ting to conceal what you feel--we all know it--and if we did not,
the fact of your having filled the sugar-bowl instead of the tea-cup
would soon discover it."

She said nothing, but looked at him again, as if she scarcely
comprehended what he said. A glance, however, at the sugar-bowl
convinced her that she was incapable of performing the usual duties of
the breakfast table. Hitherto she had not raised her eyes to her father
or mother's face, nor spoken to them as had been her wont, when meeting
at that strictly domestic meal. The unrestrained sobbings of the mother
now aroused her for the first time, and on looking up, she saw her
father wiping away the big tears from his eyes.

"Una, avourneen," said the worthy man, "let John make tay for us--for,
God help you, you can't do it. Don't fret, achora machree, don't, don't,
Una; as God is over me, I'd give all I'm worth to save him, for your
sake."

She looked at her father and smiled again; but that smile cut him to the
heart.

"I will make the tea myself, father," she replied, "and I _won't_ commit
any more mistakes;" and as she spoke she unconsciously poured the tea
into the slop--bowl.

"Avourneen," said her mother, "let John do it; acushla machree, let him
do it."

She then rose, and without uttering a word, passively and silently
placed herself on her brother's chair--he having, at the same time,
taken that on which she sat.

"Una," said her father, taking her hand, "you must be a good girl, and
you must have courage; and whatever happens, my darling, you'll pluck up
strength, I hope, and bear it."

"I hope so, father," said she, "I hope so."

"But, avourneen machree," said her mother, "I would rather see you
cryin' fifty times over, than smilin' the way you do."

"Mother," said she, "my heart is sore--my heart is sore."

"It is, ahagur machree; and your hand is tremblin' so much that you
can't bring the tay--cup to your mouth; but, then, don't smile so
sorrowfully, anein machree."

"Why should I cry, mother?" she replied; "I know that Connor is
innocent. If I knew him to be guilty, I would weep, and I ought to
weep."

"At all events, Una," said her father, "you know it's the government,
and not us, that's prosecuting him."

To this Una made no reply, but, thrusting away her cup, she looked with
the same mournful smile from one to the other of the little circle about
her. At length she spoke.

"Father, I have a request to ask of you."

"If it'