one. His disgrace, however, and unjust
ejectment from Ahadarra filled them with that low, ruffianly sense of
exultation, than which, coming from such scoundrels, there is scarcely
anything more detestable in human nature.

One evening about this time they were sitting about the fire, the three
brothers, Kate, and the young unlicked savages of the family, when
Philip, after helping himself to a glass of quints, said,--

"At any rate, there'll be no match between Miss Kathleen and that
vagabond, Bryan M'Mahon. I think we helped to put a nail in his coffin
there, by gob."

"Ay," said Kate, "an' you may boast of it, you unmanly vagabone; an' yet
you purtind to have a regard for the poor girl, an' a purty way you tuck
to show it--to have her as she is, goin' about wid a pale face an' a
broken heart. Don't you see it's her more than him you're punishin', you
savage of hell?"

"You had betther keep your tongue off o' me," he replied; "I won't get
into grips wid you any more, you barge o' blazes; but, if you provoke me
wid bad language, I'll give you a clink wid one o' these sotherin'-irons
that'll put a clasp on your tongue."

"Never attempt that," she replied fiercely, "for, as sure as you do,
I'll have this knife," showing him a large, sharp-pointed one, which, in
accordance with the customs of her class, hung by a black belt of strong
leather from her side--"I'll have this customer here greased in your
puddins, my buck, and, when the win's out o' you, see what you'll be
worth--fit for Captain James's hounds; although I dunno but the very
dogs themselves is too clane to ait you."

"Come," said Bat, "we'll have no more o' this; do you, Philip, keep
quiet wid your sotherin'-iron, and, as for you, Kate, don't dhraw me
upon you; _na ha nan shin_--it isn't Philip you have. I say I'm right
well plaised that we helped to knock up the match."

"Don't be too sure," replied Kate, "that it is knocked up; don't now,
mind my words; an' take care that, instead of knockin' it up, you
haven't knocked yourselves down. Chew your cud upon that now."

"What does she mane?" asked Ned, looking on her with a baleful glance,
in which might be read equal ferocity and alarm. "Why, traichery, of
coorse," replied Philip, in his deep, glowing voice. "Kate," said her
husband, starting into something' like an incipient fit of fury, but
suddenly checking himself--"Kate, my honey, what do you mane by them
words?"

"What do I mane by them words?"