“Father, tell me the worst at once—whatever it may be;—how could I guess the villain or villains who destroyed our property?”
“Villain, indeed! you may well say so,” returned the Bodagh. “That villain is no other than Connor O'Donovan!”
Una felt as if a weighty burden had been removed from her heart; she breathed freely; her depression and alarm vanished, and her dark eye kindled into proud confidence in the integrity of her lover.
“And, father,” she asked, in a full and firm voice, “is there nothing worse than that to come?”
“Worse! is the girl's brain turned?”
“Dhar a Lhora Heena, she's as mad I believe as ould Fardorougha himself,” said the mother; “worse! why, she has parted wid all the reasing she ever had.”
“Indeed, mother, I hope I have not, and that my reason's as clear as ever; but, as to Connor O'Donovan, he's innocent of that charge, and of every other that may be brought against him; I don't believe it, and I never will.”
“It's proved against him; it's brought, home to him.”
“Who's his accuser?”
“His father's servant, Bartle Flanagan, has turned king's evidence.”