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THREE:"I mean can a minister do wot a Parson does?��tell a poor feller wot's dying that he w?an't go to hell."

THREE:"That's right��for you've no call to be. I was driven to this, couldn't help myself. Besides, I'm no worse than a lot of women wot you call respectable��at least, I put some sort of a price on myself, if it's only five shillings. Now good night, young men, and thank you[Pg 405] for a very pleasant evening. I don't suppose as you'll ever see me again. And mind��you tell father as, no matter the life I lead and the knocks I get, I've never once, not once, regretted the day I ran off from his old farm. Now mind��you tell him that."

THREE:"Why, Master Calverley, to tell you the truth, that old mother Holgrave frightened me so that��"On her right hand rode her husband, clad in a tunic of fine cloth, in colour resembling the habit of his lady, and mounted on a dark, fiery charger, which with difficulty he could rein in to the slow pace of the palfrey. On the left of the lady Isabella was her brother, young Robert de Vere, and though but a boy, one might have read much in the lines of that countenance, of his future destiny. His smooth, dimpled chin, was small and round, and his mouth possessed that habitual smile, that softly beaming expression, which won for him in after years the regard of the superficial Richard; while there shone a fire in the full dark eyes, which betokened the ambitious spirit that was to animate the future lord of Dublin, and sovereign of Ireland.