“Pray, sir, let the occasion excuse the liberty, and permit me to add my welcome also.”
“You do the honours of this house too early, sir,” was Mark's savage reply, while he folded his arms upon his breast, and measured Hemsworth with a glance of withering scorn. “I'm beneath my father's roof. It is not for a stranger to bid me welcome here.”
Hemsworth smiled, and muttered some words in mild acquiescence, their tone and accent were apologetic, and the manner in which he spoke them humble even to humility. When they were uttered, he bowed deeply, and with a look towards the others that seemed to indicate the absence of any feeling of offence, withdrew.
“You are unco severe on Maister Hemsworth, Mark,” said Sir Archy, gravely. “If his politeness wasna altogether correct, it was weel intended.”
“Mark was all right, whatever he said,” cried the old man, exultingly. “Egad, I'll not dispute with the boy to-night, if he thought proper to throw the fellow out of the window.”
“I am sorry my rudeness should have offended others,” said Mark, with a sidelong glance at Kate. “As for Mr. Hemsworth, we understand each other. He neither thinks better nor worse of me than he did before.”
“D——n Hemsworth!” said the O'Donoghue; “why are we talking of him at all? Sit down beside me, Mark. Let me see you again, my boy, in your old place. Give me your hand, and let me think that my three months of fretting have only been a dream.”
“Would it had been a dream to me,” said Mark, with a deep sigh, as he seated himself beside the old man.
“Come, come, Mark,” said Sir Archy, “Ye hae often laughed at my Scotch adage about 'byganes,' let me have my revenge now by applying it to your own fortunes.”
“So, you have come at last,” cried the O'Donoghue, as Kerry O'Leary at length made his appearance at the door. “Is Master Mark to go supperless to bed——”