“Yes! good-by, my darling sister; believe me, Una, that I think if there's justice in Heaven, you'll have a light heart yet.” “It is very light now,” she returned, “compared with what it was; but go, John, don't lose a moment; for I know what they suffer.” Her mother, after John's departure for Fardorougha's, went up to sit with her; but she found that the previous scene, although it relieved, had exhausted her. In the course of a few minutes their limited dialogue ceased, and she sank into a sound and refreshing sleep, from which she did not awaken until her brother had some time returned from the execution of his pious message. And piously was that message received by her for whose misery the considerate heart of Una O'Brien felt so deeply. Fardorougha had been out about the premises, mechanically looking to the manner in which the business of his farm had been of late managed by his two servants, when he descried O'Brien approaching the house at a quick if not a hurried pace. He immediately went in and communicated the circumstance to his wife. “Honor,” said he, “here is Bodagh Buie's son comin' up to the house--what on earth can bring the boy here?” This was the first day on which his wife had been able to rise from her sick bed. She was consequently feeble, and, physically speaking, capable of no domestic exertion. Her mind, however, was firm as ever, and prompt as before her calamity to direct and overlook, in her own sweet and affectionate manner, whatever required her superintendence. “I'm sure I don't know, Fardorougha,” she replied. “It can't, I hope, be wid bad news--they thravel fast enough--an' I'm sure the Bodagh's son wouldn't take pleasure in bein' the first to tell them to us.” “But what can bring him, Honor? What on earth can bring the boy here now, that never stood undher our roof afore?” “Three or four minutes, Fardorougha, will tell us. Let us hope in God it isn't bad. Eh, Saver above, it wouldn't be the death of his sister--of Connor's Oona! No,” she added, “they wouldn't send, much less come, to tell vis that; but sure we'll hear it--we'll hear it; and may God give us stringth to hear it right, whether it's good or bad! Amin, Jasus, this day!” She had hardly uttered the last words, when O'Brien entered. “Young man,” said this superior woman, '“it's a poor welcome we can give you to a house of sorrow.” “Ay,” said Fardorougha, “his mother an' I's here, but where is he? Nine days from this; but it 'ill kill me--it will--it will. Whin he's taken from me, I don't care how soon I folly him; God forgive me if it's a sin to say so!” “Fardorougha,” said his wife, in a tone of affectionate reproof, “remember what you promised me, an', at all evints, you forget that Mr. O'Brien here may have his own troubles; I heard your sister was unwell. Oh, how is she, poor thing?”