eldest brother), on an island in the north of
Ireland. We had a cousin one of the loveliest
and most amiable girls that ever lived, and
she was engaged to be married to a Mr.
Kennedy, a gentleman of large property, who
lived on the same island, and within a few
miles of my uncle's house. When all was
prepared for the wedding, this gentleman—
if he deserves the title of gentleman— broke
off the match. That was cruel enough,
seeing that our cousin loved him devotedly;
but he had the wickedness to express,
as a reason for his baseness, a suspicion
which, if true, would have blasted not only
my cousin's character, but that also of
my brother. The horrible nature of this
accusation, and its utter falsity, added to
her disappointment, so preyed upon the girl's
mind, that, after pining in hopeless grief for
a month, she sunk into her grave: dying
of a broken heart. On the night of her burial,
my brother, frantic with rage and grief, vowed
that, on the first opportunity that presented
itself, he would take Mr. Kennedy's life. I
knelt beside him, and vowed that I would
share in his revenge.

For weeks and months Mr. Kennedy, who
knew the determined character of my brother,
and of the vow that he had made, kept
within the boundaries of his own estate.
This, however, did not calm our passionate
feelings. On the contrary, it exasperated
them, and our purpose had become the
more settled. Often and often would my
brother say to me, and I to him, ' Are you
stedfast in your vow?' And the answer
we invariably gave each other was 'Yes.'
One afternoon —about four months after the
death of our cousin—one of the servants
informed my brother that Mr. Kennedy
had been seen riding in the direction of a
little fishing town. He immediately ordered
his own horse and mine to be saddled; and,
arming himself with a brace of pistols, we
both galloped in pursuit of Mr. Kennedy.
We had not ridden more than three miles
when we saw him. As we galloped on the
turf, and not on the hard road, he did not
hear the sound of our horses' hoofs until we
were close upon him. As soon as he recognised
us, he put spurs to his horse; but his
steed was not so swift of foot as were ours,
and, just as he was entering the town, we
overtook him. He then became deadly pale,
and begged for mercy. But in vain. I
seized his horse's bridle, and said, 'Now,
Francis,' whereupon my brother put his
pistol to Mr. Kennedy's left breast, and drew
the trigger. Mr. Kennedy fell from his
horse—a dead man! Such was the crime
for which my brother lost his life on the
scaffold, and for which I was sent to this
colony for the term of my natural life. I
wished to die with my brother; but it was
willed otherwise."

"And do you not repent?" I asked.

"Yes," the girl sighed. "I try to think of
my cousin's sufferings, and of her death, and
of the pain, the agony of mind, which my
uncle and every member of our family
endured, when Mr. Kennedy falsely branded us
with dishonour; but the deep dye of my crime
weakens even those recollections, and my life
is a life of remorse and mental expiation."
Here she paused; and, hiding her face with
her hands, she shed tears.

At this moment Mrs. Preston's eldest son,
a boy of twelve years of age, came into the
nursery, and said, "Papa wants some more
wine, mamma. Will you send him the keys
of the cellarette?" On observing the girl
shedding tears, he approached her; and,
placing his hand gently on her shoulder, he
said, in a very gentle tone of voice which
touched both his mother and myself:

"What is the matter, Annie? I hope
mamma has not been scolding you?"

"No, Master Charles," she replied. "Your
mamma has been very kind to me."

"Then why do you cry?" the boy
demanded.

Mrs. Preston and myself rejoined our
husbands, leaving Master Charles with the
girl, to whom, in common with all his
brothers and sisters, he was already very
much attached. Even before we left the
room, he patted her upon the head, and
begged her to dry her eyes.

Captain Preston and the Major were both
much moved, when we recounted to them
what we had just heard. Had it been
previous to eighteen hundred and twenty, which
was about the date of General Macquarie's
departure from Sydney, we should have had
very little difficulty in doing for Annie Saint
Felix what had been done for Kate Crawford;
or, at all events, we could have
obtained for her a conditional pardon, which
would have rendered her a free woman in
the colony and its dependencies. But, with
the then governor, so far from having any
interest, the Major and Captain Preston
were such objects of dislike, that they were
never invited to the government-house. This
was in consequence of the opinions they had
openly expressed of the governor's conduct,
in having two private soldiers flogged in the
barrack-square, and drummed out of the
regiment, after they had been sentenced to
be transported by the Civil Tribunal. The
fact was that the men died of the severe
flogging they had received— the one in the
jail, and the other in the general hospital,
to which institution he was removed in his
last moments. The names of these men were
Sadds and Thompson.

So far as my husband was concerned, an
order was secretly passed that no more
convict-servants were to be assigned to him;
but to Captain Preston this order had not
yet been extended, inasmuch as he had been
less emphatic in his denunciations. Into the
merits of this question I have no wish to
enter. No doubt too much leniency had been