"Vell," he growled, addressing Quilt, "you know who's here, I suppose?" "To be sure I do," replied Quilt; "my noble friend, the Marquis of Slaughterford. If you were a poet in need of rhymes, you had only to turn to a certain page. "Good-bye!" For a moment Ruth was tempted to fling herself against the withered bosom; but long since she had learned repression. "Hold hard," cried he, addressing the waterman; "I'll give the gentleman a lift. He wiped the sweat from his chin and forehead.
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