"It's terrible, Biddy," said he, "to think of the black and revengeful heart that Connor bears to Bodagh Buie and his family merely bekase they rufuse to let him marry Una. I'm afeard, Biddy darlin', that there'll be dark work about it on Connor's side; an' if you hear of anything bad happenin' to the Bodagh, you'll know where it comes from."

"I don't b'lieve it, Bartle, nor I won't b'lieve it--not, any way, till I hear that it happens. But what is it he intends to do to them?"

"That's more than I know myself," replied Bartle; "I axed as much, an'

he said till it was done n.o.body would be the wiser."

"That's quare," said the girl, "for a better heart than Connor has, the Saver o' the world never made."

"You think so, agra, but wait; do you watch, and you'll find that he don't come in to-night. I know nothin' myself of what he's about, for he's as close as his father's purse, an' as deep as a draw--well; but this I know, that he has black business on his hands, whatever it is. I trimble to think of it!"

Flanagan then got tender, and, after pressing his suit with all the eloquence he was master of, they separated, he to his labor in the fields, and she to her domestic employment, and the unusual task of watching the motions of her master's son.

Flanagan, in the course of the day, suggested to Connor the convenience of sleeping that night also in the barn. The time of meeting, he said was too late, and his father's family, who were early in their hours, both night and morning, would be asleep even before they set out. He also added, that lest any of the O'Briens or their retainers should surprise him and Una, he had made up his mind to accompany him, and act as a vidette during their interview.

Connor felt this devotion of Bartle to his dearest interests, as every grateful and generous heart would.

"Bartle," said he, "when we are married, if it's ever in my power to make you aisy in life, may I never prosper if I don't do it! At all events, in some way I'll reward you."

"If you're ever able, Connor, I'll have no objection to be behoulden to you; that is, if you're ever able, as you say."

"And if there's a just G.o.d in heaven, Bartle, who sees my heart, however things may go against me for a time, I say I will be able to sarve you, or any other friend that desarves it. But about sleepin' in to-night--coorse I wouldn't be knockin' up my father, and disturbin' my poor mother for no rason; so, of coorse, as I said, I'll sleep in the barn; it makes no difference one way or other."

"Connor," said Flanagan, with much solemnity, "if Bodagh Buie's wise, he'll marry you and his daughter as fast as he can."

"An' why, Bartle?"

"Why, for rasons you know nothin' about. Of late he's got very much out o' favor, in regard of not comin' in to what people wish."

"Speak plainer, Bartle; I'm in the dark now."

"There's work goin' on in the counthry, that you and every one like you ought to be up to; but you know nothin', as I said, about it. Now Bodagh Buie, as far as I hear--for I'm in the dark myself nearly as much as you--Bodagh Buie houlds out against them; an' not only that, I'm tould, but gives them hard words, an' sets them at defiance."

"But what has all this to do with me marrying his daughter?"

"Why, he wants some one badly to stand his friend wid them; an' if you were married to her, you should on his account become one o' thim; begad, as it is, you ought, for to tell the truth there's talk--strong talk too--about payin' him a nightly visit that mayn't sarve him."

"Then, Bartle, you're consarned in this business."

"No, faith, not yet; but I suppose I must, if I wish to be safe in the counthry; an' so must you too, for the same rason."

"And, if not up, how do you know so much about it?"

"From one o' themselves, that wishes the! Bodagh well; ay, an' let me tell you, he's a marked man, an' the night was appointed to visit him; still it was put back to thry if he could be managed, but he couldn't; an' all I know about it is that the time to remimber him is settled, an'

he's to get it, an', along wid other things, he'll be ped for turnin'

off--however, I can't say any more about that."

"How long is it since you knew this?"

"Not long--only since last night, or you'd a got it before this. The best way, I think, to put him on his guard 'ud be to send him a sc.r.a.pe of a line wid no name to it."

"Bartle," replied Connor, "I'm as much behoulden to you for this, as if it had been myself or my father that was marked. G.o.d knows you have a good heart, an' if you don't sleep sound, I'm at a loss to know who ought."

"But it's hard to tell who has a good heart, Connor; I'd never say any one has till I'd seen them well thried."

At length the hour for setting out arrived, and both, armed with good oaken cudgels proceeded to Bodagh Buie's haggard, whither they arrived a little before the appointed hour. An utter stillness prevailed around the place--not a dog barked--not a breeze blew, nor did a leaf move on its stem, so calm and warm was the night. Neither moon nor stars shone in the firmament, and the darkness seemed kindly to throw its dusky mantle over this sweet and stolen interview of our young lovers. As yet, however, Una had not come, nor could Connor, on surveying the large ma.s.sy farm--house of the Bodagh, perceive any appearance of light, or hear a single sound, however faint, to break the stillness in which it slept. Bartle, immediately after their arrival in the haggard, separated from his companion, in order, he said, to give notice of interruption, should Una be either watched or followed.

