" "Gem'men o' the votch!" cried Sharples, as loudly as a wheezy cough would permit him, "my noble pris'ner—ough! ough;—the Markis o' Slaughterford ——" Further speech was cut short by a volley of execrations from the angry guardians of the night. " "You have no son," rejoined Sir Rowland, moodily. Restraining with an effort his intense curiosity, he talked of general subjects only, trying his best to entertain her. ‘He arst me to find him someone who might go with you. Accordingly, the old knight reduced his son's allowance to a third of its previous amount; and, upon further provocation, he even went so far as to alter his will in favour of his daughter, Aliva, who was then betrothed to her cousin, Sir Cecil Trafford. "What do you want with me?" "A word in private," replied the other. You’re not to go.
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