Even in a Border hamlet the name of Craster might be known and since for the present it had a Whig complexion it was well to go warily in a place where feeling ran high and at an hour when the Jacobites were on the march.

But that other name of Lovel was buried deep in the forgotten scandal of London by-streets.
The gentleman late re-christened Lovel had for the moment no grudge against life.

He was in the pay of a great man, no less than the lord Duke of Marlborough, and he considered that he was earning his wages.

A soldier of fortune, he accepted the hire of the best paymaster; only he sold not a sword, but wits.

A pedant might have called it honour, but Mr.Lovel was no pedant.