Chapter XXI HER SISTER’S SECRET “I think,” Lady Ferringhall said, “that you are talking very foolishly. ‘Keep still, for God’s sake! Hilary will send him off all right and tight, never fear. 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. "I have nothing to forgive. "Call as you please, beloved girl," he cried, "I will not stir till I am answered. " There had never been, from that fatal hour eight months gone down to this, the inclination to confess. After all, where prayer fails, a pistol is bound to succeed.
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