Feemy raised her eyes, and clasped her hands, as she listened to Father John's words, and marked his solemn tones. No thought of Thady entered her mind; but some indefinite, half-conceived idea respecting Ussher--that he had not been killed--that he had come to life again--that some mysterious miracle, such as she had read of in novels, had taken place; and that Father John had come with some blessed news, which might yet restore her to happiness and tranquillity. The illusion was but for a moment, though during that moment it completely took possession of her. It was as speedily dispelled by Father John's concluding words-- "I mean from your brother." Feemy gave a long, long sigh as she heard the word. She wished for no message from her brother; he had robbed her of everything; she could not think of him without horror and shuddering. "He sends his kindest love to you. I told him you were better, and he was very glad to hear it. Though he has many heavy cares of his own to bear, I have never seen him but he asks after your health with more anxiety than he thinks of his own prospects. Now you are better, Feemy, won't you send him some message by me?--some kind word, which may comfort him in his sorrow?" Feemy was no hypocrite; hypocrisy, though she did not know it herself, was distasteful to her. She had no kind feelings for her brother, and she did not know how to make the pretence which might produce kind words; so she remained silent. "What! not a word, Feemy? you who spoke so well, so properly, so affectionately, but now of that good friend of yours--have you not a word of kindness for a most affectionate brother?" Feemy still remained silent. "Why, Feemy, what is this? Don't you love your own brother?" She said nothing in reply for a moment or two; and then, bursting into tears, she exclaimed, "Don't scold me, Father John!--don't scold me now, or I shall die! I try to forgive him--I am always trying! But why did he--why did he--why did he--" She was unable to finish her sentence from the violence of her sobs and the difficulty of uttering the words which should have concluded it. She meant to say, "Why did he kill my lover?" "Don't agitate yourself, Feemy. I don't mean to scold you; I don't mean even to vex you more than I can possibly help; but I must speak to you about your brother. I see the feeling that is in your mind, and I will not blame you for it, for I believe it is natural; but I beseech you to pray that your heart may be softened towards your brother, who instead of repugnance, deserves from you the warmest affection. But though I will not attempt to control your feelings, I must tell you that you will be most wicked if you allow them to interfere with the performance of your duties. You know your brother's trial is coming on, do you not?" "Yes." "Wednesday fortnight next is the day fixed, I believe. You know you will have to be a witness?" "I believe so, Father John."