first having desired them to
leave him. When the prayers were recited he called in Honor.

"I'm afeard," said he, "that my heart wasn't properly in them, for I
couldn't prevent my mind from wanderin' to our boy."

This touching observation took the mother's affections by surprise.
A tear started to her eye, but, after what was evidently a severe
struggle, she suppressed it.

"It's not at once you can do it, Fardorougha; so don't be cast down.
Now, go to bed, in the name of God, and sleep; and may the Lord in
heaven support you--and support us both! for oh! it's we that want it
this night of sorrow!"

She then stooped down and affectionately kissed him, and, having wished
him good night, she retired to Connor's bed, where, ever since the day
of his incarceration, this well-tried mother and enduring Christian
slept.

At this stage of our story we will pause, for a moment, to consider
the state of mind and comparative happiness of the few persons who are
actors in our humble drama.

To a person capable of observing only human action, independently of the
motives by which it is regulated, it may appear that the day which saw
Connor O'Donovan consigned to a premature and shameful death, was one of
unmingled happiness to Bartle Flanagan. They know little of man's heart,
however, who could suppose this to be the case, or, who could even
imagine that he was happier than those on whom his revenge and perfidy
had entailed such a crushing load of misery. It is, indeed, impossible
to guess what the nature of that feeling must be which arises from the
full gratification of mean and diabolic malignity. Every action of the
heart at variance with virtue and truth is forced to keep up so many
minute and fearful precautions, all of which are felt to be of vast
moment at the time, that we question if ever the greatest glut of
vengeance produced, no matter what the occasion may have been, any
satisfaction capable of counterbalancing all the contigencies and
apprehensions by which the mind is distracted both before and after its
preparation. The plan and accomplishment must both be perfect in all
their parts--for if either fail only in a single point, all is lost, and
the pleasure arising from them resembles the fruit which is said to grow
by the banks of the Dead Sea--it is beautiful and tempting to the eye,
but bitterness and ashes to the taste.

The failing of the county treasurer, for instance, deprived Bartle
Flanagan of more