tand one another. In case you hadn't come, I intended to
lave a message for you with my mother. I believe you know all Una's
secrets?"

"I do," replied O'Brien, "just as well as her confessor."

"Yes, I believe that," said Connor. "The sun in heaven is not purer than
she is. The only fault she ever could be charged with was her love for
me; and heavily, oh! far too heavily, has she suffered for it!"

"I, for one, never blamed her on that account," said her brother. "I
knew that her good sense would have at any time prevented her from
forming an attachment to an unworthy object; and upon the strength of
her own judgment, I approved of that which she avowed for you. Indeed, I
perceived it myself before she told me; but upon attempting to gain her
secret, the candid creature at once made me her confidant."

"It is like her," said Connor; "she is all truth. Well would it be for
her, if she had never seen me. Not even the parting from my father and
mother sinks my heart with so much sorrow, as the thought that her love
for me had made her so unhappy. It's a strange case, John O'Brien, an'
a trying one; but since it is the will of God, we must submit to it. How
did you leave her? I heard she was getting better."

"She is better," said John--"past danger, but still very delicate and
feeble. Indeed, she is so much worn down, that you would scarcely
know her. The brightness of her dark eye is dead--her complexion gone.
Sorrow, as she says herself, is in her and upon her. Never, indeed, was
a young creature's love so pure and true."

O'Donovan made no reply for some time; but the other observed that he
turned away his face from him, as if to conceal his emotion. At length
his bosom heaved vehemently, three or four times, and his breath came
and went with a quick and quivering motion, that betrayed the powerful
struggle which he felt.

"I know it is but natural for you to feel deeply," continued her
brother; "but as you have borne everything heretofore with so much
firmness, you must not break down--"

"But you know it is a deadly thrial to be forever separated from sich a
girl. Sufferin' so much as you say--so worn! Her dark eye dim with--oh,
it is, it is a deadly thrial--a heart--breaking thrial! John O'Brien,"
he proceeded, with uncommon earnestness, "you are her only brother, an'
she is your only sister. Oh, will you, for the sake of God, and for my
sake, if I may take the liberty of sayin' so--but, above all things,