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Updated: June 8, 2025
Herne, and the evil sprite Leonora, Thurtell, the fighting men, the Irish outlaw Jerry Grant, who was suspected of raising a storm by "something Irish and supernatural" to win a fight, Murtagh, that wicked innocent, the old apple-woman, Blazing Bosville, Isopel Berners, the jockey who drove one hundred and ten miles in eleven hours to see "the only friend he ever had in the world," John Thurtell, and say, "God Almighty bless you, Jack!" before the drop fell, the old gentleman who had learned "Sergeant Broughton's guard" and knocked out the bullying coachman, the Welsh preacher and his wife, the Arcadian old bee-keeper, the rat-catcher all these and their companions are woven into one piece by the genius of their creator, Borrow.
"COFFEE!" reiterated Joe, as he took from the hamper a small silver coffee-pot, a pair of cups and saucers, spoons, plates, and knives and forks, a bottle of cream, and several small packets containing all that was needful for breakfast. "Joe! this was very kind and thoughtful of you; but was it quite safe for you to come here with a hamper on your back in open day?" inquired Mr. Berners.
For this crime Reginald was tried, but for some inexplicable reason, acquitted; and he lived to marry the girl for whose sake he had imbrued his hands in a fellow-man's blood. He recalled how, in another generation, one Agatha Berners, in a frenzy of jealousy, had stabbed her rival, and then thrown herself into the Black Lake.
If I hadn't taken your part against Blazing Bosville, you wouldn't be now taking tea with me." "It is true that you struck me in the face first; but we'll let that pass. So that man's name is Bosville; what's your own?" "Isopel Berners." "How did you get that name?" "I say, young man, you seem fond of asking questions! will you have another cup of tea?" "I was just going to ask for another."
Some clue may be left in her room by which we may trace the criminal! Come, neighbors, and let us search the premises." And Lyon Berners, leaving the shuddering women of the party in the room with Sybil and the dead, and followed by all the men, went to search the house and ground for traces of the assassin. And first they went to Mrs.
And which, if we had known you was going to be so mistrustful of us, we'd have seen you farther before we'd have took you in." "And so that is the way in which you accounted for matters and things that you couldn't understand?" "To be sure it was; and very natural too." "Shall I tell him the whole truth?" inquired Lyon Berners of himself. "I will sound him first," he concluded.
It was yet so early in the morning that they drove ten miles out to a small village on the road before they thought of breakfast. There Mr. Berners reminded the officer in charge that Sybil had not yet broken her fast.
We know how Shakespeare on the like occasion was wont to transmute into golden verse the silver speech supplied to him by North's version of Amyot's Plutarch. With the text of Lord Berners before him, the author of King Edward III. has given us for the gold of Froissart not even adulterated copper, but unadulterated lead.
We must keep up our assumed characters, my dear Sybil," said Mr. Berners, as the knocking was repeated, accompanied by the calls of, "Farmer! farmer!" "Aye, aye! I hear you. You needn't batter down the doors.
Belle fair, with blue eyes and flaxen hair; Mrs. Petulengro with olive complexion, eyes black, and hair dark as dark could be. Belle, in demeanour calm and proud; the Gypsy graceful, but full of movement and agitation. And then how different were those two in stature! The head of the Romany rawnie scarcely ascended to the breast of Isopel Berners. I could see that Mrs.
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