" "It's mine, I'll be sworn," rejoined Wood. It’s no good flying out at that, Vee; I didn’t arrange it. She was posing before the mirror, critically, miserably, defensively, and perhaps bewilderedly. This was the body of a man, apparently lifeless, and stretched upon a mattress, with his head bound up in a linen cloth, through which the blood had oosed. "Long life to the Marquis!" reiterated Terence; "he's an honour to ould Ireland!" "Didn't I tell you how it would be?" remarked Quilt.
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