Jeffery Farnol

“ Lord! when I think of it the ‘Old Adam’ do rise up in me to that extent as I’m minded to take a pitch-fork and go and skewer that there Grimes to his own chimbley corner. Ye see Mr. Belloo sir,” he went on, seeing Bellew was silent still, “Miss Anthea be that proud, an’ independent that she’d never ha’ took your money, sir, if I hadn’t told her that there lie,—so that’s why I did tell her that here lie.” ”

“ From losing Dapplemere Farm, an’ every thing she has in the world. Lord love ye!—the ’ops can never bring in by theirselves all the three thousand pounds as is owing,—it ain’t to be expected,—but if that three thousand pound ain’t paid over to that dirty Grimes by next Saturday week as ever was, that dirty Grimes turns Miss Anthea out o’ Dapplemere, wi’ Master Georgy, an’ poor little Miss Priscilla,—An’ what’ll become o’ them then,—I don’t know. ”

“ I told ’er, likewise, as you had told me on the quiet,—or as you might say,—con-fi-dential, that you bought that furnitur’ to set up ’ouse-keeping on account o’ you being on the p’int o’ marrying a fine young lady up to Lonnon,—”
“What!” Bellew didn’t move, nor did he raise his voice,—nevertheless Adam started back, and instinctively threw up his arm.
“You—told her—that?”
“I did sir.”
“But you knew it was a—confounded lie.”
“Aye,—I knowed it. But I’d tell a hundred,—ah! thousands o’ lies, con-founded, or otherwise,—to save Miss Anthea.”
“To save her?” ”