“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 God 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.”