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. You might trust me with the Chevalier himself,—I'd never betray him. Cowering in a corner upon a heap of straw sat his unfortunate mother, the complete wreck of what she had been. CHAPTER XXVI. Her eyes seemed to be looking backwards.
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