Emma burst into tears, leaning her face on our hero's shoulder. After a time she replied, "And am I not to be pitied? Is it nothing to love tenderly, devotedly, madly--to have given my heart, my whole thoughts, my existence to one object--why should I conceal it now?--to have been dwelling upon visions of futurity so pleasing, so delightful, all passing away as a dream, and leaving a sad reality like this? Make me one promise; you will not refuse Emma--who knelt by your side when you first met her, she who is kneeling before you now?" "I dare not, Emma, for my heart tells me that you would propose a step which must not be--you must leave me now, and for ever." "For ever! for ever!" cried Emma springing on her feet. "No! no! uncle, he says I am to leave him for ever? Who is that?" continued the frantic girl. "Mary! yes 'tis! Mary, he says I must leave him for ever!" (It was Mary who had just come into the cell.) "Must I, Mary?" "No--no!" replied Mary, "not so! he is saved, and his innocence is established; he is yours for ever!" We shall not attempt to describe the scene we could not do justice to. We must allow the day to pass away; during which Emma and our hero, McShane and Mary, were sitting together; tears of misery wiped away-- tears of joy still flowing and glistening with the radiance of intermingled smiles. The next morning McShane and O'Donahue arrived, the Secretary of State had given immediate orders for our hero's release, and they had brought the document with them. The following day they were all _en route_, Emma and her uncle to Portsmouth, where they anxiously awaited the arrival of our hero as soon as he had performed his duty to his parents. We must allow the reader to suppose the joy of Mrs Austin in once more holding her child in her embrace, and the smiles and happiness of Mary at his triumphant acquittal; the wondering of the domestics, the scandal and rumour of the neighbourhood. Three days sufficed to make all known, and by that time Joey was looked upon as the hero of a novel. On the fourth day he accompanied the remains of his father as chief mourner. The funeral was quiet without being mean; there was no attendance, no carriages of the neighbouring gentry followed. Our hero was quite alone and unsupported; but when the ceremony was over, the want of respect shown to the memory of his father was more than atoned for by the kindness and consideration shown towards the son, who was warmly, yet delicately, welcomed as the future proprietor of the Hall.