“Yes, sir, we were asking you the cause of the fire at the foot of that cliff.”
The tone and the manner in which the words were uttered seemed at once to have disarmed his anger; and although for a second or two he made no answer, his features recovered their former half-listless look, as he said—
“It is a cabin—There is another yonder, beside the river.”
“A cabin! Surely you cannot mean that people are living there?” said the girl, as a sickly pallor spread itself across her cheeks.
“Yes, to be sure,” replied the youth; “they have no better hereabouts.”
“What poverty—what dreadful misery is this!” said she, as the great tears gushed forth, and stole heavily down her face.
“They are not so poor,” answered the young man, in a voice of almost reproof. “The cattle along that mountain all belong to these people—the goats you see in that glen are theirs also.”
“And whose estate may this be?” said the old man.
Either the questioner or his question seemed to have called up again the youth's former resentment, for he fixed his eyes steadily on him for some time without a word, and then slowly added—
“This belongs to an Englishman—a certain Sir Marmaduke Travers—It is the estate of O'Donoghue.”