He had not proceeded more than a few yards from the door, when he met Rody Teague, his father’s servant, on his way to the kitchen.  “Rody,” said he, “isn’t this a purty business?  My father wantin’ to send me down to Owen Reillaghan’s; when, by the vartue o’ my oath, I’d as soon go half way into hell, as to any place where his son, Mike Reillaghan, ’ud be.  How will I manage, Rody?”

“Why,” replied Rody, “as to meetin’ wid Mike, take my advice and avoid him.  And what is more I’d give up Peggy Gartland for good.  Isn’t it a mane thing for you, Frank, to be hangin’ afther a girl that’s fonder of another than she is of yourself.  By this and by that, I’d no more do it—­avvouh! catch me at it—­I’d have spunk in me.”

Frank’s brow darkened as Rody spoke; instead of instantly replying’, he was silent and appeared to be debating some point in his own mind, on which he had not come to a determination.

“My father didn’t hear of the fight between Mike and me?” said he, interrogatively—­“do you think he did, Rody?”

“Not to my knowledge,” replied the servant; “if he did, he wouldn’t surely send you down; but talking of the fight, you are known to be a stout, well-fought boy—­no doubt of that—­still, I say, you had no right to provoke Mike as you did, who, it’s well known, could bate any two men in the parish; and so sign, you got yourself dacently trounced, about a girl that doesn’t love a bone in your skin.”

“He disgraced me, Rody,” observed Frank—­“I can’t rise my head; and you know I was thought, by all the parish, as good a man as him.  No, I wouldn’t, this blessed Christmas Eve above us, for all that ever my name was worth, be disgraced by him as I am.  But—­hould, man—­have patience!”

“Throth and, Frank, that’s what you never had,” said Eody; “and as to bein’ disgraced, you disgraced yourself.  What right had you to challenge the boy to fight, and to strike him into the bargain, bekase Peggy Gartland danced with him, and wouldn’t go out wid you?  Death alive, sure that wasn’t his fault.”

Every word of reproof which proceeded from Rody’s lips but strengthened Frank’s rage, and added to his sense of shame; he looked first in the direction of Reillaghan’s house, and immediately towards the little village in which Peggy Gartland lived.

“Rody,” said he, slapping him fiercely on the shoulder, “go in—­I’ve—­I’ve made up my mind upon what I’ll do; go in, Eody, and get your dinner; but don’t be out of the way when I come back.”

“And what have you made up your mind to?” inquired Eody.

“Why, by the sacred Mother o’ Heaven, Rody, to—­to—­be friends wid Mike.”

“Ay, there’s sinse and rason in that,” replied Eody; “and if you’d take my advice you’d give up Peggy Gartland, too.”

“I’ll see you when I come back, Eody; don’t be from about the place.”

And as he spoke, a single spring brought him over the stile at which they held the foregoing conversation.