“I hope, with all my heart, it may,” replied the other; “there is no denying, sir, that I'd wish it. Life is sweet, especially to a young man of my years.”
“But if we should fail,” observed the jailer, “I trust you will act the part of a man.”
“I hope, at all events, that I will act the part of a Christian,” returned O'Donovan. “I certainly would rather live; but I'm not afeard of death, and if it comes, I trust I will meet it humbly but firmly.”
“I believe,” said the sheriff, “you need entertain little apprehension of death; I'm inclined to think that that part of your sentence is not likely to be put in execution. I have heard as much.”
“I think, sir, by your manner, that you have,” returned Connor; “but I beg you to tell me without goin' about. Don't be afeared, sir, that I'm too wake to hear either good news or bad.”
The sheriff made no reply; but placed in his hands the official document which remitted to him the awful penalty of his life. Connor read it over slowly, and the other kept his eye fixed keenly upon his countenance, in order to observe his bearing under circumstances that are often known to test human fortitude as severely as death itself. He could, however, perceive no change; not even the unsteadiness of a nerve or muscle was visible, nor the slightest fluctuation in the hue of his complexion.
“I feel grateful to the lord lieutenant for his mercy to me,” said he, handing him back the letter, “as I do to the friends who interceded for me; I never will or can forget their goodness. Oh, never, never!”
“I believe it,” said the sheriff; “but there's one thing that I'm anxious to press upon your attention; and it's this, that no further mitigation of your punishment is to be expected from government; so that you must make up your mind to leave your friends and your country for life, as you know now.”
“I expect nothing more,” returned Connor, “except this, that the hand of God may yet bring the guilt of burning home to the man that committed it, and prove my innocence. I'm now not without some hope that such a thing may be brought about some how. I thank you, Misther Sheriff, for your kindness in coming to me with this good news so soon; all that I can say is, that I thank you from my heart. I am bound to say, too, that any civility and comfort that could be shown was afforded me ever since I came here, an' I feel it, an' I'm grateful for it.”
Both were deeply impressed by the firm tone of manly sincerity and earnestness with which he spoke, blended as it was by a melancholy which gave, at the same time, a character of elevation and pathos to all he said. They then shook hands with him, after chatting for some time on indifferent subjects, the jailer promising to make his situation while he should remain in prison as easy as the regulations would allow him or, “who knows,” he added, smiling, “but we might make them a little easier?”