He would certainly welcome McClintock's advent. He gave you a poison. “I don’t know how to prove myself to you, John. 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. He felt his heart beat faster and faster—his self-restraint slipping away. Such a beautiful boy he is, but his intelligence is marginal. “Why not? It might amuse me.
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