I consider even now that the present colour is far less becoming. \" he replied, though it was obvious that he was lying. "I'm at your mercy, Poll," rejoined Kneebone, abjectly. . Wait, though. ‘Hilary, thank God! Have you a pistol about you? Or better yet, your sword. Upon a table, where they had been hastily deposited, on the intelligence of Darrell's accident, lay a pair of pink kid gloves, bordered with lace, and an enormous fan; the latter, when opened, represented the metamorphosis and death of Actæon. "His name, I say!—his name!" thundered the knight.
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