“Bartle,” said Connor, seriously and after a sudden change in his whole manner, “in this business I’m goin’ to trate you as a friend, and a brother.  She loves me, Bartle, and a solemn promise of marriage has passed between us.”

“Connor,” said Bartle, “it’s wondherful, it’s wondherful! you couldn’t believe what a fool I am—­fool! no, but a faint-hearted, cowardly villain.”

“What do you mane, Bartle? what the dickens are you drivin’ at!”

“Driven at! whenever I happen to have an opportunity of makin’ a drive that id—­but!  I’m talkin’ balderdash.  Do you see here, Connor,” said he, putting his hand to his neck, “do you see here?”

“To be sure I do.  Well, what about there?”

“Be my sowl, I’m very careful of—­but!—­sure I may as well tell you the whole truth—­I sed I was in love; well, man, that was thrue, an’,” he added in a low, pithy whisper, “I was near—­no, Connor, I won’t but go an; it’s enough for you to know that I was an’ am in love, an’ that it’ll go hard wid me if ever any one else is married to the girl I’m in love wid.  Now that my business is past, let me hear yours, poor fellow, an’ I’m devilish glad to know, Connor, that—­that—­why, tunder an’ ouns, that you’re not as I am.  Be the crass that saved us, Connor, I’m glad of that!”

“Why, love will set you mad, Bartle, if you don’t take care of yourself; an’, faith, I dunna but it may do the same with myself, if I’m disappointed.  However, the truth is, you must sarve me in this business.  I struv to see her twiste, but couldn’t, an’ I’m afraid of bein’ seen spyin’ about their place.”

“The truth is, Connor, you want to make me a go-between—­a blackfoot; very well, I’ll do that same on your account, an’ do it well, too, I hope.”

It was then arranged that Flanagan, who was personally known to some of the Bodagli’s servants, should avail himself of that circumstance, and contrive to gain an interview with Una, in order to convey her a letter from O’Donovan.  He was further enjoined by no means to commit it to the hands of any person save those of Una herself, and, in the event of his not being able to see her, then the letter was to be returned to Connor.  If he succeeded, however, in delivering it, he was to await an answer, provided she found an opportunity of sending one; if not, she was to inform Connor, through Flanagan, at what time and place he could see her.  This arrangement having been made, Connor immediately wrote the letter, and, after having despatched Flanagan upon his errand, set himself to perform, by his individual labor, the task which his father had portioned out for both.  Ere Bartle’s return, Fardorougha came to inspect their progress in the meadow, and, on finding that the servant was absent, he inquired sharply into the cause of it.

“He’s gone on a message for me,” replied Connor, with the utmost frankness.

“But that’s a bad way for him to mind his business,” said the father.