“I have not the slightest intention of being a parson,” returned Donal quietly, “but I do hope to be an honest man, and your lordship is in great danger of ceasing to be one!”
“Get out of my room,” cried Forgue.
Donal took a seat opposite him.
“If you do not, I will!” said the young lord, and rose.
But ere he reached the door, Donal was standing with his back against it. He locked it, and took out the key. The youth glared at him, unable to speak for fury, then turned, caught up a chair, and rushed at him. One twist of Donal’s ploughman-hand wrenched it from him. He threw it over his head upon the bed, and stood motionless and silent, waiting till his rage should subside. In a few moments his eye began to quail, and he went back to his seat.
“Now, my lord,” said Donal, following his example and sitting down, “will you hear me?”
“I’ll be damned if I do!” he answered, flaring up again at the first sound of Donal’s voice.
“I’m afraid you’ll be damned if you don’t,” returned Donal.
His lordship took the undignified expedient of thrusting his fingers in his ears. Donal sat quiet until he removed them. But the moment he began to speak he thrust them in again. Donal rose, and seizing one of his hands by the wrist, said,
“Be careful, my lord; if you drive me to extremity, I will speak so that the house shall hear me; if that will not do, I go straight to your father.”