Crack went the whip, and away floundered the heavy vehicle through the deep ruts of the ill-kept road, or rather lane, (for it was little better,) which, then, led across Southampton Fields. We have seen pitted cheeks, which we would not exchange for dimples and a satin skin. A drunken idea, Ah Cum had called it. Why shouldn’t we be martyrs? There’s nothing else for most of us, anyhow. " "Who are you?" ejaculated Trenchard, scarcely able to credit his senses. “He fancied that he did,” she corrected him coolly.
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