There was something in the cold, forbidding tone in which he spoke, as well as in the hard severity of his look, that froze all my resolution to ask a favor, and I would gladly have sought elsewhere for shelter for the night had I known where to look.
The delay this indecision on my part created, caused him to repeat his question, while he fixed his eyes on me with a dark and piercing expression.
“Darby the Blast told me,” said I, with a great effort to seem at ease, “that you would give me shelter to-night. To-morrow morning he 's to come here for me.”
“And who are you,” said he, harshly, “that I am to take into my house? In these troublesome times a man may ask the name of his lodger.”
“My name is Burke. My father's name was Burke, of Cremore; but he 's dead now.”
“'T is you that Basset is after all day, is it?”
“I can't tell; but I fear it may be.”
“Well, some one told him that you took the Dublin road, and another sent him up here, and the boys here sent him to Durragh. And what are you after, young gentleman? Do you dislike Tony Basset? Is that it?”
“Yes,” said I; “I 'm resolved never to go home and live with him. He made my father hate me, and through him I have been left a beggar.”
“There 's more than you has a score to settle with Tony. Come into the house and get your clothes dried. But stop, I have a bit of a caution to give you. If you see anything or anybody while you 're under my roof that you did n't expect—”