He then went to see his wife ere he set out for his unhappy son; and it was with much satisfaction that Honor observed a changed and chastened tone in his manner, which she had never, except for a moment at the birth of his child, noticed before. Not that his grief was much lessened, but it was more rational, and altogether free from the violence and impiety which had characterized it when he awoke from his intoxication. “Honor,” said he, “how do you find yourself this mornin', alanna? They tell me you're worse than you Wor yesterday.” “Indeed, I'm wake enough,” she replied, “and very much bate down, Fardorougha; but you know it's not our own stringth at any time that we're to depend upon, but God's. I'm not willing to attempt anything beyant my power at present. My seeing him now would do neither of us any good, and might do me a great dale o' harm. I must see him, to be sure, and I'll strive, plase God, to gather up a little strength for that.” “My heart's breakin', Honor, and I'm beginnin' to see that I've acted a bad part to both of you all along. I feel it, indeed; and if it was the will of God, I didn't care if--” “Whisht, accushla, whisht--sich talk as that's not right. Think, Fardorougha, whether you acted a bad part towards God or not, and never heed us; an' think, too, dear, whether you acted a bad or a good part towards the poor, an' them that was in distress and hardship, an' that came to you for relief; they were your fellow-crathers, Fardorougha, at all evints. Think of these things I'm sayin, and never heed us. You know that Connor and I forgive you, but you arn't so sure whether God and them will.” These observations of this estimable woman had the desired effect, which was, as she afterwards said, to divert her husband's mind as much as possible from the contemplation of Connor's fate, and to fix it upon the consideration of those duties in which she knew his conscience, now touched by calamity, would tell him he had been deficient. Fardorougha was silent for some time after her last observations--but at length he observed: “Would it be possible, Honor, that all this was brought upon us in ordher to punish me for--for--” “To punish you, Fardorougha? Fareer gaih avourneen, arn't we all punished? look at my worn face, and think of what ten days' sorrow can do in a mother's heart--think, too, of the boy. Oh no, no--do you think I've have nothin' to be punished for? But we have all one comfort, Fardorougha, and that is, that God's ever and always willin' to re-save us, when we turn to Him wid a true heart? Nobody, avillish, can forget and forgive as He does.” “Honor, why didn't you oftener spake to me this a-way than you did?”