“Well now,” said M’Loughlin, rising up, whilst his honest features were lit with indignation, “this joke or this impudence on your part, has gone far enough—­listen to me.  What did I or my family do, I ask my own conscience in the name of God—­what sin did we commit—­whom did we oppress—­whom did we rob—­whom did we persecute—­that a scoundrel like you, the bastard spawn of an unprincipled profligate, remarkable only for drunkenness, debauchery, and blasphemy—­what, I say, did I and my family do, that you, his son, who were, and are to this day, the low, mean, willing scourge of every oppressor, the agent of their crimes—­the instrument of their villianies—­you who undermined the honest man—­who sold and betrayed the poor man—­who deceived and misled the widow and her orphans, and rose upon their ruin—­who have robbed your employers as well as those you were employed against—­a double traitor—­steeped in treachery, and perjured a thousand times to the core of your black and deceitful heart—­what crime, I say again, did I or mine commit—­that we, whose name and blood has been without a stain for a thousand years, should suffer the insult that you now have offered Us—­eh, look me in the face now if you can, and answer me if you are able?”

M’Cloughlin as he concluded, calmly folded his arms, and looked at his companion resolutely but sternly.  The other, to do him justice, did certainly raise his head, and fix his evil eye upon him for a moment—­it dropped after a single glance; in truth, he quailed before M’Loughlin; his upper lip, as usual, quivered—­his brow lowered, and looked black as midnight, whilst all the rest of his face became the color of ashes.  In fact, that white smile, which is known to be the very emblem of cowardice and revenge, sat upon his countenance, stamping upon it at once the character of the spectre and the demon—­a being to be both feared and hated.

“Well, Brian M’Loughlin,” returned the other, “hear me.”

“Don’t dare to Brian me, sir,” returned M’Loughlin; “I’m a very humble man, and ought to be an humble man, for I know well what a sinner I am before God—­but for all that, and if it were against even religion itself—­I feel too proud to suffer you to speak to me as you do—­no—­don’t Brian me, but listen and let me show you what you are, and what you have been; I can’t say what you will be, that does not lie with any but God.”

“Well,” said M’Clutchy, “go on; I now can hear you, and what is more, I wish to hear you—­and whisper—­speak your worst.”

It is said, that both cowardice and despair have their courage, and it would appear from the manner and action of this man, that he now felt actuated by some vague feeling resembling that which we have described.  He rose up and said,

“Brian M’Loughlin, do you think I ever can forget this?”

“What do you mean by that,” said M’Loughlin, “look me in the face, I say, and tell me what you mean by it.  I’m a man, and an honest man, and there’s no treachery about me.”