Come back—you must come back. It was lent me by a countryman o' mine; but I paid him back in his own coin—ha! ha!" "A countryman of yours, Terry?" "Ay, and a noble one, too, Quilt—more's the pity! You've heard of the Marquis of Slaughterford, belike?" "Of course; who has not? He's the leader of the Mohocks, the general of the Scourers, the prince of rakes, the friend of the surgeons and glaziers, the terror of your tribe, and the idol of the girls!" "That's him to a hair?" cried Terence, rapturously. Martha had the square look of solid English citizenry, which was not deceiving. He hung vaguely for a moment as she passed. The brown house, almost exactly the same as the Beck’s, turned black as pitch in the gloom. "I'm at your mercy, Poll," rejoined Kneebone, abjectly.
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