“Took a sup on account o’ what’s expected!—­an’ what’s the manin’o’ that, Bartle?”

“Why, what would it mane—­but—­but—­your marriage?”

“An’ thunder an’ fury?” exclaimed Connor, his eyes gleaming; “did you go to betray trust, an’ mintion Una’s name an’ mine, afther what I tould you?”

“Don’t be foolish, Connor,” replied Flanagan; “is it mad you’d have me to be?  I said there was something expected soon, that ’ud surprise them; and when they axed me what it was—­honor bright!  I gave them a knowin’ wink, but said notion’.  Eh! was that breakin’ trust?  Arrah, be me sowl, Connor, you don’t trate me well by the words you spoke this blessed minute.”

“An’ how does it come, Bartle, my boy, that you had one story last night, an’ another to-day?”

“Faix, very aisily, bekase I forget what I sed last night—­for sure enough I was more cut than you thought—­but didn’t I keep it well in before the ould couple?”

“You did fairly enough; I grant that—­but the moment you got into the barn a blind man could see it.”

“Bekase I didn’t care a button wanst I escaped from the eye of your father; anyhow, bad luck to it for whiskey; I have a murdherin’ big heddick all day afther it.”

“It’s a bad weed, Bartle, and the less a man has to do with it, the less he’ll be throubled afther wid a sore head or a sore conscience.”

“Connor, divil a one, but you’re the moral of a good boy; I dunna a fault you have but one.”

“Come, let us hear it.”

“I’ll tell you some day, but not now, not now—­but I will tell you—­an’ I’ll let you know the raison thin that I don’t mintion it now; in the mane time I’ll sit down an take a smoke.”

“A smoke! why, I never knew you smoked.”

“Nor I, myself, till last night.  This tindher—­box I was made a present of to light my pipe, when not near a coal.  Begad, now that I think of it, I suppose it was smokin’ that knocked me up so much last night, an’ mide my head so sick to-day.”

“It helped it, I’ll engage; if you will take my advice, it’s a custom you won’t larn.”

“I have a good deal to throuble me, Connor; you know I have; an’ what we are brought down to now; I have more nor you’d believe to think of; as much, any way, as’ll make this box an’ steel useful, I hope, when I’m frettin’.”

Flanagan spoke truth, in assuring Connor that the apology given for his intoxication on the preceding night had escaped his memory.  It was fortunate for him, indeed, that O’Donovan, like all candid and ingenuous persons, was utterly devoid of suspicion, otherwise he might have perceived, by the discrepancy in the two accounts, as well as by Flanagan’s confusion, that he was a person in whom it might not be prudent to entrust much confidence.

PART III.

The tryste between Connor and Una was held at the same place and hour as before, and so rapid a progress had love made in each of their hearts, that we question if the warmth of their interview, though tender and innocent, would be apt to escape the censure of our stricter readers.  Both were depressed by the prospect that lay before them, for Connor frankly assured her that he feared no earthly circumstances could ever soften his father’s heart so far as to be prevailed upon to establish him in life.