"If you dar' lay a finger," began Mike; but Roseen interrupted him with a little defiant laugh.
"Sure, I am not afeard of him, Mike. I am more afeard of his hurting himself nor me; but I'm goin' now, anyway, an' I am glad ye know the truth, grandfather, so that ye needn't be botherin' me about Mr. Quinn."
She went away, moving slowly and carrying her curly head very high.
Peter watched her till she was out of sight and hearing, and then turned to Mike.
"Now then," he cried, "we'll have this matter settled. You'll go out o' this, me lad, an' so will your father an' mother. They're owin' me a year's rent an' more."
"Didn't I tell ye I would work it off, little by little?" said Mike, who had suddenly become very pale. "It was me poor mother bein' sick last year that thrun us back, an' you said ye would have patience wid us."
"Then ye had a right to behave better," returned Rorke. "How dar' ye go make up to my granddaughter, you young villain? I'd have ye to know that Miss Rorke is not for the likes of you."
All poor Mike's pride and valour seemed to have deserted him since Peter's threat.
"Sure, Roseen an' me was always fond of one another," he said pleadingly. "I couldn't remember a time when we wasn't. Her an' me was ould playfellows, and she used to be as much at our place as at home."
"It won't be your place much longer," retorted Peter curtly. "Out o' this ye may all go, bag an' baggage, the whole pack of yous."