r.

"Not in health, John," she replied; "but that man's trial, and the many
remembrances it has stirred up in my mind, have disturbed me. I am very
much cast down, as you may see. Indeed, to speak the truth, and without
disguise, I think that my heart is broken. Every one knows that a
breaking heart is incurable."

"You take it too much to yourself, a lanna dhas," said her mother; "but
you must keep up your spirits, darlin'--time will work wonders."

"With me, mother, it never can."

"Una," said John, with affected gravity, "you have just made two
assertions which I can prove to be false."

She looked at him with surprise.

"False, dear John?"

"Yes, false, dear Una; and I will prove it, as I said. In the first
place, there is a cure for a breaking' heart; and, in the next place,
time will work wonders even for you."

"Well," said she, assuming a look of sickly cheerfulness, "I should be
very ungrateful, John, if I did not smile for you, even when you don't
smile yourself, after all the ingenious plans you take to keep up my
spirits."

"My dear girl," replied John, "I will not trifle with you; I ask you now
to be firm, and say whether you are capable of hearing--good news."

"Good news to me! I hope I am, John."

"Well, then, I have to inform you that this day Bartle Flanagan has
confessed that it was not Connor O'Donovan who burned our haggard, but
himself. The sheriff has written to inform the Government, so that we
will have Connor back again with a name and character unsullied."

She looked at him for a moment, then at her parents; and her cheek
still got paler, and after a slight pause she burst into a vehement and
irrepressible paroxysm of grief.

"John, is this true?" inquired his father.

"Vic va hoiah! John--blessed mother!--thrue?--but is it, John? is it?"

"Indeed, it is, mother--the villain, now, that he has no hope of his
life, confessed it this day!"

"God knows, darlin'," exclaimed the Bodagh's warm--hearted wife, now
melting into tears herself, "it's no wondher you should cry tears of joy
for this. God wouldn't be above us, a cushla oge machree, or he'd sind
brighter days before your young and innocent heart."

Una could not speak, but wept on; the grief she felt, however, became
gradually milder in its character, until at length her violent sobbings
were hushed; and, although the tears still flowed, they flowed in
silence.

"We will have him back, sartinly," said the Bodagh; "don'