“I understand it all now,” said Marcus—“I understand you now, Harry.”
Ormond’s anger rose, and with a look of high disdain, he replied, “You understand me, now! No, nor ever will, nor ever can. Our minds are unintelligible to each other.”
Then turning from him, Ormond walked away with indignant speed.
“Peggy, don’t I see something like a cow yonder, getting her bread at my expense?” said Sir Ulick, directing Peggy’s eye to a gap in the hedge by the road-side. “Whose cow is that at the top of the ditch, half through my hedge?”
“I can’t say, please your honour,” said Peggy, “if it wouldn’t be Paddy M’Grath’s—Betty M’Gregor!” cried she, calling to a bare-footed girl, “whose cow is yonder?”
“Oh, marcy! but if it isn’t our own red rogue—and when I tied her legs three times myself, the day!” said the girl, running to drive away the cow.
“Oh! she strays and trespasses strangely, the red cow, for want of the little spot your honour promised her,” said Peggy.
“Well, run and save my hedge from her now, my pretty Peggy, and I will find the little spot for her to-morrow,” said Sir Ulick.
Away ran Peggy after the cow—while lowering Marcus cursed them all three. Pretty Peg he swore ought to be banished the estate—the cow ought to be hamstrung instead of having a spot promised her; “but this is the way, sir, you ruin the country and the people,” said he to his father.
“Be that as it may, I do not ruin myself as you do, Marcus,” replied the cool Sir Ulick. “Never mind the cow—nonsense! I am not thinking of a cow.”