, as you would not have my soul perish
with my body, do not mock a dying man; have I an hour to live?'

'Certainly,' replied the surgeon; 'if you will but endeavour to keep
yourself tranquil; otherwise I cannot answer for a moment.'

'Well, doctor,' said the patient, 'I will obey you; now, Purcell, my
first and dearest friend, will you inform my poor mother of--of what you
see, and return with your uncle; I know you will.'

I took the dear fellow's hand and kissed it, it was the only answer
I could give, and left the room. I asked the first female servant I
chanced to meet, if her mistress were yet up, and was answered in the
affirmative. Without giving myself time to hesitate, I requested her
to lead me to her lady's room, which she accordingly did; she entered
first, I supposed to announce my name, and I followed closely; the poor
mother said something, and held out her hands to welcome me; I strove
for words; I could not speak, but nature found expression; I threw
myself at her feet and covered her hands with kisses and tears. My
manner was enough; with a quickness almost preternatural she understood
it all; she simply said the words: 'O'Connor is killed;' she uttered no
more.

How I left the room I know not; I rode madly to my uncle's residence,
and brought him back with me--all the rest is a blank. I remember
standing by O'Connor's bedside, and kissing the cold pallid forehead
again and again; I remember the pale serenity of the beautiful features;
I remember that I looked upon the dead face of my friend, and I remember
no more.

For many months I lay writ