At the time laid in this story, neither burnings nor murders were so familiar nor patriotic, as the fancied necessity of working out political progress has recently made them.  Such atrocities, in these bad and unreformed days, were certainly looked upon as criminal, rather than meritorious, however unpatriotic it may have been to form so erroneous an estimate of human villainy.  The consequence of all this was, that the destruction of Bodagh Buie’s property created a sensation in the country, of which, familiarized as we are to such crimes, we can entertain but a very faint notion.  In three days a reward of five hundred pounds, exclusive of two hundred from government, was offered for such information as might bring the incendiary, or incendiaries, to justice.  The Bodagh and his family were stunned as much with amazement at the occurrence of a calamity so incomprehensible to them, as with the loss they had sustained, for that indeed was heavy.  The man was extremely popular, and by many acts of kindness had won the attachment and goodwill of all who knew him, either personally or by character.  How, then, account for an act so wanton and vindictive?  They could not understand it; it was not only a—­crime, but a crime connected with some mysterious motive, beyond their power to detect.

But of all who became acquainted with the outrage, not one sympathized more sincerely and deeply with O’Brien’s family than did Connor O’Donovan; although, of course, that sympathy was unknown to those for whom it was felt.  The fact was, that his own happiness became, in some degree, involved in their calamity; and, as he came in to breakfast on the fourth morning of its occurrence, he could not help observing as much to his mother.  His suspicions of Flanagan, as to possessing some clue to the melancholy business, were by no means removed.  On the contrary, he felt that he ought to have him brought before the bench of magistrates who were conducting the investigation from day to day, and, with this determination, he himself resolved to state fully and candidly to the bench, all the hints which had transpired from Flanagan respecting the denunciations said to be held out against O’Brien and the causes assigned for them.  Breakfast was now ready, and Fardorougha himself entered, uttering petulant charges of neglect and idleness against his servant.

“He desarves no breakfast,” said he; “not a morsel; it’s robbin’ me by his idleness and schaming he is.  What is he doin’, Connor? or what has become of him?  He’s not in the field nor about the place.”

Connor paused.

“Why, now that I think of it, I didn’t see him to-day,” he replied; “I thought that he was mendin’ the slap at the Three-Acres.  I’ll thry if he’s in the barn.”

And he went accordingly to find him.  “I’m afraid, father,” said he, on his return, “that Bartle’s a bad boy, an’ a dangerous one; he’s not in the barn, an’ it appears, from the bed, that he didn’t sleep there last night.  The truth is, he’s gone; at laste he has brought all his clothes, his box, an’ everything with him; an’ what’s more, I suspect the reason of it; he thinks he has let out too much to me; an’ it ’ill go hard but I’ll make him let out more.”