Tylney Hall


Tylney Hall


Put up with this, and the puniest schoolboy shall

make you a mark for his sixpenny squirt."

" Be at rest, Marguerite," said the Creole, with

a significant nod and a bitter smile. " You are

spurring the willing horse. My birth cleared,

Ringwood has promised to meet me."

" He shall meet me first,"" exclaimed the woman,

shaking her hand aloft, as if it brandished its

familiar knife. " Twice, aye, thrice have you

been foiled by his arm, and would you now meet

him on equal terms ? But what do I talk of equal

terms ? Has he a mother to weep for him ? Has

he a foster-mother even, to break her heart for

him, and die in his death? Is there a poor, lone,

desolate, wretched woman, that will lose her all in

Ringwood, her last joy, her last treasure on earth,

and all the dearer to her, that she has no puling

hope of joy or treasure in heaven ? Will a

shrieking voice be heard in the wilderness of the

world, crying Marguerite, Marguerite, where is

my son— you have let him venture his precious

life-blood against a red puddle ? No, Walter

Tyrrel, I will have no duel. When you strike,

N 3

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