The father was too stupid, too unsympathetic, to take note of the look of fear that crossed her face if ever he addressed her suddenly; and when she was absorbed in fighting the thoughts that would come, he took her constraint for sullenness.
With a cold spot in his heart where once had dwelt some genuine regard for Donal, Fergus went back to college.

Donal went on herding the cattle, cudgeling Hornie, and reading what books he could lay his hands on: there was no supply through Fergus any more, alas! The year before, ere he took his leave, he had been careful to see Donal provided with at least books for study; but this time he left him to shift for himself.

He was small because he was proud, spiteful because he was conceited.

He would let Donal know what it was to have lost his favour! But Donal did not suffer much, except in the loss of the friendship itself.

He managed to get the loan of a copy of Burns--better meat for a strong spirit than the poetry of Byron or even Scott.