"Gem'men o' the votch!" cried Sharples, as loudly as a wheezy cough would permit him, "my noble pris'ner ough! ough; the Markis o' Slaughterford " Further speech was cut short by a volley of execrations from the angry guardians of the night. "No Mohocks! No Scourers!" cried the mob. "Hear! hear!" vociferated Quilt. "His lordship desires me to say ough! ough!" Fresh groans and hisses.