" And, followed by the young couple, who gazed wistfully at the poor sufferer, he hastily quitted the room, and locked the door after him. "Och! he's a broth of a boy!" "Why, I thought he'd broken your head, Terry?" "Phooh! that's nothing? A piece o' plaster'll set all to rights; and Terry O'Flaherty's not the boy to care for the stroke of a supple-jack. They must have a key. For a time he would be the grim Protestant Flagellant, pursuing the idea of self-castigation. She was sitting on the mean straw mattress that was placed on the iron bedstead in the makeshift cell, while Melusine stood with her back to the door, confronting her old nurse with the truth.
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