“Father dear,” said he, “don't be too much disheartened--all will be well yet, I hope--my trust in God is strong.” “I hope all will be well,” replied the old man, “sit nearer me, an' Connor, let me lay my head over upon your breast. I'm thinkin' a great dale. Don't the world say, Connor, that I am a bad man?” “I don't care what the world says; no one in it ever durst say as much to me, father dear.” The old man looked up affectionately, but shook his head apparently in calm but rooted sorrow. “Put your arms about me, Connor, and keep my head a little more up; I'm weak an' tired, an', someway, spakin's a throuble to me; let me think for a while.” “Do so, father,” said the son, with deep compassion; “God knows but you're sufferin' enough to wear you out.” “It is,” said Fardorougha, “it is.” A silence of some minutes ensued, during which, Connor perceived that the old man, overcome with care and misery, had actually! fallen asleep with his head upon his bosom. This circumstance, though by no means extraordinary, affected him very much. On surveying the pallid face of his father, and the worn, thread--like veins that ran along his temples, and calling to mind the love of the old man for himself, which even avarice, in its deadliest power, failed to utterly overcome, he felt all the springs of his affection loosened, and his soul vibrated with a tenderness towards him, such as no situation in their past lives had ever before created. “If my fate chances to be an untimely one, father dear,” he slowly murmured, “we'll soon meet in another place; for I know that you will not long live after me.” He then thought with bitterness of his mother and Una, and wondered at the mystery of the trial to which he was exposed. The old man's slumber, however, was not dreamless, nor so refreshing as the exhaustion of a frame shattered by the havoc of contending principles required. On the contrary, it was disturbed by heavy groans, quick startings, and those twitchings of the limbs which betoken a restless mood of mind, and a nervous system highly excited. In the course of half an hour, the symptoms of his inward commotion became more apparent. From being, as at first, merely physical, they assumed a mental character, anil passed from ejaculations and single words, to short sentences, and ultimately to those of considerable length. “Gone!” he exclaimed, “gone! Oh God my curse--starved--dog--wid my tongue out!” This dread of starvation, which haunted him through life, appeared in his dream still to follow him like a demon. “I'm dyin',” he said, “I'm dyin' wid hunger--will no one give me a morsel? I was robbed an' have no money--don't you see me starvin'? I'm cuttin' wid hunger--five days without mate--bring me mate, for God's sake--mate, mate, mate!--I'm gaspin--my tongue's out; look at me, like a dog, behind this ditch, an' my tongue out!”