He had often watched about her father’s premises from a little before twilight until the whole family had gone to bed, yet without any chance either of conversing with her, or of letting her know that he was in the neighborhood.  He had gone to chapel, too, with the hope of seeing her, or snatching a hasty opportunity of exchanging a word or two, if possible; but to his astonishment she had not attended mass—­an omission of duty of which she had not been guilty for the last three years.  What, therefore, was to be done?  For him to be detected lurking about the Bodagh’s house might create suspicion, especially after their interview in the garden, which very probably had, through the officiousness of the servants, been communicated to her parents.  In a matter of such difficulty he bethought him of a confidant, and the person to whom the necessity of the ease directed him was Bartle Flanagan.  Bartle, indeed, ever since he entered into his father’s service, had gained rapidly upon Connor’s good will, and on one or two occasions well-nigh succeeded in drawing from him a history of the mutual attachment which subsisted between him and Una.  His good humor, easy language, and apparent friendship for young O’Donovan, together with his natural readiness of address, or, if you will, of manner, all marked him out as admirably qualified to act as a confidant in a matter which required the very tact and talent he possessed.

“Poor fellow,” thought Connor to himself, “it will make him feel more like one of the family than a servant.  If he can think that he’s trated as my friend and companion, he may forget that he’s ating the bread of the very man that drove him an’ his to destruction.  Ay, an’ if we’re married, I’m not sure but I’ll have him to give me away too.”

This resolution of permitting Flanagan to share his confidence had been come to by Connor upon the day subsequent to that on which he had last tried to see Una.  After his return home, disappointment on one hand, and his anxiety concerning his father’s liberality on the other, together with the delight arising from the certainty of being beloved, all kept his mind in a tumult, and permitted him to sleep but little.  The next day he decided on admitting Bartle to his confidence, and reposing this solemn trust to his integrity.  He was lying on his back in the meadow—­for they had been ricking the hay from the lapcocks—­when that delicious languor which arises from the three greatest provocatives to slumber, want of rest, fatigue, and heat, so utterly overcame him, that, forgetting his love, and all the anxiety arising from it, he fell into a dreamless and profound sleep.