en he is only found
to be sent away over the water; so it is better that nothing should be
said about it just now: but what is to be done?"

"Well, it appears to me that we had better be off to Exeter directly,"
replied O'Donahue.

"Yes, and see him," rejoined the major.

"Before I saw him, McShane, I would call upon the lawyer who defended
him, and tell him what you know about the father, and what our
suspicions, I may say, convictions, are. He would then tell us how to
proceed, so as to procure his pardon, perhaps."

"That's good advice; and now what excuse are we to make for running
away?"

"As for my wife," replied O'Donahue, "I may as well tell her the truth;
she will keep it secret; and as for yours, she will believe anything you
please to tell her."

"And so she will, the good creature, and that's why I never can bear to
deceive her about anything; but, in this instance, it is all for her own
sake and therefore, suppose your wife says that you must go to town
immediately, and that I had better accompany you, as it is upon a
serious affair?"

"Be it so," replied O'Donahue; "do you order the horses to be put to
while I settle the affair with the females."

This was soon done, and in half an hour the two gentlemen were on their
way to Exeter; and as soon as they arrived, which was late in the
evening, they established themselves at the principal hotel.

In the mean time Mrs Austin and Mary had also arrived and had taken up
their quarters at another hotel where Mrs Austin would be less exposed.
It was, however, too late to visit our hero when they arrived, and the
next morning they proceeded to the gaol, much about the same hour that
McShane and O'Donahue paid their visit to Mr Trevor.

Perhaps it will be better to leave to the imagination of our readers the
scene which occurred between our hero and his mother, as we have had too
many painful ones already in this latter portion of our narrative. The
joy and grief of both at meeting again, only to part for ever--the
strong conflict between duty and love--the lacerated feelings of the
doting mother, the true and affectionate son, and the devoted servant
and friend--may be better imagined than expressed; but their grief was
raised to its climax when our hero, pressed in his mother's arms as he
narrated his adventures, confessed that another pang was added to his
sufferings in parting with the object of his earliest affections.

"My poor, poor boy, this i