"Besides, you know," he added, "sweethearts like n.o.body to be present but themselves, when they do be spakin' soft to one another. So I'll just keep dodgin' about, from place to place wid my eye an' ear both open, an' if any intherloper comes I'll give yees the hard word."

Heavily and lazily creep those moments during which an impatient lover awaits the approach of his mistress; and woe betide the wooer of impetuous temperament who is doomed, like our hero, to watch a whole hour and a half in vain. Many a theory did his fancy body forth, and many a conjecture did he form, as to the probable cause of her absence.

Was it possible that they watched her even in the dead hour of night?

Perhaps the grief she felt at her father's refusal to sanction the match had brought on indisposition; and--oh, harrowing thought!--perhaps they had succeeded in prevailing upon her to renounce him and his hopes forever. But no; their affection was too pure and steadfast to admit of a supposition so utterly unreasonable. What, then, could have prevented her from keeping an appointment so essential to their future prospects, and to the operations necessary for them to pursue? Some plan of intercourse--some settled mode of communication must be concerted between them; a fact as well known to herself as to him.

"Well, well," thought he, "whatever's the reason of her not coming, I'm sure the fault is not hers; as it is, there's no use in waitin' this night any longer."

Flanagan, it appeared, was of the same opinion, for in a minute or two he made his appearance, and urged their return home. It was clear, he said, that no interview could take place that night, and the sooner they reached the barn and got to bed the better.

"Folly me," he added; "we can pa.s.s through the yard, cross the road before the hall-door, and get over the stile, by the near way through the fields that's behind the orchard."

Connor, who was by no means so well acquainted with the path as his companion, followed him in the way pointed out, and in a few minutes they found themselves walking at a brisk pace in a direction that led homewards by a shorter cut. Connor's mind was too much depressed for conversation, and both were proceeding in silence, when Flanagan started in alarm, and pointed out the figure of some one walking directly towards them. In less than a minute the person, whoever he might be, had come within speaking distance, and, as he shouted "Who comes there?"

Flanagan bolted across the ditch, along which they had been going, and disappeared. "A friend," returned Connor, in reply to the question.

The other man advanced, and, with a look of deep scrutiny, peered into his face. "A friend," he exclaimed; "faith, it's, a quare hour for a friend to be out. Who are you, eh? Is this Connor O'Donovan?"

"It is; but you have the advantage of me."

"If your father was here he would know Phil Curtis, any way.''

"I ought to 'a known the voice myself," said Connor; "Phil, how are you?

an' what's bringin' yourself out at this hour?"

"Why, I want to buy a couple o' milk cows in the fair o' Kilturbit, an' I'm goin' to catch my horse, an' make ready. It's a stiff ride from this, an' by the time I'm there it I'll be late enough for business, I'm thinkin'. There was some one wid you; who was it?"

"Come, come," said Connor, good--humoredly, "he was out coortin', and doesn't wish to be known; and Phil, as you had the luck to meet me, I beg you, for Heaven's sake, not to breathe that you seen me near Bodagh Buie's to-night; I have various reasons for it."

"It's no secret to me as it is," replied Curtis; "half the parish knows it; so make your mind asy on that head. Good night, Connor! I wish you success, anyhow; you'll be a happy man if you get her; although, from what I hear has happened, you have a bad chance, except herself stands to you."

The truth was, that Fardorougha's visit to the Bodagh, thanks to the high tones of his own shrill voice, had drawn female curiosity, already suspicious of the circ.u.mstances, to the keyhole of the parlor-door, where the issue and object of the conference soon became known. In a short time it had gone among the servants, and from them was transmitted, in the course of that and the following day, to the tenants and day-laborers! who contrived to multiply it with such effect, that, as Curtis said, it was indeed no secret to the greater part of the parish.

Flanagan soon rejoined Connor, who, on taxing him with his flight, was informed, with an appearance of much regret, that a debt of old standing due to Curtis had occasioned it.

"And upon my saunies, Connor, I'd rather any time go up to my neck in wather than meet a man that I owe money to, whin I can't pay him. I knew Phil very well, even before he spoke, and that was what made me cut an'

run."

"What!" said Connor, looking towards the east, "can it be day-light so soon?"

"Begad, it surely cannot," replied his companion.

"Holy mother above us, what is this?"