“What for?  Is it for slittin’ the juggler of sich a rip?  Isn’t he as bad as a heretic, an’ worse, for he turned against his own.  He has got himself made the head of a lodge, too, and holds Articles; but it’s not bein’ an Article-bearer that’ll save him, an’ he’ll find that to his cost.  But, indeed, Connor, the villain’s a double thraitor, as you’d own, if you knew what I heard a hint of?”

“Well, but you must lave him to God.”

“What do you think but I got a whisper that he has bad designs on her.”

“On who?” said O’Donovan (starting).

“Why, on your own girl, Oona, the Bodagh’s daughter.  He intends, it’s whispered, to take her off; an’ it seems, as her father doesn’t stand well with the boys, that Bartle’s to get a great body of them to assist him in bringing her away.”

Connor paced his cell in deep and vehement agitation.  His resentment against this double-dyed villain rose to a fearful pitch; his color deepened-his eye shot fire, and, as he clenched his hand convulsively, Nogher saw the fury which this intelligence had excited in him.

“No,” he proceeded, “it would be an open sin an’ shame to let such an etarnal limb of the devil escape.”

It may, indeed, be said that O’Donovan never properly felt the sense of his restraint until this moment.  When he reflected on the danger to which his beloved Una was exposed from the dark plans of this detestable villain, and recollected that there existed in the members of the illegal confederacy such a strong spirit of enmity against Bodagh Buie, as would induce them to support Bartle in his designs upon his daughter, he pressed his hand against his forehead, and walked about in a tumult of distress and resentment, such as he had never yet felt in his bosom.

“It’s a charity it will be,” said Nogher, shrewdly availing himself of the commotion he had created, “to stop the vagabone short in the coorse of his villany.  He’ll surely bring the darlin’ young girl off, an’ destroy her.”

For a few moments he felt as if his heart were disposed to rebel against the common ordinances of Providence, as they appeared to be manifested in his own punishment, and the successful villainy of Bartle Flanagan.  The reflection, however, of a strong and naturally pious mind soon enabled him to perceive the errors into which his passions would lead him, if not restrained and subjected.  He made an effort to be calm, and in a considerable degree succeeded.

“Nogher,” said he, “let us not forget that this Bartle—­this—­but I will not say it—­let us not forget that God can asily turn his plans against himself.  To God, then, let us lave him.  Now, hear me—­you must swear in His presence that you will have neither act nor part in doing him an injury—­that you will not shed his blood, nor allow it to be shed by others, as far as you can prevent it.”

Nogher rubbed his chin gravely, and almost smiled at what he considered to be a piece of silly nonsense on the part of Connor.  He determined, therefore, to satisfy his scruples as well as he could; but, let the consequence be what it might, to evade such an oath.