A letter has come from him urging us to make our home with him. You
see, my friend--

Then followed the story which Bryan Llyn had told her mother and herself,
and she wrote of her mother's decision to go out to the new, great home
which her uncle had made among the cotton-fields of the South. When she
had finished that part of the tale, she went on as follows:

We shall know your fate only through the letters that will follow
us, but I will not believe in your bad luck. Listen to me--why
don't you come to America also? Oh, think it over! Don't believe
the worst will come. When they release you from prison, innocent
and acquitted, cross the ocean and set up your tent under the Stars
and Stripes. Think of it! Nearly all those men in America who
fought under Washington and won were born in these islands. They
took with them to that far land the memory and love of these old
homes. You and I would have fought for England and with the British
troops, because we detest revolution. Here, in Ireland, we have
seen its evils; and yet if we had fought for the Union Jack beyond
the mountains of Maine and in the lonely woods, we should, I
believe, in the end have said that the freedom fought for by the
American States was well won.

So keep this matter in your mind, for my mother and I will soon be
gone. She would not let me come to you,--I think I have never seen
her so disturbed as when I asked her, and she forbade me to write to
you; but I disobey her. Well, this is a sad business. I know my
mother has suffered. I know her married life was unhappy, and that
her husband--my father-died many a year ago, leaving a dark trail of
regret behind him; but, you see, I never knew my father. That was