He turned his back on that temptation. 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. "Any price was better than your head. Annabel had taken her life into her hands with gay insouciance, had made her own friends, gone her own way. The place was gloomy, with its darkly panelled walls, but it was sparsely furnished. ‘Beg pardon, sir?’ asked the sergeant, evidently mystified. I needed a man the worst kind of way—a man I could keep for at least six months. .
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