"Coward and liar! False, perjured wretch! You are too white-livered a hound even to tell the truth! What should you know of such a wretch as that, forsooth! Double-dyed traitor and dastard! Look me in the face and tell me you don't know her!" Every one shrunk in terror and dismay; Sir Jasper stood as a man might stand suddenly struck by lightning.

And if looks were lightning, the blazing eyes of the young woman might have blasted him where he stood.
A tall and handsome young woman, with black eyes of fire, streaming, raven hair, and a brown gypsy face.
"Who are you, in mercy's name ?" cried the Reverend Cyrus Green.
"I am the daughter of this wretch, as your baronet yonder is pleased to call my mad mother.

Yes, Mr.Green, she is my mother.

If you want to know who my father is, you had better ask Sir Jasper Kingsland!" "It is false!" the baronet cried, "I know nothing of you or your father.

I never set eyes on you before." "Wait, wait, wait!" the Reverend Cyrus Green cried, imploringly.