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Updated: June 29, 2025
"Should'st have slain him in the heat of the onset, Howland," panted the captain, wiping his hands and looking around him. "Now take him out, Billington, and hang him to the tree in the middle of the parade. We shall leave him there as an example for the others. Open the door, Hobomok."
So did he now, and although his stern visage showed no shadow of change, he inwardly made the comment, "Hopkins's varlets, eh? Like master, like man. And Billington wait a bit, Master Poacher!" "Ah, here is our friend Samoset coming up the hill, and another with him," remarked Bradford as the little group of authorities paused at the head of the path leading to the spring and to Watson's Hill.
"And why not the Billingtons, worshipful Master Howland, lackey of the governor, and page-boy to his wife," demanded the voice that had interrupted Mistress Hopkins, and turning toward it, Howland confronted a short, square woman, not without a certain vulgar comeliness of her own, although now her buxom complexion was florid with anger and her black eyes snapping angrily, while the arms akimbo, the swaying figure, and raised voice betrayed Helena Billington for precisely what she was, a common scold and shrew.
The captain again regarded him with that penetrating glance whose power is matter of history and replied, "I suppose it was in such service that thou camest by that ugly scar across thy nose. Thou hast never been a soldier, well I wot." "Thou 'rt right, Captain," said Billington putting his hand to his face with an unabashed laugh. "It was a poacher"
It was now my object to trace that horrid cargo of the Count's to its place in London. Later, we may be able to deal with it. Billington junior, a nice lad, met me at the station, and brought me to his father's house, where they had decided that I must spend the night. They are hospitable, with true Yorkshire hospitality, give a guest everything and leave him to do as he likes.
Just in good solid satisfaction in saving a fine young chap like Billington Rand from the clutches of a sharper and sneaking skinflint like old Bucket-shop Gallagher." Raffles Holmes was unusually thoughtful the other night when he entered my apartment, and for a long time I could get nothing out of him save an occasional grunt of assent or dissent from propositions advanced by myself.
"But Alice Rigdale hath already promised to do what is needed, and Constance must stay with me to mind Damaris and Oceanus." "Oh, if goodwife Rigdale has taken it in hand, I will step back," replied Mistress Billington sharply; and as she descended the companion-way, Hopkins muttered in his wife's ear, "Now thou showest some sense, wench.
"Yes, sir," the waiter replied, with official promptitude. "Directly, sir. What number?" "I forget the number," Guy answered, with a beating heart; "but the name's Billington." "Yes, sir," the waiter responded once more, in the self-same unvaried tone, and went off to the office.
Lord Mount Edgcumbe, who had a prejudice for bravura singing, said: "No doubt the deaf would have been charmed with Grassini, but the blind must have been delighted with Mrs. Billington": a malicious comment on the Italian singer, which this distinguished amateur, when in a less cynical mood, revoked by cordial admiration of Grassini's remarkable gifts both as vocalist and actress.
"If we had but a heavy gun!" cried Warren. "They say to hit the waterspout in the centre where it joins the other from below will disperse it." "Knocks the wind out of it," explained Billington. "But we have nothing better than these bird guns," cried Standish contemptuously touching with his foot the pile of weapons covered with a tarpaulin lying in the bottom of the boat.
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