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. "Do you still refuse to make one!" "I have made one," replied Lady Trafford. He returned figuratively to his bed—the bed he had made for himself and in which he must for ever lie. " "But, Lord, man!—don't you ever get lonesome?" "Don't you?" "I'm too busy. What have you got to say?" "Too much," replied Kneebone, shaking his head; "sadly too much. "Not so, Sir Rowland," returned Jonathan; "you are my prisoner.
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