ge, 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.

On advancing, he found himself in one of his father's fields, under the
shelter of an elder-hedge. Here he paused, and seemed still somewhat
uncertain as to the direction in which he should proceed. At length he
decided; the way towards Peggy Gartland's was that which he took, and
as he walked rapidly, he soon found himself at the village in which she
lived.

It was now a little after twilight; the night was clear the moon being
in her first quarter, and the clouds through which she appeared to
struggle, were light and fleecy, but rather cold-looking, such, in
short, as would seem to promise a sudden fall of snow. Frank had passed
the two first cabins of the village, and was in the act of parrying the
attacks of some yelping cur that assailed him, when he received a slap
on the back, accompanied by a _gho manhi Dhea gliud, a Franchas, co wul
thu guilh a nish, a rogora duh_?*

* God save you, Frank! where are you going now, you
black rogue?

"Who's this?" exclaimed Frank: "eh! why, Darby More, you sullin' thief
o' the world, is this you?"

"Ay, indeed; an' you're goin' down to Peggy's?" said the the other,
pointing significantly towards Peggy Gartland's house. "Well, man,
what's the harm? She may get worse, that is, hopin' still that you'll
mend your manners, a bouchal: but isn't your nose out o' joint there,
Frank, darlin'?"

"No sich thing at all, Darby," replied Frank, gulping down his
indignation, which rose afresh on hearing that the terms on which he
stood with Peggy were so notorious.

"Throth but it is," said Darby, "an' to tell the blessed thruth, I'm not
sarry that it's out o' joint; for when I tould you to l