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This eBook from the Gutenberg Project consists of approximately 594 pages of information about Valentine M'Clutchy, The Irish Agent.
morose.  The dashing speed of his ride to M’Loughlin’s was not usual to him, for his motions were generally slow; it was significant, however, of the greedy spirit which stimulated him to the long wished for glut of his revenge.  Not so his return.  He walked his horse as if he had been a philosopher on horseback; and when Phil (now quite tipsy), who expected to see him return with all the savage triumph of vengeance in his looks, saw that he was dumb, spiritless and absolutely crestfallen, and who also observed the symptoms we spoke of, he began naturally enough to suspect that something had gone wrong.  His interrogations, however, were fruitless.  Val, on his inquiring the cause of these appearances, told him in a petulant fit of that ill-temper which is pecular to cowards, “to go be hanged;” a compliment which dutiful Phil returned to his worthy father with interest.  This was all that passed between them, with the single exception of an observation which fell from Phil’s lips as he left the dinner-table, late in the evening.

“I tell you what, M’Clutchy, you’re a confounded ill-tempered old scoundrel, an-and what-what’s more—­o-o-over to your disgrace, a d——­d bad, rotten, and unsound Protestant.  How do you ex-expect, sir, that a Protestant Establishment can be sup-support-ported in this country by such scandalous con-conduct as this? hip, hip, hurra!  Instead of-of being an ex-example to your son, it is your-your son, M’Clutchy, that is an example to you, hip, hip, hur—­, and so good night to you, I’m—­I’m on for a neat bit of business—­that’s all.  Go to bed, you old dog.”

CHAPTER XXX.—­The Mountain Grave-Yard

—­Dreams of a Broken Heart—­The Christian Pastor at his Duty—­Melancholy Meeting between a Mother and her Son—­A Death-Bed that the Great might envy—­Phil experiences a Specimen of the Pressure from without—­Retribution—­The Death of Valentine M’Clutchy.

It was now about seven o’clock in the evening; and up from the moment of Val’s return, he had scarcely spoken half a dozen words.  As Phil was leaving the room, however, the father called after him:—­

“Phil,” said he, “come here for a minute.”

“Well,” said Phil, staggering back, “what’s in the wind now?”

“Phil,” continued the father, “which of all the blood-hounds is the greatest and most remorseless villain?”

“A d——­d ni-nice point to decide, when they’re on-on duty,” replied Phil.

“If he escapes me—­” said Val in a soliloquy;—­“but no matter,” he added, speaking aloud; “I’m a fool for putting such a question to you.  Go to bed, and sleep yourself sober.”

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