"Done!" cried Shotbolt. You make me angry, and I lie. Her eyes were soft and blue, arched over by dark brows, and fringed by long silken lashes. 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. He looked no longer at his wife. ” “You do not flatter me,” she laughed.
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