"And your folly is not yet dead. You are dying in sadness and despair almost, when you should go to eternity in triumph."
"I go in triumph! Alas! if I could only be blotted out with my last breath, and leave neither grave nor memory, it would be happiness. Why do you say, 'triumph'?"
"Because you have been true to your country with the fidelity of a saint. That's enough. Besides you leave behind you the son born of your fidelity to carry on your work——"
"God bless that noble son," Owen cried.
"And a daughter whose prayers will mount from the nun's cell, to bless your cause. If you could but go from her resigned!"
"How I wish that I might. I ought to be happy, just for leaving two such heirs, two noble hostages to Ireland. I see my error. Christ is the King, and no man can better His plans for men. I surrender to Him."
"But your submission is only in part. You are not wholly conquered."
"Twice have you said that," Owen complained, raising his heavy eyes in reproach.
"Love of country is not the greatest love."
"No, love of the race, of humanity, is more."