And yet, on the very site of the sordid tenements and squalid courts we have mentioned, where the felon openly made his dwelling, and the fraudulent debtor laughed the object of his knavery to scorn—on this spot, not two centuries ago, stood the princely residence of Charles Brandon, the chivalrous Duke of Suffolk, whose stout heart was a well of honour, and whose memory breathes of loyalty and valour. "Why do you laugh?" she asked gravely. “Do you want some of mine?” “Yes. It has. There was no one at all in this room, but through the half-open door of one of the small apartments that gave upon it she had a glimpse of two very young girls sitting at a littered table and writing briskly. " "We'll be punctual," replied Mrs. Sheppard," roared Blueskin, who anticipated some fun. Anyhow he confessed that he was a fraud. She hoped that he would at long last remember his young male pride.
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