"Oh, lud! what's that?" exclaimed a female voice, from an adjoining room. "It is an ordinary wedding," he added; "some shopkeeper's daughter. Place a pistol at my ear, and shoot me, if I've told you false. She saw marks in the dirt where he had been pacing. She thought of how tired she was, how exhausted, how hungry. 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.
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