_Honor._ Say what you will, or swear, I don’t hear or heed you. And my father will come and find you there--and I don’t care. _Randal._ I know you don’t--and I don’t care myself what happens me. But as to Phil, it’s only a cut in the head he got, that signifies nothing--if he was not your brother. _Honor._ Once lifted your hand against him--all’s over. _Randal._ Honor, I did not lift my hand against _him_; but I was in the quarrel with his faction. _Honor._ And this your promise to me not to be in any quarrel! No, if my father consented to-morrow, I’d nivir have you now. (_Rises, and is going--he holds her._) _Randal._ Then you’re wrong, Honor: you’ve heard all against me--now hear what’s for me. _Honor._ I’ll hear no more--let me go. _Randal._ Go, then; (_he lets her go, and turns away himself_) and I’m going before Mr. Carver, who _will_ hear me, and the truth will appear--and tho’ not from you, Honor, I’ll have justice. [_Exit RANDAL._ _Honor._ Justice! Oh, worse and worse! to make all public; and if once we go to law, there’s an end of love--_for ever._ [_Exit HONOR._ SCENE III. _O’BLANEY’S House._ _O’BLANEY and CATTY ROONEY._ _Catty._ And didn’t ye hear it, counshillor? the uproar in the town and the riot?--oh! you’d think the world was throwing out at windows. See my jock, all tattered! Didn’t ye hear! _O’Bla._ How could I hear, backwards, as you see, from the street, and given up to my business? _Catty._ Business! oh! here is a fine business--the McBrides have driven all before them, and chased the Roonies out of Ballynavogue. (_In a tone of deep despair._) Oh! Catty Rooney! that ever you’d live to see this day! _O’Bla._ Then take this glass (_offering a glass of whiskey_) to comfort your heart, my good Mrs. Rooney. _Catty._ No, thank you, counshillor, it’s past that even! ogh! ogh!--oh! wirrastrew!--oh! wirrastrew, ogh!--(_After wringing her hands, and yielding to a burst of sorrow and wailing, she stands up firmly._) Now I’ve ased my heart, I’ll do. I’ve spirit enough left in me yet, you’ll see; and I’ll tell you what I came to you for, counshillor. _O’Bla._ Tell me first, is Randal Rooney in it, and is he hurt? _Catty._ He was in it: he’s not hurt, more shame for him! But, howsomever, he bet one boy handsomely; that’s my only comfort. Our faction’s all going full drive to swear examinations, and get justice. _O’Bla._ Very proper--very proper: swear examinations--that’s the course, and only satisfaction in these cases to get justice. _Catty._ Justice!--revenge sure! Oh! revenge is sweet, and I’ll have it. Counshillor dear, I never went before Mr. Carver--you know him, sir--what sort is he? _O’Bla._ A mighty good sort of gentleman--only mighty tiresome. _Catty._ Ay, that’s what I hard--that he is mighty fond of talking to people for their good. Now that’s what I dread, for I can’t stand being talked to for my good.