“But are you lavin' us, Connor? are they—must they bring you to jail?”
“For a while, father; but I won't be long there I hope.”
“It's an unpleasant duty on our part,” said the principal of them; “still it's one we must perform. Your father should lose no time in taking the proper steps for your defence.”
“And what are we to do?” asked the mother; “God knows the boy's as innocent as I am.”
“Yes,” said Fardorougha, still upon dwelling the resolution he had made; “I'll go stand for you, Connor; you won't let them bring me instead of you.”
“That's out of the question,” replied the constable; “the law suffers nothing of the kind to take place; but if you will be advised by me, lose no time in preparing to defend him. It would be unjust to disguise the matter from you, or to keep you ignorant of its being a case of life and death.”
“Life and death! what do you mane?” asked Fardorougha, staring vacantly at the last speaker.
“It's painful to distress you; but if he's found guilty, it's death.”
“Death! hanged!” shrieked the old man, awaking as it were for the first time to a full perception of his son's situation; “hanged! my boy hanged! Connor, Connor, don't go from me!”
“I'll die wid him,” said the mother; “I'll die wid you, Connor. We couldn't live widout him,” she added, addressing the strangers; “as God is in heaven we couldn't! Oh Connor, Connor, avourneen, what is it that has come over us, and brought us to this sorrow?”