Quilt, who was an ardent lover of mischief, could not help laughing most heartily at the rueful appearance of these personages. "So, wanton, I have found you!" "Wanton! Why, you infernal liar!" cried Spurlock, striking at the arm. With this view, he hurried to the spot where he had left the post-chaise, and found it drawn up at the road-side, the postilion dismounted, and in charge of a couple of farming-men. Why? Love was a word of God's, and yet her father had denied it—denied it to the Book, denied it to his own flesh and blood. "It's all up, master," groaned Ben, "nothin' short of a merracle can save us.
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