Phil, during this dialogue, still retained his place in the centre of his friends; but from time to time he kept glancing from under his eyebrows at M’Loughlin and his sons, in that spaniel-like manner, which betrays a consciousness of offence and a dread of punishment.

Irwin now caused them to move off; and, indeed, scarcely anything could be more ludicrous than the utter prostration of all manly feeling upon the part of the chief offender.  On separating, the same baleful and pallid glances were exchanged between the brothers, who clearly possessed an instinctive community of feeling upon the chief incident of the night—­we mean that of finding M’Clutchy in their sister’s bedroom.  Irwin noticed their mute, motionless, but ghastly resentment, as did Phil himself, who, whether they looked at him or not, felt that their eyes were upon him, and that come what might, so long as he remained in the country he was marked as their victim.  This consciousness of his deserts was not at all lessened by the observations of Irwin upon his conduct; for be it known, that although there subsisted a political bond that caused Phil and the violent spirits of the neighborhood to come frequently together, yet nothing could exceed the contempt which they felt for him in his private and individual capacity.

“Brother M’Clutchy,” said Irwin, “I’m afraid you’ve made a bad night’s work of it.  By the moon above us, I wouldn’t take the whole Castle Cumber property and stand in your shoes from this night out.”

“Why so?” said Phil, who was now safe and beyond their immediate reach; “why so, Irwin?  I’ll tell you what, Irwin; d——­ my honor, but I think you’re cowardly.  Did you see how steady I was to-night?  Not a syllable escaped my lips; but, zounds, didn’t you see how my eye told?”

“Faith, I certainly did, brother Phil, and a devilish bad tale it told, too, for yourself.  Your father has promised me a new lease, with your life in it; but after this night, and after what I saw, I’ll beg to have your name left out of that transaction.”

“But didn’t you see, George,” returned Phil, “that a man of them durstn’t look me in the face?  They couldn’t stand my eye; upon my honor they couldn’t.”

“Ay,” said Burke, “that’s because they’re Papishes.  A rascally Papish can never look a Protestant in the face.”

“Well but,” said Phil, “you would not believe that the girl was so fond of me as she is, until you saw it.  I knew very well they had no arms; so, as I wished to give you an opportunity of judging for yourselves, I put the journey upon that footing.”

“Well,” said Irwin, “we shall see the upshot—­that’s all.”

They then escorted Phil home, after which they dispersed.