felt the want of his son's presence more keenly even than
his wife, yet his grief, notwithstanding its severity, was mingled with
the interruption of a habit--such as is frequently the prevailing
cause of sorrow in selfish and contracted minds. That there was much
selfishness in his grief, our readers, we dare say, will admit. At all
events, a scene which took place between him and his wife, on the night
of the day which saw Connor depart from his native land forever, will
satisfy them of the different spirit which marked their feelings on that
unfortunate occasion.

Honor had, as might be expected, recovered her serious composure, and
spent a great portion of that day in offering up her prayers for the
welfare of their son. Indeed, much of her secret grief was checked by
the alarm which she felt for her husband, whose conduct on that morning
before he left home was marked by the wild excitement, which of late had
been so peculiar to him. Her surprise was consequently great when she
observed, on his return, that he manifested a degree of calmness, if
not serenity, utterly at variance with the outrage of his grief, or, we
should rather say, the delirium of his despair, in the early part of the
day. She resolved, however, with her usual discretion, not to catechize
him on the subject, lest his violence might revive, but to let his
conduct explain itself, which she knew in a little time it would do.
Nor was she mistaken. Scarcely had an hour elapsed, when, with something
like exultation, he disclosed his plan, and asked her advice and
opinion. She heard it attentively, and for the first time since the
commencement of their affliction, did the mother's brow seem unburdened
of the sorrow which sat upon it, and her eye to gleam with something
like the light of expected happiness. It was, however, on their
retiring to rest that night that the affecting contest took place,
which exhibited so strongly the contrast between their characters. We
mentioned, in a preceding part of this narrative, that ever since her
son's incarceration Honor had slept in his bed, and with her head on the
very pillow which he had so often pressed. As she was about to retire,
Fardorougha, for a moment, appeared to forget his "plan," and everything
but the departure of his son. He followed Honor to his bedroom, which he
traversed, distractedly clasping his hands, kissing his boy's clothes,
and uttering sentiments of extreme misery and despair.

"There