"Don't dare to Brian me, sir," returned M'Loughlin; "I'm a very humble
man, and ought to be an humble man, for I know well what a sinner I
am before God--but for all that, and if it were against even
religion itself--I feel too proud to suffer you to speak to me as you
do--no--don't Brian me, but listen and let me show you what you are, and
what you have been; I can't say what you will be, that does not lie with
any but God."

"Well," said M'Clutchy, "go on; I now can hear you, and what is more, I
wish to hear you--and whisper--speak your worst."

It is said, that both cowardice and despair have their courage, and it
would appear from the manner and action of this man, that he now felt
actuated by some vague feeling resembling that which we have described.
He rose up and said,

"Brian M'Loughlin, do you think I ever can forget this?"

"What do you mean by that," said M'Loughlin, "look me in the face, I
say, and tell me what you mean by it. I'm a man, and an honest man, and
there's no treachery about me."

The sternness with which he spoke, made the other quail again.

"There was little in it," he replied, in a rebuked but cold and
malignant spirit; "I didn't think you were so violent. I bore a great
deal from you this day, Mr. M'Louglin--a great deal, indeed, and so
patiently as I bore it too; upon my credit I did."

M'Loughlin made no reply, but stamped on the floor, in order to bring up