"I cannot part with him," replied the widow, bursting into tears; "indeed, indeed, I cannot. Their journey had made them indolent, the afternoon was warm, and it seemed impossible to breathe a sweeter air. Old Lancashire families both. 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. For a few minutes, Darrell seemed to have the advantage in the conflict. People were passing in the street below. “Not like it’s your fault if you wake up one day and decide you hanker for a nice piece of ass, a ten-minute tumble.
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