As they entered, therefore, he approached! them, smiling as well as he could; and, first taking a hand of each, would have led them over to a deal form beside the fire, but it was soon evident, that, owing to their weakness and agitation united, they required greater support. He and O'Brien accordingly helped them to a seat, on which they sat with every symptom of that exhaustion which results at once from illness and mental suffering.
Let us not forget to inform our readers that the day of this mournful visit was that on which, according to his original sentence, he should have yielded up his life as a penalty to the law.
“My dear mother,” said he, “you an' Una know that this day ought not to be a day of sorrow among us. Only for the goodness of my friends, an' of Government, it's not my voice you'd be now listening to—but that is now changed—so no more about it. I'm glad to see you both able to come out.”
His mother, on first sitting down, clasped her hands together, and in a silent ejaculation, with closed eyes, raised her heart to the Almighty, to supplicate aid and strength to enable her to part finally with that boy who was, and ever had been, dearer to her than her own heart. Una trembled, and on meeting her brother so unexpectedly, blushed faintly, and, indeed, appeared to breathe with difficulty. She held a bottle of smelling salts in her hand.
“John,” she said, “I will explain this visit.”
“My dear Una,” he replied, affectionately, “you need not—it requires none—and I beg you will not think of it one moment more. I must now leave you together for about half an hour, as I have some business to do in town that will detain me about that time.” He then left them.
“Connor,” said his mother, “sit down between this darlin' girl an' me, till I spake to you.”
He sat down and took a hand of each.
“A darlin' girl she is, mother. It's now I see how very ill you have been, my own Una.”
“Yes,” she replied, “I was ill—but when I heard that your life was spared, I got better.”